Small stories from a big world

  It strikes me every time I am in Belgium. I have been in the country for less than 24 hours and there I see it again. I make an effort to run the stiffness of the night flight out of my legs. It is still fairly cool and I enjoy the greenery, the exuberant summer vegetation. There are others out and about: joggers, walkers, cyclists. I greet ‘good morning!’ Sometimes there is a response, a greeting back or a smile. But very often there is surprise on the face of the recipient of the greeting, sometimes the greeting is ignored and sometimes I even notice a hint of fear, ‘help, what does this one want from me?’ It surprises me. In South Africa -and many other countries I have lived in- people greet each other. You greet a casual passer-by or the lady at the cash register. And if you know the person, like a colleague, that greeting is extended with ‘how are you?’. You do the same if you start a conversation with someone, want to make an appointment or ask in a shop where you can fi...

  Soon after arriving in Durban last year, I started looking for a pool to swim laps. From our offices, we can see a pool. It is blue and attractive, but it closes fairly early in the afternoon. Someone referred me to King's Park, an area that has more sports infrastructure like the Moses Mabhida football stadium built for the World Cup in 2010, and the rugby stadium. There is a large swimming pool complex with both an Olympic pool and a 25-metre pool. One is covered, the other open-air, but in winter the water is somewhat heated. Lovely, I thought. Only, more than once I could not swim there. One time I got there at 17:30, just after work, and found it was already closed, another time I couldn't access because the road was closed due to a cycling race, the third time there was a swimming competition and we weren't allowed in either, and the last time there was a ‘closed due to renovation – until further notice’ sign. So off we went in search of another place, and I fou...

  Christmas and New Year in Belgium. It is always a wonderful, busy time. Meeting friends and family, eating good food, laughing, reconnecting in conversations while walking. And telling stories. Stories about monkeys and leopard soft toys, for instance (see Territory 2 ). At many a table, theories were built about nature and nurture, about instinct or learnt behaviour. People shared pictures of leopard decorations, leopard-patterned clothes, leopard shoes and handbags. Then it was New Year’s day, time for the traditional new year’s wishes and exchange of presents. My godchild gave me a fairly impressive box. Not heavy, but bulky. Out came a leopard. A beautiful plush imitation of the real thing. And so I left Belgium, with a leopard - since been named Lazy Lu -in my suitcase. During my first week back it rained all the time. So Lazy Lu stayed inside. He is far too beautiful to get soaked, isn't he? Besides, those monkeys don't show themselves when it rains. They sit on...

In December, I visited St Lucia. A town about 240 km north of Durban. It is sandwiched between sea and lagoon and it is beautiful. A large nature reserve. That nature also just comes into the town. I saw a warthog grazing on a lawn in front of a house. And there are signs everywhere warning you about hippos. They walk in at night to have a taste of that tender grass. So it's better to move around by car after dark. And monkeys, of course! You can see them jumping from branch to branch in the trees, searching rubbish bins, shouting at each other. In short, nothing they don't do back home in Durban either. But one thing was different. On Sunday morning I am having breakfast served on a covered terrace. I sat at a small table between the garden and the breakfast buffet. The other guests had left early. A large troop of monkeys was roaming the neighbourhood, several of them in the garden of this lodge. But, how extraordinary, none made any attempt to take anything from the buff...

  A human being is a territorial animal. You can also see this instinct in how we try to protect our personal space. Just think of all the remedies gardeners in Europe used last year against snails. In the south, it's different pests again. In Vietnam, it was a matter of keeping rats out of the house. And cockroaches! Those really big ones with long antennae. You'd rather not hear them rustling in the dark. Accidentally step on them with your foot. Brrr. No, thanks. There are spiders and ants. In Rwanda, a cupboard was eaten by termites. Once a scorpion wandered in. Over the years, I learnt some techniques to kindly show these little uninvited guests the door or tolerate them, like the geckos whose droppings you find all over the place. Here in Durban, in the fairly tropical province of Kwa-Zulu Natal, you also have cockroaches and ants and things like that. But new to me are the monkeys that just move around in this urban environment. They are vervet monkeys. They are not ...

  Pressing the button on my remote. The garage door rolls up and I walk in quickly. It's raining, hard. That's convenient. The rain will wash away the dust that has accumulated on my car over the past few weeks. It seems symbolic. The rain clatters on the windows and washes away the last remnants of ‘holiday in Belgium’. It is quite a drastic transition. In so many ways. Saturday morning -still in Belgium- I still went jogging on a slippery road, my breath formed little white clouds and my gloves could not prevent my hands from stiffening from the cold. When I stepped off the plane on Sunday evening, it was as if a warm, wet towel was wrapped around my head. Thirty degrees warmer. Twenty-four hours of travel and being in a completely different world. Even before I leave the garage, I press the central locking button. It's safer that way. The steering wheel is on the right side. I reverse and merge into the left-hand lane. The indicators and wipers are also reversed....

