It is Sunday, but Beatrice is going to a women’s council in the Northern Province as a representative of SNV and I accompany her. The district is called Burera and directly on the border to Uganda.
A SNV driver, Jane, picks us up early in the morning. She is supposed to come at 7 am, but we have to wait for her until 8 am. She was at the wedding the day before as well. The road to Musanze, another northern district west of Burera, is good. It climbs up the hills in many curves and there is enough space for two cars to pass without problems. Jane drives fast and overtakes the few other cars we encounter. Either left or right, there is always one open side of the road where I have a good view across the valley to the surrounding hills. Sometimes, I even look down on both sides at once. That is when we are exactly on the ridge. The hills in the distance are not clearly visible, but rather weak in colours, as if a whitish, milky veil covers everything.
At Base, one of the very few junctions, we turn right and leave the tarmac road, turning towards Burera. Now the big car proves to be of good use as Jane speeds along the red, dusty road. She doesn’t slow down noticeably. The air itself carries the smell of dust now and the plants next to the road are all covered with a red layer. Looking out of the back window of the car, I see nothing but a reddish cloud. People walking along the road carry immense bundles of branches on their heads and I see a couple with a young cow on the leash. Old ladies supporting themselves with long sticks stop and watch the car pass. Instead of climbing the hills, the road now leads through the valleys more often. I can see the land better and the people working on their fields. The patches are separated by grooves in the ground which makes it look like cushions. There are not many working on the fields, however. We come across many more people every time we pass through houses grouped around the street directly. They seem just to stand there in small groups, doing nothing. It is Sunday, of course, I remind myself. In one village, a small stream follows the street. It smells bad.
After two hours, we arrive at the district mayor’s office. The ride was shorter than I expected, especially compared to our trip to Nyanza in the Southern Province on Monday, but that must probably be mainly attributed to the good car and driving. The venue of the council itself is not the office though but a different building on the top of a hill with one big hall. Women are already gathered inside, singing songs and more are walking towards the hall. Most are dressed in the traditional way with a long skirt and a piece of cloth in the same thin material draped around the torso like a toga. The women’s council’s president and the moderators are wearing this outfit completely in white which somehow reminds me of Roman priests. In front of the entrance, women present handicraft on two tables. Knitting work, baskets and jewellery fashioned from the horns of cows. I meet the district’s mayor, the council’s president and two members of parliament on district level who will participate in the meeting.
At first, the mayor looks at the handicrafts presented by the women and talks to them and then I follow the group inside. While they take their seats behind the table on the stage, I find a place among the attendants and watch the meeting from there. There is not much more I can do apart from watching because the meeting is held entirely in Kinyarwanda and all I understand is ‘Murakoze’ (thank you) and occasionally ‘amazi’ (water). I am therefore a bit surprised when I hear my name and realise that the mayor wants me to come to the front. I hesitate, but then go on the stage as well. Beatrice hands over the microphone to me. ‘Just greet them.’ I say ‘Muraho’, nod once and hope that it is enough. During the first part of the meeting, a number of dances are performed. Sometimes, when one of the speaker says something, the attendants respond all together with certain phrases. The atmosphere is good. Occasionally, the attendants laugh about remarks of the speakers and when they applaud, they make a high noise like ‘wheeeeea’. Nobody seems to be disturbed by the whining of small babies that were brought to the meeting with their mothers. It is a women’s council. I think the mayor here is popular. At least, he makes a good impression on me while he is speaking. During one speech, the women are asked to participate as well and many hands are risen to ask questions or give statements. All the women know how to express themselves. Of course, I don’t understand what they are saying, but they talk without stammering or pausing. Later, Beatrice explains to me that they have all been elected and many of them are teachers, business persons or other public persons. I notice that most of them have nice leather bags. They take notes during the speeches.
Apparently, there is a lot to discuss and a lot of information to give. The meeting takes long. Once, I see a woman sleeping. Now and then, one or two of the participants on stage leave their seats to make phone calls and at times, the table is rather empty. It is about 3 pm when they are finished and everybody gets lunch and drinks.
Once we have said goodbye to the mayor, Beatrice and I go back to Jane and the car and make our way back to Kigali. This time, I also try to take pictures while we are driving. On one slope in a wooded part, I see a group of men chopping wood. As it gets darker, only the outline of the hills in the distance is visible. I know see how men, women and even kids water their land by scooping water from the ditches between the patches and directly squirting it onto the field. We are back on the tarmac road, when suddenly I notice high, modern buildings on the opposite hill and recognise that it must be Kigali, the only city like this here. I think that we are almost there and am surprised how fast the time went by, until I realise that we have to go along this hill first to reach the valley, go back through the valley and then up the other hill to reach Kigali. However, it doesn’t take too long and soon the usual motorbikes crowd the street and I recognise certain buildings and signs.
