There are two words in Rwanda which the locals always recognise: amafaranga pfite. It means, loosely, there is no money.

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.

Having travelled and lived in Africa it is a bit lame that we can't report meeting anything very dangerous along our path.

We awoke yesterday morning after another four hours sleep with nothing in the larder.

We have only been away three months, and it has to be said, not much has changed. A small boy greeted us the other day as we walked into town. "Give me money!" is something we have heard often.

One of the bonuses of living an itinerant lifestyle is that every now and again one is reunited with one's belongings and it is like Christmas has come early.

There has been change in the air this last couple of days. It was cool and muggy yesterday.

We have learnt that Africans are not above plagiarism. There is a brand of Kenyan margarine here, cunningly disguised like something sold at home. This one is called Blue Band margarine.

Those of you who have been following the blog will have seen that we have already spent two and a half hours at the visa office collecting forms and handing them in.