The morning started out great – water AND electricity. I was spoiled. Dorothy, Christine and I had a breakfast Kibungo style: amazing Rwandan coffee, brick bread – toasted, small yellow bananas and a boiled egg. Then, off to apply for our green card. This involves a trip to the bank to wait in line to pay the 5000 Rfw fee, then to Rwandan revenue for a certification that you have paid the fee, then a wait at immigration until the officer arrived from the border. All in all it only took three hours. Most of this was spent waiting but we did manage to talk about work a lot and “plan” for the next year. Then we hopped on a bus with locals and chickens to go to the post office. My parcel was there! I was so happy to get it. I love to get mail here. The post office is across from the prison and I think there may have been Gacaca courts today because it was really busy. Back on a chicken bus to meet Epi for lunch. My plan was to go to the school after I said good bye to Dorothy and Christine. But on the walk home, I was not really paying attention and chatting too much, and wearing flip flops and the next thing I knew I was falling and rolling on the gravel! I got up with red dirt all over my clothes and even in my newly acquired wounds. Ouch! The heaviness of my parcel from home is what did me in, I think. The weight of it had me rolling over without any control. What is in this thing??? Of course the local ladies clucked and said “Pay attention” in Kinyarwanda, of course with a smile and hint of concern. I got back and was sore and a bit cranky so I phoned the school and rescheduled my visit. Then I opened the VSO issued first aid kit to clean the wounds. So, what did I do to make myself feel better? Opened the parcel from my parents! It was wonderful. We all opened a Reese packaged and savoured the sweet taste of chocolate and peanut butter together. (It was Dorothy’s first experience with the taste of, what I like to call, "heaven"). I think I'll save the rest and eat them very slowly. We had a good laugh when I got to the bottom and saw that my parents had enough Canadian flags for the entire town of Kibungo – and one especially for Christine – a Quebecoise! So, thanks mom and dad! It made my “owies” hurt a little less.
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