Nyungwe Forest Adventure

Tuesday 7th July 2009

Last Saturday was 4th July, liberation day, a national holiday in Rwanda marking the Rwandan Patriotic Front's liberation from Habyarimana's dictatorship that had wracked the country with genocide. The day was celebrated with a massive concert at the national stadium and a week of talks, lectures and discussion on the theme of liberation: this year's slogan being "Dignity is our Strength".

“Rwanda today is a nation renascent, a country in an advanced stage of rehabilitation, and one looking to a brighter future. The high level of political stability and peace since 1995 has encouraged the repatriation of millions of refugees, while the main instigators of the genocide are being tried at the Arusha Tribunal in Tanzania and in the Gacaca courts in Rwanda….

During its tenure in power, the RPF has placed strong emphasis on reconciliation, and has largely succeeded in forging a sense of national, rather than ethnic, identity in Rwanda.
The autocratic and divisive political structures that formerly denied minorities a meaningful political voice have been replaced, for instance with the implementation of cellular councils that involve local communities in important decisions at grassroots level. Furthermore, although poverty remains endemic to Rwanda as it does to most other Africa countries, economic liberalisation and civil stability have stimulated a consistently high annual economic growth rate since 1995, and today there is a tangible economic buzz about Rwanda that bodes well for its long-term future. Tourism will play a pivotal role in fostering the economic infrastructure and prosperity that nurture future political stability.” Quoted from Rwandan tourism website.



In need of some light relief, instead of going to the liberation day concert I took a tourist trip out of town. I went to visit Nyungwe forest with an international group of 5 fellow volunteers: Hanna (Finnish), Jammie (Canadian), Noam (Israeli), Chloe (American), Gia (American) and Frank (Rwandan). Chloe and Gia had been in Kigali for only 24 hours and Frank is an ex WE-ACTx employee.

Nyungwe Forest national park, in south western Rwanda, is a popular tourist destination, being one of the last remaining forest areas of the country and home to chimpanzees (but unfortunately we didnt see any). The park is located south of lake Kivu on the boarder of Burundi and was established in 2004. It ranges in altitude fro m16000m to 2950m above sea level and covering an area of approximately 970 km² of rainforest, bamboo, grassland, swamps, and bogs. The nearest town to the forest is Cyangugu, 54 km to the west. According to the brochure, the Nyungwe forest has a pre-historic atmosphere, rich in biodiversity, supporting 250 different types of trees and shrubs and a vast range of flowering plants, including over 100 species of orchid and giant Lobelia. Through a maze of well kept trails, walkers are guided to various viewing points to enjoy the stillness of the forest. I was in for a treat and happy to have taken the opportunity to be a tourist in this amazing country.

One of the challenges of planning a trip with a group of people where no one in particular is in charge, is that arrangements are talked about but can remain unarranged. Everyone thinks someone else is taking care of things. Last Thursday evening we found that Hanna had bought us all a ticket for the bus but no one had organized accommodation. On the morning of our departure after several phone calls to different guest houses, we managed to find one that wasn't full and booked three rooms. Thankfully we were sorted.





We gathered just after noon at cafe Bourbon - a Starbucks type coffeehouse at the Union Trade Centre shopping mall where all the Muzungus (white people) hang out. Itching to go we waited impatiently for Jammie’s takeaway cappuccino and sandwich and my banana cake. We had a 10-minute walk to the bus stop and our bus was due to leave at 12.30. A few of us were worried we might miss it or find our seats had been double booked. Apparently it happens. 10 minutes later, snacks in hand, we all hurried out towards the bus stop getting there with a few minutes to spare. It soon arrived and after only a shortly wait, during which time we bought apples and chatted to locals, we boarded and were directed to our ticketed seats clustered at the front of the bus. I sat next to the driver in what is known as the CEO seat and enjoyed the whole journey there spellbound at the stunning views and chatting to my fellow passengers: a young student of tourism who lived in Kigali and worked in Chyangugu (six hours away) at the weekends; a student from Uganda who was studying in Australia and revisiting other East African countries on his summer break; and a very quiet fellow sitting in the front seat next to me. It felt so good to be with people in a friendly lighthearted way after the intensity of the work I’ve been doing and the recent genocide memorials visits. Unable to talk with the quiet young man sitting next to me - he spoke almost no French or English, and I almost no Kinyarwandan - we became ipod friends listening to Chris Berry and Pangea’s 'Dancemakers' album. Bobbing our heads, tapping our hands and feet and now and again sticking a thumb up to each other and nodding our mutual pleasure of this funky intercultural Afro beat, pop band.





The lush emerald green landscape whizzed past us, too fast for me to take decent photos. Rwanda’s economy is small and mainly agricultural with coffee and tea as the main export crops. I saw many fields of tea and bananas -the staple crop. Other main crops are corn, cassava, sweet potato and other roots, peas ,beans, melons and sorghum (a type of cereal grain). I saw a few fields of sunflowers and every now and then a crop of mud bricks laid out by the roadside to dry in the sun. Flowers splash colour everywhere - bougainvillea, hibiscus, frangipani, roses and lots of others I don’t know the names of.

