Stage Fright.

Some materials distributed at the Africa Institute launch.

Nairobi, Kenya – Gazing out from Taifa Hall's stage at the University of Nairobi, I was a little surprised to see the room half-filled with students.

It was 7:30 a.m.

Both Barack Obama and Hilary Clinton have spoken from the spot on which I stood, and I was mildly encouraged to see two young men begin untangling snakes of wires to set up a PA system. Then they indicated it was for the class they were holding in a half hour.

Our event was to begin at 9:30.

It was a rather inauspicious beginning to the launch of The Africa Institute at The University of Western Ontario, which is the whole reason I am here in the first place. Though we had reconfirmed the location the day before, we quickly began the mad scramble for a new space.

Moving to a room thick with brewing humidity, we hastily began moving chairs, placing materials, building the dais, removing a giant Chinese bust and summoning water for guests. Several key people were nowhere to be found and, even after getting the room set in time, the waiting game began for various officials. Sometimes, one must simply roll with the cultural differences that can exist related to time and organization. Hamna shida, as they say here.

The elevator had broken, too, and a couple of us set out to carry a handicapped alumnus who could not climb the three flights of stairs to the event. Sundry duties as assigned. Unfortunately, we did not make it in time and he had already left.

A banner announces the institute at University of Nairobi.

At this point, I have managed enough events to know they generally work out, despite the often-harried preparations that go into them. I liken such announce- ments to weddings: sometimes specific details do not fall exactly into place, but at the end of the day, meeting the objective of professing your love or meeting with partners and launching an institute is what is really of importance.

An hour later, the Institute was officially announced. The initiative brings together more than 150 researchers, graduate students and postdoctoral fellows at Western who are working with partners across the continent to advance research efforts with, by and for Africans. It seeks to become a world-class institute advancing scholarship and policy development related to African society, politics, economy, culture and health through research.

After hearing from a series of dignitaries and researchers, we broke bread on the lawn at the centre of the university and had an opportunity to speak more informally with guests and enjoy a Kenyan lunch of ugali, chicken, beef, vegetables and assorted other tasty morsels.

By all accounts, the event was a success, and the Institute has been formally announced to the world.

Even after two hours of madness, that’s what really matters.

Coffee and TV.

Facing of one of the buildings at University of Nairobi.

Nairobi, Kenya – As we sat down to breakfast this morning, several Kenyan military vehicles sped past, with one stopping to unload in front of the hotel.

There’s nothing like an AK-47 with your morning coffee.

Osama bin Laden’s death has brought heightened security throughout the city, particularly for potential Al Quaeda targets. It makes sense given that bombings at embassies here and Dar es Salaam, Tanzania in 1998 first brought bin Laden into the American consciousness.

Despite the commotion, today was spent preparing for tomorrow’s launch of The Africa Institute at The University of Western Ontario, being held at the University of Nairobi. In the morning, we visited the campus – conveniently located a zebra crosswalk away, directly across the street – to scout locations and to take photographs. At one point, we were questioned to see if we had permission to do so, and were escorted by an older man with a cane to the security office we had just visited. Confident there were would be no issues, we dropped the Vice-Chancellor’s name during the walk back and awaited his verdict.

Of course, by this point, we had already amassed all the photos we needed, but we were given the okay to continue.

The afternoon was spent preparing marketing materials for the event, and my floor was quickly littered with empty plastic bags from the lapel pins I speared into business cards. I looked like a drug dealer with an abundance of dime bags. As time progressed, my fingers numbed from repetitively opening and closing the clasps, but the pins look good, and will be a nice token of appreciation for our guests.

With all of our team members in town, we held a team dinner at the hotel restaurant, Tatu (no longer just a Russian pop group). As my stomach rumbled, my plate arrived with tandoori spiny lobster and truffled Parmesan French fries.

Need I say more?

Snakes on the Plains.

How many politicians do you spot?

Nairobi, Kenya – As clouds recoiled into the sky, trees of snakes waved hypnotically like Medusa’s uncoiffed mane.

We decided to visit the Snake Park at Nairobi National Museum, which consists of a few glass cases containing a cobra, some rather large pythons and a number of mambas, as well as a treed, open-air setting with dozens of snakes. In turn, they rose and fell like the LED lights of an equalizer.

Some green, some red, others silver, the thin reptiles slithered out of the foliage like living branches. Others attempted to climb the wall that divided us, but could not sustain the strength before they fell back to the grass.

All the while, two tortoises moseyed along, ambivalent.

At the end of the visit, I even had an opportunity to wrap a ball python around my neck like a fine patterned, scaly foulard.

Meat being roasted at The Carnivore.

If I had worn it to dinner, the snake would likely have wound up on the losing end of a traditional Maasai sword, and thrust into a charcoal pit.

I have long looked forward to having a meal at The Carnivore, which has twice been named one of the world’s top-50 restaurants and boasts (and bastes) an assortment of roasted meats. While exotic game is, obviously, no longer available (no need to decide between the dark and light meat of a zebra), we still had waiters making rounds between our tables with swords of meat they would cut off onto our plates: camel, crocodile, ostrich, ox testicle, lamb and even a full turkey.

Appropriately, to signify the end of the meal, you don’t just raise a white flag, you try to summon the energy to lower one at the centre of the table.

There’s a reason The Carnivore is referred to as “Africa’s best eating experience” – it was a tasty show.

