Small stories from a big world

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...