After a five-hour bus ride, our bus driver, Jean Pierre, dropped us off at the guesthouse just before dusk. It seemed there had been some misunderstanding and we had missed our stop and were at the ORTPN which was the wrong guesthouse and was fully booked. We called the Gisakura guesthouse where we had booked rooms to say that the 7 of us would be making our way there within the next hour.

“Ahh! Seven? But there is only one room.” came the reply.
“But we booked three rooms.”
“No, there is only one room. No space for seven.”
Another misunderstanding!

We discussed our options. It was dark; there was no public transport and not many cars traveling through. Cyangugu, the nearest town, was too far away so we decided to walk the fifty minutes back up the road to Gisakura guesthouse. The landlady surely wouldn’t turn us away at night – it was just one night. We’d all squeeze into the one room. Noam headed out to the road, saw a car and stuck her thumb out. We persuaded the driver to give us a lift up the road to our guesthouse and to wait until it was clear we were all going to be able to stay there - thank goodness Frank was with us to negotiate. The landlady was lovely, concerned about the misunderstanding and eager to help make us more comfortable. In no time she had organized an extra double bed, brought us water and offered us a meal. We declined the meal and ate the picnic we had bought from Kigali. We sorted out payment, ordered breakfast for 6am and then romped noisily on our two mattresses, happy and relieved.





Our four-hour, 14-kilometer waterfall trail walk started at 8.00am. We met our guide, Robert, who asked if everyone was in good enough shape and offered us all a walking staff. Robert kept us informed about the flora and fauna of the forest as we went along and was happy to answer all questions asked. We were instructed to leave no litter, not even biodegradable waste like banana skins or apple cores, as this would encourage monkeys to expect food and hang about causing mischief. We were also asked to take nothing away which was tough, as usually, I gather a few things for my cabinets of curiosity: seeds, pods, leaves, petals, fragments of bark, termite-patterned bits of wood, bits of fur, remnants of malting skin, dried flowers, etc. part of an on-going art project collection of mementos from my numerous encounters with nature around the world over the last ten years. It was a fabulous day of walking, paddling, talking, looking, listening, connecting with the forest, taking photographs and being generally enthralled by the boundless wonder of nature.



Just after setting off on our walk we came across a colony of fire ants. A fire ant bite can cause several health problems, sometimes serieous. Captivated by the expansive views in the beautiful morning light, a few of us stopped to take photos and missed Robert's warning not to stand still for too long. As we rejoined the group I saw people dusting down their clothes. I looked down and let out a horrified yelp. My clothes were covered in ants. The skin all over my body shrank as I went into my infestation phobia reaction, hopping and jumping around, frantically stamping my feet trying to shake off what seemed like hundreds of ants but was probably more like 30. They crawled up to into my trousers and shirt in no time - I now know where the phrase 'ants in your pants' comes from! They didn’t give up easily and I had to scrape them off my clothes and fish them out of my undies- luckily I didnt get bitten.

The path wended its way through tea plantations and slowly into the forest, progressively getting more dense and dark. I was reminded of the Australian rain forest I visited near Brisbane and felt the same appreciation for the wild exuberance of the forest: the countless species of trees, plants and flowers, the numerous shades of green moss, the cushioning of mulch under foot, the carpets of purple, pink or white petals, the fallen logs



that had been thrown down across the path in the midst of a storm and had been sawn through to free up the footpath. The moss covered vines reminded me of old Tarzan movies and looking up at the sky through the filigree of leaves reminded me of Islamic ceramic tile art. There wasn’t much in the way of larger animals and no monkeys, though we'd seen a few on the roadside as we travelled into the forest on the bus.



Walking through the Nyungwe forest was mesmerizing. At times was engrossed in conversation, taking photos or walking alone. I slowly dropped in to a more reflective frame of mind. Pondering my experience of being in Rwanda so far, remembering loved ones at home and thinking of the hundreds, probably thousands, of people that had trodden the same footpath - smelling the earthiness of the damp undergrowth and cool freshness of the air, enjoying the visual stimulus of shapes, colours and the filtered light - marveling at the wondrous interior of the forest as if in another world. I stopped now and again to rest and look out at the view when the forest opened out.

As we walked back, I stopped to change my shoes and lost sight of the group. The path forked and I didn’t know which way to go: right towards the tea plantation or left to what looked like more forest. I had a moment of indecision and near panic. But I had been feeling so happy and content from the walk that I was able to avoid a sense of panic and trust that I would find my way. I started to see several Rwandans, strolling slowly, arm in arm. I was enjoying the loveliness of the light and the green of the growing tea. Finding myself walking along something of a thoroughfare, I asked a few people here and there, in English and dodgy French, the way back to the ORTPN guesthouse. They looked at me uncomprehending. I came across a massive congregation of people who had just spilled out of a church – it was Saturday afternoon, perhaps it was a wedding or special service. Three mixed race looking men, walked towards me and introduced themselves. They were from Cape Town and working on the tea plantation. They were happy to hear I had recently visited Cape Town and we exchanged news. They gave me directions back to the ORTPN guesthouse and I carried on more confidently. Walking along the main road I suddenly heard my name. It was Robert. He was on a motorbike looking for me. Ahh! Georgina where did you go? I told him my story, very pleased that I had turned left and taken what turned out to be a slightly longer and more adventurous route back. I hopped on the back of his bike and was at the guesthouse in a few minutes, in time for a quick bite before the bus back to Kigali.



