Little Sweden

How surprising is the world, when you travel 16 hours by plane but still end up at a guest house called ‘Vi skogen’ (Swedish and literally means ‘Us forest’) and is run by a Swedish NGO (non-governmental organization) focusing on agriculture and forestry. The kitchen table is made out of light wood and reminds me of the one from my elementary school back home, and there is even a cheese slicer among the cutlery. Ah, sweet cheese slicer! I find Mr Slicer and Miss Rwandan Cheese make an extraordinary couple. (For cheese slicer click here, for Rwandan cheese there is yet no wiki-information available)

As you might suspect we are not the only Scandinavians here. There is another girl from Stockholm, and one from Denmark. The only exotic thing in this house is that the Danish girl is from the south part of Denmark, thus speaking with that very difficult Germanish-Danish accent. Other than that it feels awkwardly Swedish…

Outside our big house is a wall with safety net and a guard standing to open the gate twenty-four seven. I doubt the guard is really essential as Rwanda is probably one of the safest places I have ever encountered. However, this is one of the few ways for the Swedish NGO to give something in return to the local society: by hiring people and giving them a salary. Nonetheless, I wonder whether the Swedish Worker’s Union would, if having the chance, remark on the guard’s working hours which are twelve hours a day/ seven days a week. Or does the Swedish morality only count for Swedes?

Yesterday afternoon we went to a genocide memorial site and participated in a candle ceremony. It was peaceful, and very silent. As you might recall we went to a memorial last Monday but felt that it was not our place to be, and left very quickly. This time the atmosphere was calmer and although the people were expressing their grief it was very still. I guess a week of mourning is exhausting for everyone…
At the ceremony, the executive director for our supervising organization was there. He is an average sized Rwandan with a very stern face. For some reason he tends to make a remarkable impression on me. He seems very wise and calm, and just one of those people who expresses a ‘first-rate’ aura. It kind of made my day.

On our way home from the ceremony we grabbed one of the few minibuses around here in Kigali. The bus driver squeezes in four people on one row (back home its three people on one row). My legs never fit and during the ride I constantly feel like an oddball. On my way out of the bus I always either slam my head, my knees or my hips. Today was no different and I hit my hip really hard in the door opening. Picture of my bruised hip might come in the next post.

Thanks for reading.

Big misses, small kisses.

Yours truly,

agata