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Green

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  Durban CBD and harbour at sunrise Basking myself in the warm glow of the sun's rays broken by an orange parasol. In front of me a glass of water. I am waiting for my lasagna. Behind me the buzz of a busy restaurant, half inside, half outside on the terrace and pavement. Across the street, the grass illuminates bright green in the sun. Here and there the dark shade of giant trees. This is Durban. The city I have been traversing for a week now in search of a suitable home. I realise that what I have seen so far is only a slice of this gigantic city, a carefully selected slice, where it is safe for me to move around. But what a place this is. How different from Kigali. Less well organised, less clean, less safe, for sure. But also much less sterile, much more vibrant and diverse. It is nice to be back in a place where people greet enthusiastically on the street or in the shop, where public space is alive and vibrant. Across the street, a family is having a picnic in the park. I
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Bubble wrap

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  I am holding the candle holder my godchild modelled and glazed. I reach behind me into a box full of wrapping material. A piece of tissue paper, then a sheet of bubble wrap. That’s it. Nicely wrapped. I place it in my trunk. Safe, for a long journey. It's that time again. I'm packing up my house. Well, it didn’t feel like my house anymore in recent weeks, as furniture disappeared, and curtains were taken down. The garden is already showing signs of neglect. I am moving out. Again. With the cups, plates, baskets, and books, I am also packing up my life in Rwanda. I see the densely populated hills, the rice in the valleys, the black and white stones at the edge of every road, the children running with me - shouting loudly "mzungu"- as I pass them on my bicycle. I muse on the eventful years I spent here: of COVID times, of austerity and other challenges. I think about the resilience and will of the people I work with, about how we worked together. How we conquere
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Intruder

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  Saturday afternoon. I have just come home from the fruit and vegetable shop. Two heavy shopping bags are strapped to my scooter. I untie the stretchers and drag them one by one to the front door. I unlock the door and kick off my shoes. Whew, now to carry the bags to the kitchen. I walk through the living room and see that Staf the Giraffe has fallen over. Staf is a South African giraffe made of iron wire and beads. Three of those giraffes stand in a row. Staf is the smallest and sometimes a bit unstable. He sometimes falls over when I bump into him. My brain registers it as I walk past it. Staff is on the floor. But he wasn't on the floor when I left. Did I bump into him on my way out? I enter the kitchen. There are two objects on the floor there. The first is a dish of cockroach poison that is otherwise neatly shoved under a rack. It now lies a meter from that spot. There is also a crocheted coaster on the floor. This one is normally lying on my coffee table, in the living
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Belgian endives

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"Guess, what I found in Go Green?", is my message to a Belgian colleague in Rwanda. Attached is a picture, the one you see above. Go Green is the shop where I buy almost all my fruits and vegetables. When I was recently here, I just went to the market, as I did in Vietnam. But that didn't last long. The market near here is small and a bit dirty. The produce is often not so good quality either. So I went to Kimironko market. A very big market, which tourists also like to visit. I was a bit overwhelmed there. My bag almost snatched from my hand by someone who wanted to help me carry. Others following close. Since I had no idea of prevailing prices, I couldn't haggle properly, had the feeling I was cheated. On the way home, I thought: not again. Supermarkets are not really an alternative. Most supermarkets here have a very limited fresh food section. Tomatoes, onions, potatoes, papayas and bananas. But not much else. Go Green, then. Nice and easy: not so far, ever
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Bats

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It is actually far too late when I step out of the door. Another busy day behind me. In the car park, only my bike is left. The night watchman opens the gate for me and I toil up the steep slope. It is dark, but not quite yet. The clouds contrast darkly with the rest of the sky. When I reach the main road, I hear the sound. A loud twittering, croaking. It's hard to describe, but I know what's going on. Time to get off my bike and look up in the safety of the pavement. The sky is dotted with dark, flying animals. They look like birds, but they are not. Bats. There is a large colony African fruit bats that houses in the trees a little further up. If you step past you can smell them. There must be a lot of dung under those trees. During the day they hang quietly down a branch, taking a nap. Well, quiet is not the right word either. There is actually constant movement in that big hanging animal pile. There's always one stretching its wings, not content with its spot under the
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Dust

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  It is dry here, very dry. It hasn't rained since May. That's normal. If all goes well, the rainy season will start again in September. The grass around my house is barren. The plants in the garden are covered with a layer of sand. I live at a dirt road. Apparently there is a system here in Kigali that works as follows: if residents of a street – not a major traffic artery of course - are willing to invest a substantial amount themselves, the municipality will supplement the cost and pave the street. But that has not happened here as yet. A dirt road, that generates dust, especially in the dry season. An unpaved road is preferable to a bad asphalt road, at least if it is maintained from time to time. A road grader, with some kind of scraper attachment, then repairs the road surface. Moving back and forth across the road the grader removes washboard ridges, potholes and other irregularities. But when a car drives on it, it is automatically followed by a cloud of dust. M
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When a seed becomes a tree

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I have wanted to grow my own papayas for a long time. I undertook several attempts. First, I planted some seeds from a fruit I just ate. No success. Even though I literally looked the plants out of the ground, the seeds remained hidden in the topsoil. A little later, I saw plants germinating on my compost heap. I carefully scooped them out of the heap and planted them neatly in a pot. They didn't like that. They died one after the other. Not a success either. The plan went on ice for a while. Until a few months ago, when I decided to use my compost to enrich the soil in my vegetable garden. A week later, every inch of free space had been taken up by little germinating plants unknown to me. The insight came when those first baby leaves gave way to the more recognisable leaves. Papayas, papayas everywhere. They came as if grass had been sown. So, I weeded and left one here and there to grow big and strong. I transplanted those young plants, about 20 cm high, into the soil, between
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