Robert led us to a place where we could swim. Those of us who took the plunge were at first shocked to the marrow by the cold, then revitalized, warmed and delighted by the experience. As we walked back through the forest, I wondered if Robert ever tired of guiding people through the forest. I asked him. He smiled and said he enjoyed his job very much, loved the forest and especially liked leading the more difficult red trails that took 6 hours and led walkers through much more challenging terrain.

As we walked back, I stopped to change my shoes and lost sight of the group. The path forked and I didn’t know which way to go: right towards the tea plantation or left to what looked like more forest. I had a moment of indecision and near panic. But I had been feeling so happy and content from the walk that I was able to avoid a sense of panic and trust that I would find my way. I started to see several Rwandans, strolling slowly, arm in arm. I was enjoying the loveliness of the light and the green of the growing tea. Finding myself walking along something of a thoroughfare, I asked a few people here and there, in English and dodgy French, the way back to the ORTPN guesthouse. They looked at me uncomprehending. I came across a massive congregation of people who had just spilled out of a church – it was Saturday afternoon, perhaps it was a wedding or special service. Three mixed race looking men, walked towards me and introduced themselves. They were from Cape Town and working on the tea plantation. They were happy to hear I had recently visited Cape Town and we exchanged news. They gave me directions back to the ORTPN guesthouse and I carried on more confidently. Walking along the main road I suddenly heard my name. It was Robert. He was on a motorbike looking for me. Ahh! Georgina where did you go? I told him my story, very pleased that I had turned left and taken what turned out to be a slightly longer and more adventurous route back. I hopped on the back of his bike and was at the guesthouse in a few minutes, in time for a quick bite before the bus back to Kigali.

We got the 3pm bus back. Unfortunately the ride home was not as delightful. For the first couple of hours the bus hurtled at breakneck speed down hill, the driver swerving at speed and not always avoiding the numerous potholes. We were all sat at the back of the bus, nauseous and struggling not to be sick over our fellow passengers. This time I had the worst seat on the bus - the middle of the back row. I was thrown up and down and side to side and had to relax as much as possible, becoming a reed in the wind, to avoid injury from all the jarring movement. Things eased off once we got beyond Butare with both the decreased gradient and heavy traffic slowing our driver down. The sundown was not as spectacular as the dawn had been and darkness fell thickly. Without electricity, there were very few lights on the hills, just the odd flicker and a few oil lamps in roadside shops. I was amazed at how people walked around effortlessly without torches, some still carrying loads on their heads, well versed with balancing in the dark. As we reached Kigali the hills lit up and slowly the throng of people on the streets increased. We got off the bus a little stiff and tired but totally content. We walked home slowly, enriched and enlivened by our trip and quietly looking forward to the dinner we knew would be waiting.

Genocide

Genocide Recordings
Sunday 28th June

*** Please note: some of the content in this post is very disturbing. ***

Yesterday (Saturday 27th June) a few of us went to a screening of ‘Genocide Recordings’, part of the 5th Annual Rwanda Film Festival (12-28th June) that has been taking place the last couple of weeks. We got to the venue an hour early, or rather the programme started an hour late....



Several short films were shown. ‘Massacre at Murambi’, by Sam Kauffmann. Murambi is the site of a newly built secondary school where one of the world’s most horrifying mass murders took place. Over 50,000 Tutsi were urged by the Rwanda authorities to flee to the school for their safety from the murderous Hutu militia. But it was a trap; nearly all of them were slaughtered. ‘Flowers of Rwanda’ by David Munoz, a reflection from survivors looking at the situation in Rwanda now and a discussion about the role of educational films in moving forward from genocide. The work of British television journalist, Nick Hughes, was the most stark and haunting. He shot the only known media footage of killings taking place during the genocide.


Hughes film documents his return to Rwanda 14 years after the genocide to try and find out who had been killed and who had done the killing in the horrifying few minutes he captured on film in 1994. He interviewed people from the area where the killing had taken place, showed them his footage and pieced together the events, locating survivors and those who had helped people to survive. A Gacaca court hearing was arranged on the strength of this evidence and perpetrators who had been identified in the footage by the community were invited to admit their crimes. All denied the crimes.

The following extract about Gacaca courts is the UNIFEM website: United Nations Development Fund for Women,

‘Gacaca, Rwanda's traditional, community-based conflict resolution system, was used historically to adjudicate local property crimes and civil disputes. In the aftermath of the 1994 genocide, the Rwandan government revived and revised this indigenous mechanism to assign jurisdiction over some genocide crimes……

As the majority of survivors and witnesses, women's participation has been an important element of the Gacaca system. For example, although in the past women were not permitted to serve as Gacaca judges, the government has required that at least 30 per cent of the judges be female. According to one scholar, "The community basis of Gacaca allows women to participate on various levels, recognizes their role in the reconciliation process, and gives them an identity beyond that of victims."

It was a difficult experience to watch this screening of people being slaughtered and to see onlookers at the scene jigging about, dancing. But it was also compelling to see survivors, although devastated by the recording, driven to watch the footage again and again, craning their heads toward the small computer, searching the screen and their minds for the identity of the perpetrators, knowing they now lived among them.

