It is now almost seven weeks since we have been home and any excuses for still acclimatising are fast disappearing into the mists.
We used to have an alarm clock but this is another of life's little routines that we appear to have left behind us. Not that we have any difficulty getting ourselves up and about in the morning.
There are two words in Rwanda which the locals always recognise: amafaranga pfite. It means, loosely, there is no money.
We have just spent the day in Remera Rukoma, twenty miles west of Kigali, at a genocide memorial service of the Eglise Presbyterienne.
There is a children’s game that most mothers will recognise which goes “Head, shoulders, knees and toes …”. Well, Mrs.
We are starting to get used to the different styles of shop here in Kigali and have learnt not to take the first price that is offered for anything.
The other day I found myself on the taxi-bus up front with the driver.
Anyone that can remember ‘old money’ before decimalisation entered our lives may be familiar with the fond remembrance that one could get the bus into town, watch the pictures, have fish and chips