In Rwanda

31 January 2016. Kigali, Rwanda. My journey to Uganda starts with two days stopover in Kigali, Rwanda; it’s closer to my destination than Kampala, Uganda’s capital city. My hitherto scant knowledge of Rwanda was limited to a deep disquiet over its past as the site of one of the twentieth century’s bloodiest genocides ( an event openly and sorrowfully acknowledged by its mostly young inhabitants) and the useless, though accurate, piece of wisdom that Rwanda is very green. I’m spending barely 48 hours here before journeying north into Uganda. The twenty-four hour journey from Toronto to Kigali (including a few hours pause in Addis Ababa) was draining and I’m eight hours out of alignment with my immediate past. I decided to take Saturday as a day of low ambition, rest and recuperation. I have a room in a modest, pleasant and locally-owned hotel which, like much of Kigali, it is perched on a hillside with a commanding view of a strikingly suburban valley stretching away left and right. Below me, nestled in the valley floor, is Kigali’s folksy-looking city centre; from here it looks just like any English High Street.
Twenty years on from its dark episode, Rwanda is earning a reputation as the Singapore of Africa; it is prosperous, very law-abiding, clean, happy and yes, green. Oh, and no plastic bags allowed, imagine! And the morning of the last Saturday of every month (yesterday) is clean-up day.  Everyone – well just about everyone is required to clean and tidy their neighbourhood!  No cars on the road, no shops open, just get out and clean up; and if you’re not on task where you belong you’d better have good reason. Try those simple dictates in any number of western countries and well, they just wouldn’t fly, you need a benign dictatorship; hence perhaps the Singapore analogy.
From the balconies of the hotel I have watched large numbers of Black Kites riding the warm air. Like Turkey Vultures in the Americas they patrol the skies in soaring and sliding groups, always on the lookout for a meal to scavenge. I saw Black Kites in Spain two Septembers ago where they rather thrilled me, just the mere sight of them, a new experience, drifting in purposeful groups on their way leaving Europe for the winter. I have tried without luck to photograph a kite in flight but was delighted when, moments ago, one stopped beside me to watch me write this post.

Black Kites share the sky here with Pied Crows, just like any old crow anywhere but with a white saddle and breast; they look like they’re on their way to becoming a Magpie; I have to admire them.
I leave for Uganda in a few hours. Postings will become very hit and miss.