There was also a short documentary about the 1dollarcampaign, which is a project to raise funds to build houses, homes, for genocide orphans who stay at school during school holidays because they have not family and nowhere else to go.

In between films there were talks exploring possibilities for recovery and reconciliation and song performances evoking forgiveness and unity, hoping to salve the trauma of this national tragedy.


Genocide Memorials
Tuesday 30th June

Today I went with my housemates, Hanna, Jammie and Noam, to two genocide memorial sites. It was so good to get out of the city. Good to see the endless, lush and beautifully rolling hills of Rwanda but gut wrenching to contemplate the remnants of mass murder and a struggle to grapple mentally and emotionally with the extent and horror of the genocide crimes.

We went first to the church at Nyamata, 30km from Kigali. 10,000 people were massacred in this church and 40,000 in the surrounding areas. The church was administered by European Clergy who were killed once it was discovered they were protecting Tutsis. People had sought refuge in this church because during the 1959 ousting of Tutsis, those who sought safety there had been spared.

The site, lovingly maintained, is decked with purple and white bunting and bouquets of flowers. Purple is the colour of death in Rwanda. I entered the church slowly, halted after just a few steps by scene the before me, my diaphragm and throat tightened against the rising tide of emotions. I saw mounds and mounds of dirty, dusty remnants of clothing piled up on wooden benches, blood stained walls, shrapnel holes in the blood-splattered ceiling and instruments of death on the altar. I recalled the work of Christian Boltanski, a Paris based installation artist whose work wrestles with death, memory and loss. I sat down for a while to get a hold of myself before moving slowly through the space, full of sorrow for the people who had been murdered - suffering brutal and merciless death.

We were told by our guide and Banner, our very well informed taxi driver, that clothes and bones were gathered from outside the church and the surrounding area and bodies were still being discovered to this day; pregnant women were held down on the altar, babies violently ripped from their bodes and we were shown a blood stained patch where a baby had been bashed to death against the wall. It was impossible to take it all in. Shocked and enraged I started to take photographs, forcing myself to witness this aftermath, present to the experience of my whole body in revolt against what I was seeing and had been told.


Outside in the courtyard two underground caverns have been dug to house countless bones and coffins, each containing the bones of 10 or more people. Walking along the short, very narrow, claustrophobic corridor, surrounded on either side by stacked coffins and shelves upon shelves of bones and skulls, some of which were cracked from the powerful blow of a machete, again brought the enormity of the crimes home. Feeling a bit nauseous, it was a relief to get back out in the open and feel- very aware of my alive body - fresh air in my lungs and warm bright sunlight ton my skin. The purple and white bunting blowing in the cool breeze, the pale blue sky, and brightly coloured flowers and the blue-green hills in the distance all quietly comforting, helping me to regain a sense of cohesion.



We drove on to Ntarama church, just a few kilometers away from Nyamata on the road back to Kigali. This genocide site has been left as it was after the bodies were removed. Again remnants of clothes were hung on the walls and also the rafters of the church. There were shelves of skulls (some very small), bones, piles of personal belongings and weapons. 5,000 were slaughtered at this site, mostly women and children. Behind the church were two small buildings where people had also been killed. One building was a Sunday school for the children the other a kitchen. Nearby there was a wall of names of the deceased, a work in progress. We all stood and walked around drying our eyes, taking in the devastation, feeling countless emotions and speechless. Then, dry-eyed, we signed the visitors’ book, left our donations and instinctively sought contact with the children who had gathered outside to watch the group of Muzungus. Amakuru? Amakuru? How are you? We called out. After a moment’s hesitation, their chorus response, Nymesa! Fine! brought a smile to all our faces, lifting our spirits as we got into the car to go.


We drove back in silence and stopped at Gahaya Links, a basket making business started by two Rwandans sisters, employing over 4,000 rural women, many widows from the Genocide. A few women were sitting together outside the main warehouse talking, one feeding her child, about to start making baskets. Inside, the splendour of their handiwork in countless colours and designs of traditionally woven baskets, bowls and mats. I received this sight as a celebration of traditional Rwandan handicraft skills and a testament to the enduring strength, survival spirit and sustained recovery among women in Rwanda.

Day of the African Child

Sunday 21st June 2009

It’s Sunday and I have an extra day off, resting, reading and relishing the extra time on my hands.

Last Tuesday was ‘Day of the African Child’, an annual event which commemorates South African children who lost their lives protesting against poor education….

“In Soweto, South Africa, thousands of black school children took to the streets in 1976, in a march more than half a mile long, to protest the inferior quality of their education and to demand their right to be taught in their own language. Hundreds of young boys and girls were shot down; and in the two weeks of protest that followed, more than a hundred people were killed and more than a thousand were injured. To honour the memory of those killed and the courage of all those who marched, the Day of the African Child has been celebrated on 16 June every year since 1991, when it was first initiated by the Organization of African Unity. The Day also draws attention to the lives of African children today. This year's theme is the need to ensure all children are registered at birth.” UNICEF

Four years ago We-Actx chose this as the day on which to celebrate the good health, future possibilities, hopes and dreams of all the children in the We-Actx programme, linking the importance of their lives to the wider history of Africa.

