Drama before we’d wiped the sleep from our eyes: Anne knocked a container of our home-made jam out of the truck, leaving a sticky trail down the steps onto the ground. Vicki and I just looked at each other and got on with the morning. The "jam, incident" was the stick that broke the camel's back, and Kelvin promptly disbanded the Ann/Geoff cooking team.
Water at last so ended up had another wash, even though I'd washed just last night. We then filled up the truck as school children performed morning exercises and marched around their quadrangle, a white girl (not an albino) with long blonde hair braided into a plait standing out from her black companions. Then they filed into their classrooms singing and the singing continued from inside. Another group passed us, two lines of bouncy and happy children holding hands accompanied by two teachers, everyone singing loudly and rhythmically and waving back at us, wide grins and flashing teeth.
Sat in the patisserie listening to the continuing Bob story: a plane had left for Nairobi at 6.15am with one empty seat. Eventually he took the plunge, packed his stuff and headed off to fly to Kigali in Rwanda, without a visa, to try to connect to Nairobi connection from there. His head spinning with the rapidly changing situation, he’d removed his gold chain to wash and left it at the camp and then forgot the champagne to celebrate Karen’s arrival. Eventually we bid him farewell, sending him on his way with our best wishes and Myrta’s good luck charm around his neck.
We left Goma and started around Lake Kivu on winding dirt roads overlooking patchworked valleys, cultivated hollows and tiny villages, and spectacular sweeps of lake and islands, lush promontories, and tree reflections. Cloud-topped mountain ranges rose in the distance. We made many photo stops and a water stop where we all washed clothes. I couldn’t resist another body wash despite the water being cold, fibrous and smelling strongly of cow poo, not surprising given that the muddy path down was heavily scored with hoof prints. Jim held court from the truck, giving English lessons to the gathering crowd. Spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between Africa for real and Africa according to Wilbur Smith.
We camped on a tiny, grassed area just beside a flowing stream below a hillside village, a large tree providing an aerial viewing platform for local children.
The following quote must have taken my fancy for I wrote it in my diary. NEWSWEEK – Editor Christy McHuliff
“Age robs us of the instinct to go forward without a backward glance.” Fortunately, I have continued to go forward throughout my life, albeit glancing back sometimes.
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