Independence day

While Beatrice is at the church, I spend the morning watching the show for the independence day on TV. Most of the time they are talking in Kinyarwanda which, of course, I don’t understand, but I can watch the performances. The celebration is held here in Kigali, in the stadium. On our walk through Kigali the day before, I have seen it from outside. Now on TV, I follow how groups of soldiers march in orderly lines past all these very important persons present at the ceremony and perform something like a dance, displaying their strength. After more speeches, the camera focuses on a small group of men, dressed in ordinary clothes, walking across the grass in the middle of the stadium. I wonder if something is going wrong, but it is all part of the show. Three women, or maybe three other men dressed as women, enter from a different side and are attacked by one of the men. The fight they begin is of an almost artistic nature and the three women leave the battle triumphant, supported by the laughs and cheers of the audience. Another group of women and men perform a traditional dance and sing. More speeches follow. I understand the greetings of ministers, presidents and other persons of high rank from surrounding countries that are repeated at the beginning of seemingly each speech. 

A young girl in a blue dress stands up and says something, changing the microphone from the right to the left and back to the right hand in order to underline each sentence with the respective free hand. She looks satisfied when she takes her seat again. I would really like to know what she was saying. 

The president is just leaving the stadium with a convoy of cars, followed by the beat of drums, when Beatrice comes back home and we have lunch. 

In the afternoon, we want to visit Emmanuel, her son, at his boarding school. It is the first Sunday of the month, so it is visiting day. Beatrice has a small car that we take to go there. A driver, Bennet, meets us at the next junction and we also pick up a friend of Beatrice, Alex, who wants to accompany us. Before we leave the main part of Kigali, Beatrice buys some chocolate, two small green apples and two exercise books for Emmanuel. The visitors are not allowed to bring any food from outside to the school, but she is going to try anyway. The ride is not long and soon we arrive at Nu Vision school. Cars are already queuing in front of the gate, guarded by two men in uniform. The style of the cars is the first indicator that this is not a school for everybody, but for families willing and able to pay a decent amount of money for a good education. Passing the guards, Beatrice shows her visitor’s card and receives a piece of paper. It reminds the visitor that no food is allowed to be brought from outside. Children found with food that is not from within the school will be suspended immediately and their parents are requested to take their children home in that case. The apples are well packed in Beatrice’s bag. 

We walk up a grassy hill and look out for Emmanuel. The school’s buildings look tidy. The classrooms have doors and the windows are glazed. Families sit together on benches in the shadow of bushes and trees. Looking down from the hill I can see across the valley to the flank of the next hill. Beatrice finds Emmanuel who brings another bench for us and something to drink. He is tall and slim and laughs when he sees the apples that Beatrice sneaks into his hands. I can’t follow most of their conversation, but Beatrice switches to English when they are talking about his exams. She wants me to tell Emmanuel, how important French is and that he should not neglect it. He asks me if I can read a French novel. I would rather stay out of this conversation, but can’t deny that actually I can read a French novel. However, the conversation is mostly cheerful and I am content looking around and watching other students with their families. They definitely belong to the well-off people. I even see one young man playing with an iPad. 

Before it is even getting dark, we have to leave. Visiting time is over. We stay as long as possible. Most of the benches are already empty when we say goodbye. 

Apart from independence day, it is also the day of the final between Italy and Spain. Bennet drops Beatrice, Alex and me at a bar in Kigali where we want to watch the match. The table behind us is occupied by a group of white men. One looks at me as if I should recognise him or acknowledge that we share the same skin colour. I think they are Italian. First, we have something to drink and eat. Both of my companions want me to try a beer, discussing whether it is really local or from Europe. As food, a plate of grilled goat meat and banana is ordered. I am glad that it is already dark, when the food is served. I am glad I can’t see exactly how the meat looks and I am glad the others can’t really see how I eat. I bet the fat is more visible on my skin then on theirs. Still, it tastes good and as it is dark, I don’t mind eating with my hands, trying to rip the meat from the bones with my teeth. While eating, we talk about music and crops. Embarrassing, that I don’t know enough to answer Alex’s questions better and it doesn’t help that it is kind of hard for me to understand what he says. ‘Germany is better in producing cars’, I say and that answer is readily accepted. 

For the match, we move from our table to a group of chairs facing a screen where a number of men are already sitting. I want Spain to win, Alex supports the Italians and Beatrice moans at every missed chance for a goal. After the first half, Beatrice and I decide to watch the rest at home, because we are both too tired and cold to stay longer. As the driver has already taken the car home, we catch two motorbikes. Usually, I like riding the motorbike, but for some reason, this is not the case today. Probably not only because of the cold wind, I am shaking, one hand clutching the back of the bike, the other one pressing my bag to my side. I clench my teeth without meaning to and my neck is tense. I hope that they drop us before leaving the big tarmac road, but in vain. Somehow, we reach the house, I get down from that disastrous vehicle and knock the gate.