  Spring Day is celebrated in South Africa on the first of September. It is not a public holiday, but rather a bit like Valentine's Day. I did look forward to spring after so many months of winter. Spring in the south of the southern hemisphere is completely different from Europe. You get up one day and suddenly discover blossoms on trees everywhere and it seems like it is full summer only a week later. Sometimes. Colleagues in Pretoria and friends in Bloemfontein mentioned very hot days, and then freezing winter temperatures again. Those fluctuations are not abnormal. But here, in the south, where it never gets very cold even in winter, the grey coolness just lingered. Lots of wind, lots of rain. Then, all of a sudden, I saw that splash of colour appear. On the way to work: a tree with bright yellow blossoms and a bit later, the purple shade of the jacarandas as well. What is perhaps even more beautiful is the effect when that purple opulence begins to fall. A road or playground i...

  The east lights up in beautiful pastel shades. It is 6:30am. I have been on the road for an hour and in the meantime I have covered the route that thousands of athletes ran last week, from Durban to Pietermaritzburg. Respect. Meanwhile, it is completely light. I drive through rolling countryside. It is cold. A thick mist hangs in the valleys. The road is busy. Trucks and holidaymakers. This is a long weekend and the winter school holidays have started. Tomorrow is Youth Day. It commemorates the 1976 police massacre of SOWETO schoolchildren protesting against Afrikaans as the language of instruction. On the radio, I hear a report on the first session of parliament after the 29 May elections. For the first time since 1994, the ANC did not have an absolute majority. This caused a lot of unrest: how would a coalition be formed? But there will not be a coalition. The ANC invited all parties to form a government of national unity. The new parliament re-elected the incumbent president R...

I have a day off today as it is election day. I drink a cup of coffee. The table wobbles. The waiter looks for a solution. You don't have card board coasters here as in Belgium. On the fence across the street a banner of the Independent Election Commission. It indicates there is a polling station on the premises. I passed several of them during my walk here. At all of them, people were lining up. Outside I see some party posters, mostly from the Democratic Alliance (DA) ‘save South Africa’ and Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) ‘land and jobs now! - stop loadshedding!’ It is unclear what the election result will be. In recent years, the share of the ANC -the majority party since the first democratic elections in 1994- systematically declined. Will that trend continue, and if so, how low will the ANC share fall? Is the new party, MK, with former president Zuma a serious threat? No idea. Among people I talk to about these elections, I feel some resignation (as in Belgium?): not know...

  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 ...

  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...

  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 ...

"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...

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...

  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...

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 ...

  Anyone who has ever lived in the sub-tropics or tropics knows them: termites. Small, industrious creatures with shiny heads and pale bodies. They are often mistaken for ants, but they are not even related to those. They make beautiful castles of sand and earth, where the colony -in an ingeniously created microclimate- works and lives in an intricate society. But they are not only found in those beautiful termite mounds. I have a small vegetable garden. There, I grow tomatoes, which are tied up on canes. Those canes get shorter and shorter. Because they get eaten at the bottom, the part that sits into the earth. Hungry termites in action. In big concrete boxes, I also have strawberries, or at least, I try to grow strawberries there. But there are many competitors around. Snails love the unripe fruit. After they have made their move, fruit flies finish their work. Then, when a fruit does escape those predators and shines red between the green leaves, a mouse bird will come an...

(Visual graphic from https://www.kwibuka.rw/)   Good Friday is a day of silence for Christians worldwide, the day when the death of Christ is remembered. This year, Good Friday was on 7 April. Here in Rwanda, 7 April is a day etched in the collective memory. It is the day of the start of the genocide against the Tutsi, 29 years ago now. In 1994 a ruthless massacre took place. The immediate trigger was the shooting down of the plane in which the then president was returning from peace talks. The plane's debris landed in the garden of the presidential villa. However, the cause was much more complex and had its roots in years of abuses, attacks, discrimination, exile, bad governance both before and after the colonial period. On 8 April, 10 Belgian paratroopers were killed. Belgium decided to withdraw its troops from the peacekeeping force that was already here, making the UN peacekeeping mission even more flimsy than before. It opened the door to an unprecedented and very wel...

  A phenomenon I experienced here for the first time is the fact that you can hear the rain coming. Yes, you read that correctly. You can hear if rain is coming. In this region, rain often falls in heavy downpours. Tropical showers with a force you rarely see in Europe. In Rwanda, het country of the thousand hills, those showers can be very local. One hill is transformed into a muddy mush and on the hill next to it the dust is still enthusiastically blowing in your nose. But usually that storm moves gradually over the city. Where I live I look straight at Kyovu, another hill. That's where the business heart of the city is and therefore where most of the tall buildings are located. When a storm hits that area first, that stretch of hill just disappears from view. The heavy rains form a curtain with no see-through. But even when I am not standing on my terrace watching the curtain closing, I can hear that the rain is coming. This is how it works: the rain falls with force on th...

  Everything is wet and muddy after a week of heavy rain. More than 160mm in a few days. Everyone suspects that this is the start of the rainy season. We are not sure, though. Here too, the seasons (normally two wet and two dry seasons a year) are no longer clearly defined. They come later or earlier, they last longer or shorter, are drier or wetter. That causes concern in a country where a lot of people depend on agriculture. But today a cautious sun peeps through the clouds. Time to do some work in the garden. The grass that still looked parched last week is already green again. Incredible how quickly that turns around. In the vegetable garden, I see that the weeds are growing faster than the tomatoes and beans. That needs some tidying up. There is so much clover among the mint that my next mojito might have a different flavour. That mint needs some breathing space. A little later, I am crouching among the mint. Hands full of mud, looking for the clover that has grown all the w...