All age groups, from the 4-5 year olds to the 18-20 year old young adults, worked hard for weeks preparing for the day’s celebrations. Watched by proud parents, invited guests, local government representatives and We-Actx executive, many of them displayed their diverse talents during the half day programme of music and dance performances, poetry and comedy sketches. There were speeches from the We-Actx programme directors, the giving of prizes by to those who had excelled and also a few choice words from the United Sates Ambassador to Rwanda - including a smattering of Kinyarwanda, which had everyone raising their eyebrows, impressed.

The ambassador described the children as the ’lights of Rwanda’, and asked them all to look into each other’s eyes. “Can you see the light in the eyes of the person sitting next to you?” The children ogled each other. Some smiling brightly while others had fun pulling faces; some pensive while others were confused as to what was being asked of them. He then turned to the parents and asked, ‘Do you see the light in the eyes of your children? That light is the light and hope of Rwanda: the light from the future stars of your country.” I wasn’t sure how to interpret this. It reminded me of drama exercises I used to do while doing theatre studies in Amsterdam and creative personal development workshops I did in London soon after the shock of losing one of my beloved sisters. On the one hand I felt slightly embarrassed. It was so American, so cheesy. On the other, here was a very simple technique employed to bypass the critical mind and connect to the deeper place of hope and inspiration that is a perpetual source of creativity and love in us all. This is the light that shines so brightly in children unless it is dimmed and marred by the harsh consequences of social unrest, war or, in the case of Rwanda, Genocide. Poverty, HIV infection and the attendant maladies of ill health, mal nutrition, social stigma, lack of education, the trauma of genocide and genocide rape together with that of sexual abuse etc. all combine in different ways to impede the lives of the children and families all We-Actx staff and volunteers serve. There was something very special and necessary about this day of celebration that reminded everyone just how precious each and every one of the 600 odd children present that day really is and that in the wake of so much devastation, hope lives on in the lives and dreams of all Rwanda’s children.

Speeches were followed by a slap up Rwandan lunch of rice, spinach, bean stew and or meat stew, baked potatoes, macaroni cheese and a bottle of Fanta. The children were served first and, as a few of the volunteers queued up to get food for the children, I noticed several Rwandan guests or perhaps journalists taking the opportunity to photograph ‘mzungus’ (white or rich people) serving food. It was good to meet and mingle with more of the We-Actx staff and to see many of the women I teach out in their Sunday best. Happy, proud and enjoying a little respite from the hardship of their daily lives to celebrate the good health and future hopes for their bright and beautiful children. The event made the front page of a local paper, hailed as a success all round.

Teaching
Monday 22nd June 2009

Numbers in some of the groups seemed to be a little low and after a little investigation through the group counselors, we discovered that many of the women are tired: they walk a long way in the heat of the dry season to get to the class, or they have been working for hours before the class. They are hungry and thirsty and don’t have money for food and yoga is relatively or completely new to some. Speaking with Deirdre, who was instrumental in setting up the We-Actxyoga project over a year ago and overseas all the teaching, we are beginning to understand that the yoga we offer is not just a way to exercise and relax body and mind but also an opportunity to have some fun, feel happy, elevate serotonin levels and feel loved.

As a result, Hanna (my co-teacher) and I have loosened our teaching approach considerably. Astanga yoga follows a set sequence that is repeated each time one does the yoga practice. This is both a benefit and a possible drawback. On the plus side, once the sequence is learned, one has a very well designed yoga sequence for life. The down side is that the practice can lack creativity and become a bit too serious if followed to the letter blindly. Although heavily modified, the yoga we’ve been teaching the various groups has followed the Astanga primary series sequence fairly faithfully. Letting go of adherence to the set primary sequence even further has brought change, liberating creativity and freeing us up to be more playful and spontaneous.

Yoga classes taught after the emergence of this new understanding last week were much more fun. There are fewer struggles with the language, the adjustments and the pace and more connection to joy. Rearranging the sequence a little, including in a variety of balance poses, being led by spontaneous movements women made and weaving them into asana (yoga poses), things began to flow more freely. These small changes have upped the entertainment factor in our classes, making way for more laughter, more energy, more sweat and more of the “happy” hormone, serotonin. Serotonin occurs naturally in the brain and greatly influences an overall sense of well-being. Stimulated by exercise, laughter happiness it helps to regulate moods, temper anxiety, and relieve depression. It is also credited with being a natural sleep aid. All of which will go a long way to bringing health happiness and healing the women who come to class.

The notion of yoga as performance or entertainment might seem contrary to some but its ability to unlock, release and stimulate healing in the body-mind complex is now undisputed. I feel as if I’ve turned a corner and got my yoga teaching groove back!

Grooving
Tuesday 23rd June 2009

Its now the early hours of Tuesday morning and im still buzzing from the best an most sociable weekend yet in Rwanda. This included a delicious brunch overlooking a spectacular view of Kigali with a few members of the yoga group I teach at the American Embassy; a few films shown as part of the 5th Rwandan Film Festival and a twilight hour leaving party which offered all who went from the house their first dance in Rwanda. The band played butt shaking Congolese style music that, in spite of the sporadic problems with the mic and speakers, kept us going after other guests had gone. The waiting staff and musicians and our selves the last limber occupiers of that starlit, green dance floor.

Meeting the WE-ACTx Women and Children

Ineza Sewing Co-operative
Wednesday 11th June 2009

WE-ACTx has set up various projects and collaborates with various partner organizations to offer medical treatment, care and support for those living with HIV. Staff and service users of many the projects are offered free yoga classes by WE-ACTx Yoga a branch of the parent company. Ineza is an income generating in-house sewing and crafts co-operative set up by WE-ACTx in 2007 to make crafts and cloths for sale on the international market.

This is the longest standing yoga group that WE-ACTx Yoga support and has been running twice a week for two years. The women of the group are very familiar with the Astanga Yoga Primary Series and happily our stammering Kinyarwanda and tell us how to talk through the movements we are demonstrating. We teach yoga and we are taught Kinyarwanda. There are 25 women in the co-op. I have met about half of them. It is not always the same group present every week but there is hard core that are regularly there, ready and willing to get on their mats. A couple of the women have injuries that prohibit them from doing Astanga so a gentler style of Hatha yoga is necessary. Its wonderful to see that, in spite of the horrific experiences they have been through, the Ineza women have a high degree of body awareness and are not afraid to say if they don’t want to practice, they are tired, I’m going too fast or they have had enough.

Relaxation, Savasana - Corps Pose - seems to be the favourite time. It is perhaps the most healing time but also potentially the most risky time. All the women are genocide survivors and some of them were in churches, feigning death, as their kinfolk were hacked to pieces around them. Hanna and I have been warned never to take photos at this time as it can trigger PTSD flashbacks although gladly, we were informed, there haven’t been any for over a year. In the case of flashbacks, we have been instructed to stand back and let the women deal with the situation. They have learnt how to group round anyone who has been jolted back in time to horrific and terrifying events that are then relived as if occurring in real-time. The women know how to cope and do what needs to be done to help each other return to a place of safety. Never take photos in Savasana.

There is a photography issue in general. Volunteers are not permitted to take photos of anyone on any of the programmes unless we seek approval first. The Rwanda guide book advises to request permission when wanting to take photos of people, their shops stalls etc. So, posted photos are taken on routes too projects or looking out from project venues etc. Until i get some photo release forms signed. Under no circumstances are people to photograph any military presence or activity including soldiers or guards with guns, who I see often around town.

Nyabugogo

This is a relatively new group in the busy market district of Nyabugogo. The group has only had a few classes with Gail, the previous yoga volunteer. Many women come to see, speak with and be around their trauma counselor, Alice, and the feeling of health and healing that emanates from being together for the yoga. We practice on large reed mats, laid out to overlap each other and cover a large dusty floor. This is to accommodate the 5 or 25 women who may want to practice yoga while others sit on long benches against the walls and watch. We don’t have so many regular yoga mats so having a sticky mat each, although preferable, is not possible just now. We rely on people bringing a few with them when they arrive or leaving their behind when they go.

With this group, we are slowly building up the foundations of breath, body awareness and alignment, together with the strength and flexibility required to sustain the continuous flow of standing poses that make up the Astanga sequence. For now, we focus on warm up asana (poses) leading to few slow rounds of Sun Salutation A. We then do a few standing poses to prepare the women for Sun Salutation B. Some of the women tire easily because they are hungry, ill and have low energy or have injuries of some kind. They take time out, as they need to, sit against the wall and rest a while. After our last class (Wed 11th June), there was a tangible air of ease as the women eased into Savasana, to take rest on their backs. After a few moments, I found myself getting up and heading for my camera. Nooooo! Hanna, my co-teacher whispered urgently. I remembered instantly, halted in my tracks. How on earth could I forget, even for a moment? It was the look of peace on the women’s faces and the presence of peace in their bodies as they lay still resting that I wanted to avow. To see again and share with others at some other time to show that it is possible to feel a sense of safety and peace after experiences of extreme trauma, even if only for a few moment. It’s a good thing there are two of us teaching together. There is so much to learn and remember and of course mistakes can easily be made. Thankfully, with two of us, there is less chance of serious error. This is very comforting in the midst of so much that is new.

Nyacyonga
Friday 13th June 2009

This is a completely new yoga group that we have just set up at the Nyacyonga District Health Center on the outskirts of Kigali. It’s about 30 minutes from the centre and is the furthest class on my teaching schedule. I enjoyed the views whizzing past as we drove and took photos through the open car window. We got to the centre round 1pm as arranged, and introduced our selves at reception. Seraphine, the co-ordinator was occupied elsewhere so we took a seat on one of the long wooden benches and waited. We sat with 30 odd men women and children who were waiting to be seen for various reasons including from prenatal care, birthing, well-child care including vaccinations, diagnosis and treatment of acute illnesses such as malaria and endemic infectious diarrhea and HIV evaluation, care and treatment with antiretroviral (ARV) medications.

By the time Seraphine arrived it was a little too late for us to give the class. To clear the space, wait while everyone got changed have a decent time for the class and then pack up would have made us late for our next appointment. This was African yoga time – very different from English yoga time. I am learning to go with the flow, be more flexible with time and enjoy the space this gives to become more aware of and engaged with my surroundings. Still, we couldn’t let go of our schedule completely so had to disappointment those who wanted the class to start that day (Wedensday 11th) as planned.

We visited the Nyaconga group again today (Friday 13th). We arrived early to set up and allow for people to get ready. Still, we had to wait for some time for people to change and be ready to begin. This group is made up of the health centre staff and took place along a shaded corridor outside nursing rooms full of inpatients receiving treatment at the centre.

It was a very different experience teaching this group of well educated young people as opposed to the women service user groups, most of whom will not have had such a high level of schooling. Everyone was completely new to yoga, wondered what it was all about and wanted to know a bit about it before we began. Many of the participants wanted us to teach in French, some wanted English but we settled on Kinyarwanda so that everyone would understand and we could practice our talking through. It was a pleasure to teach such a lively group and experience their surprise and wonder as they executed movements they had not done before and encountered the bodily sensations, thoughts and feeling that came with this new form of breath synchronised exercise. It was also a challenge because they all chatted away through most of the class, some even answering mobile calls and texting as they went along. They ignored my suggestion to put aside their phones while doing yoga. Not seeing any reason why they should not. This reminded me of going to the cinema in London with my mum many, many years ago. My mother is Nigerian. I forget what we were seeing but we were quietly talking through the film. After a while someone behind us leant forward; “Shhhhh! Be quiet”. My mother, offended, turned round and raising her voice said, “What do you mean keep quiet? You can’t tell me to keep quiet.” She kissed her teeth and we carried on. For her, and me when I am out with her, it is normal to talk at social events, be it the cinema, theatre, live music, whatever. It’s a cultural thing. Relaxation was also different with this group. People found it hard to keep still and stop talking. Once the movement stopped, it seemed the session was over. We explained that relaxation was an important part of the practice.

The class was also attended by a whole host of people who had come to seek help and treatment at the centre, so we had a sizable audience for the proceedings with much chatting, laughing and commentary as it was a new experience for them also. I cant say whether this was a disturbing distraction for those doing yoga or whether is didn’t make any difference at all. Interestingly, after the class a few people wanted to know why the Sun Salutation greeted sun and not God. I said it was because the sun is the source of energy for all life on earth. This answer seemed to be acceptable. I look forward to seeing how the group develops as they become more familiar with yoga and discussing with them what they think about this practice from a cultural point of view. In London, people of African and Caribbean heritage make up a very small percentage to the overall yoga community. I often wonder why this is. I know there is a common perception in the black community that yoga is perceived as a religious practice and no not compatible with Christian belief. If anyone can shed any light on this, your comments will be very welcome.

Gadaffi Mosque
Sunday 14th June 2009

Over a hundred children between the ages of 4 and 20 gather every Sunday at the Gadaffi Mosque in Nyamirambo district to attend the children’s programme. They play football, take lessons in English, receive supportive and motivational talk reminding them to take good care of themselves, take their medicine, study well etc, and, at the moment, prepare for the Day of the African Child celebrations. The younger children 4-10 have been having yoga classes once a week for some time and love it. We hope to start giving yoga classes to the teenage girls in a week or two.

I first taught the children’s session last Sunday and had been looking forward to meeting them all week. After they had finished their weekly support and motivational talk from Bertin, who runs the children’s programme, about 40 odd of the younger children, ran over to where we were waiting in the outdoor yoga space, smiling, chatting and clamoring to hold our hands. What a welcome. The innocence and love that emanates from young children must be one of the eternal joys in life. The class is held on a big open square of dusty concrete without mats. Slowly we arranged ourselves into a circle, held hands and, with eyes closed, stood in silence for a while - the little ones peaking from time to time. This is how we commenced an hour of fun yoga. We did a few rounds of sun salutation A then tackled sun salutation B. Once in downward dog we counted to ten in English, Hanna and I doing our best to slow down their quickening pace. Trying to keep an eye on so many of them was almost impossible but amazingly most of them stayed with us. We played with various standing poses, balances and sitting partner work. It was definitely the highlight of my teaching week.

The session today was equally fun although the children were a little less focused and therefore more restless. We did more standing partner balances, trying to keep off the dusty floor and worked in smaller groups. They play well together but often want to have Hanna n I as a partner instead of each other. Especially Hanna because she is a muzungu – white person! After teaching the children and hanging out with everyone for a while, watching some of the chidren playing football, I walk back with hanna and other volunteers through the busy streets of Nyamirambo enjoying the sights to be seen, wishing i could have taken more photos.

Thinking about my teaching practice, usually flowing and full of detailed instruction, here it hobbles along awkwardly. Much as I feel I have reached a certain level of attunement in teaching yoga, my slowness in picking up the language throws me back to a that challenging and uncomfortable place we inhabit when learning something new. Without words, it feels at times like starting all over again. On the positive side, this is a wonderful opportunity for Svadhyaya, which means self-study. Using our experiences in life, our mistakes, hurts and challenges, joys and successes, to help us cultivate greater self-awareness that works for the betterment of our selves and our community and world at large. In this vein, it’s interesting to watch myself oscillating between and tussles with varying ego states of mind and emotion that are harsh and throw me off centre, clouding access to more forgiving inner resource. What is required here is that invaluable tool that new and old yoga students are encouraged to adopt: ‘the beginners mind’. This is the child-like attitude of open curiosity, uninhibited enthusiasm and a non-judgmental receptivity to new experiences. Teaching from this frame of mind, the inner critic, ever ready to judge, quietens.

Beginners mind enables a letting go of overly high expectations that I should be teaching flowing Astanga Vinyasa classes in fluent Kinyarwanda inside two weeks! Instead I attempt to fully inhabit my body and mind and tune into the present moment of experience and be with the women, children or mixed group I am teaching. The present moment of experience being the most potent place to be when learning anything new and the best place from which to meet all challenges that arise. As the Ineza women say, Buhoro Buhoro! - Slowly, Slowly! And as the late Pattabhi Jois would say, “practice, practice and all is coming.”

Arriving in Rwanda

Home away from home

It’s a full moon day today. I’ve been in Kigali, capital of Rwanda, for just over a week now and am still feeling my way around. I arrived here last Saturday night at about 10pm after a long day of travel. It took three flights over 12 hours to get from Cape Town to Kigali, via Johannesburg and Entebbe. I was so happy to see Marcel at the airport holding a sheet of paper with my name on it. We chatted a little as we drove the short distance from the airport to the We-Actx guesthouse in Kiyovu, where I will be staying. I had my head to the window most of the way, peering out over the darkened city enjoying, the night-lights liberally dotted around the numerous hills. Rwanda is known as the land of a thousand hills.

The house sleeps 8 people in 4 bedrooms. The open plan living area has French windows on opposite sides of the living-room/ dining area, giving the space a light, open feel. The veranda looks out onto a sizeable green, leafy garden that is home to some interesting looking birds. None that I recognize, but they wake us up at 5.30 am and are a delightful to listen to in the cool stillness of dawn. The sun rises swiftly a little before six and the weather is very accommodating. It’s the long dry season now, which runs from June to August. The days on the whole are bright and not too hot although it will get hotter as the season wears on. There are 7 of us here at the moment with people coming and going all the time.

Anyone from abroad who is affiliated with the We-Actx organization is welcome to stay at the guesthouse. At the moment we have Jessica and Shereen, two public health workers; Lisa, a gynaecology and obstetrics doctor; Mary, a Dr of psychologist specializing in trauma; Hanna, a multi lingual yoga teacher from Finland (we will be co-teaching yoga classes at the various We-actx projects during our three month stay); Jeff who just passing through on is on his way back to working on a project that offers economic empowerment and trauma counseling to child soldiers in Burundi and myself. Guests are well looked after by Candida who cooks delicious mostly vegetarian food for us and meat occasionally for those who want it; Josse helps with laundry and cleaning and Joseph guards the compound. The house is situated in a well-heeled part of Kigali. President Paul Kagame’s residence is just round the corner. The streets are wide, lined with shrubs and clean. There is little traffic on the roads in this art of the city so it’s relatively quiet and peaceful. I’ve only ventured out alone once so far and, apart from the anxiety associated with being in a new place and not knowing ones way around, I feel fairly safe. Lisa and Shereen leave today. Cathy the director of We-act arrives t and more volunteers will be here in July. I have my own room, the view isn’t bad, and I feel nicely settled in my new home away from home.

Preparing for work


The first couple of days this week were taken up with the handover from Gail, who has just completed 3-month yoga teaching here. She introduced Hanna and I to staff at the central We-actx clinic, in the city centre, where antiretroviral medicines, trauma counseling and yoga is given to service users. We were shown good places to have tea, to shop for provisions and gifts and to change money. We were shown several routes linking the guesthouse and the clinic and given a verbal run through of the various groups we will be working with.

Participating in Gail’s last few classes was useful preparation for teaching. She taught mostly I Kinyarwanda, the first language of Rwanda with a smattering of English and perhaps French too. French and English are spoken by those who have had access to education although French usage is dwindling slowly as English is officially implemented as the second language of the country. Kinyarwanda is not an easy language to get master so it’s going to be a challenge working with a co-teacher and an interpreter while picking up Kinyarwanda and French as I go along.

Driving up and down the numerous hills, on the way to and from various classes, it was a joy to get my first sight of the city in daylight. Every so often, another expansive view of the city would appear, giving a wonderful sense of space. Some hills are much more densely built up than others, but in every direction you look you will see green. The city centre and business district area are noisy, bustling and packed with people go about their daily business. People are not at all afraid to stare and hawkers abound selling airtime for mobile phones, sunglasses, tourist maps of Kigali and no doubt a hose of other goods that I haven’t registered yet. Although the traffic could be much worse, there are countless 4-wheel drive vehicles and seemingly hundreds of motorcycles, motos, all of which give off uncontrolled amounts of exhaust, leaving a toxic haze of fumes lingering in the hot Rwandan air - somewhat distracting from the natural beauty of the landscape.

During the second part of my first week I started teaching proper. As imagined, I’m on a steep learning curve. It will take a little time for everything to come together: To get to know the women and children I will be teaching, their bodily strengths and weaknesses, their energy levels and how best to serve them. For Hanna and I to establish the best approach to teaching the various different groups we will be working with while keeping it enjoyable and fun for us all.