Day 16: Something to Quaff that Thirst.

Kitabi, Rwanda – As far as the eye can see, rolling green hills sprout foot-high plants that produce the tea I’ve been consuming a lot of lately. Watching stooped women with large bags slung over their backs perform the arduous task of picking the leaves, it’s obvious I’m indulging in one of the region’s specialties.

While I’m not normally much of a tea drinker, it’s nice to know it’s produced nearby, and to participate in the local culture. That it’s a great help in my battle to keep warm hasn’t hurt its appeal either. Tea with milk (chai) is also quite common, though I’ve found that it’s often made with powdered milk, which – for whatever the reason – I’ve tended to avoid.

Strangely, while Rwanda also produces coffee, I haven’t had many opportunities to enjoy a nice cup of local brew. Instead, what’s generally offered is a small red tin of Nescafe powdered crystals produced in Kenya – not quite what I had in mind. The search is on, though.

Given the tropical climate, fresh fruit juice is also a popular choice, though it’s best as a foreigner to be sure you know what kind of water has been used to dilute it. If it’s from the tap, you’re best to pass. I’ve had the passion fruit juice a couple times, which is quite sweet with a touch of a tang, and a popular choice around here. Plus, it just sounds cool to say to the waitress, with one eyebrow raised, “Passion”, with a seductive emphasis on the first syllable.

The chagrin I felt last year about the ubiquity of soda products is repeated here, though they seems to be less overtly advertised. There are fewer Coca Cola huts slinging glass bottles of the fizzy drink and fewer buildings either painted the familiar bright red or festooned in Coke banners. I wonder if this may be partly because the climate is more temperate and less dry.

Oddly enough, the generic term for soda here is Fanta (which is a Coke product), though you must specify if you’d like orange or citron, or a Coca. A bottle here is not quite as cheap as in Tanzania, but is still inexpensive, running around 300 FRw, or about 60 cents. Conversely, a small bottle of water generally costs about 500 FRw – a dollar – so the same problem exists.

The two main Rwandan beers are Primus and Miitzig, though many people also drink Amstel, which is Dutch. Interestingly, unless you specify otherwise, you will be brought either the large 75 Cl bottle, or two smaller bottles, depending on the make (Amstel doesn’t produce the larger version). Though I haven’t come across any yet, Rwandans area also known for their ‘home brew’ – a banana beer.

Primus is seen as the more blue-collar beer, where Miitzig comes clad in a shiny white foil label. While something may be lost in the translation, someone told me people here have an expression about Primus; it’s the beer that makes children say: “Daddy, please stop taking beer so that we can afford to buy sugar.” A large bottle will set you back just more than a dollar. The expression about Amstel, on the other hand, is to the effect of: “Anna-Maria, go home and make the bed.” I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.

One last note on beverages: as people drink beer, soda and water both ways, you’ll also have to specify if you’d like it cold (“aconje”) or warm (“inshyushye”).

Day 15: Removing the Mask.

Kitabi, Rwanda – Only 40 per cent of Rwanda’s estimated 8.5 million citizens are considered employed and, of them, 75 per cent are their own bosses. The average per capita income is only 62 cents a day. In short, this is one of the poorest countries in the world.

I’ve written previously that the abundance of food and vegetation can sometimes seem to mask the extreme poverty that exists here. Walking through a modern city like Kigali – with its hustle and bustle, well-dressed business people and a recent housing boom that has led to the rise of hundreds, if not thousands, of mansions – it can be even harder to fathom.

But Kigali is not representative of the country as a whole. No, this is a country where 94 per cent of people live in rural areas and where 87 per cent are engaged in agriculture and its related trades. There is very little industry here and 60 per cent of the population is under the age of 20. In 2004, the per capita gross domestic product was estimated to be a mere $228. Statistics can be a little numbing, or awakening, depending on your perspective.

In somewhat of a paradox, this is actually quite an expensive country, particularly when compared to others on the continent. The cost of accommodation in Kigali, for example, is on par with anything you would pay in Canada and potentially more expensive in relative terms when you consider the amenities offered. The lack of industry and a reliance on imports also increases the cost of everyday goods.

It’s enough to make you reassess your opinion of what poverty is, which has been gnawing at me of late. Generally, I’ve personally tended to define poverty as a lack of opportunity – for sufficient food, nutrition, shelter, health and access to education or gainful employment – but the poverty here is different from what I witnessed in Kenya and Tanzania.

Here, food is rarely a problem and with better nutrition generally comes improved health. HIV/AIDS infection rates aren’t as high as other sub-Saharan countries. Following a government mandate, there are few thatch houses remaining and people live in solid homes with steel or tile roofs. But Rwanda’s people are no less impoverished.

The Kitabi College of Conservation and Environmental Management (KCCEM) – where I’ve been working – hopes to marry environmental training with tourism to diversify and further the country’s economy. Located at the world’s only surviving Afro-montane tropical rainforest, KCCEM is being developed with consideration paid to the country’s development thrust, particularly to the government’s ambitious Vision 2020 goals and the Economic Development and Poverty Reduction strategy.

In short, the College seeks to generate employment opportunities and training thorough sustainable use of the environment, and to develop private entrepreneurship practices related to environmental conservation and protection. Overall, they hope to address issues of capacity building in the fields of biodiversity and environmental conservation througout the Albertine Rift region. My work here has helped me feel I am at least contributing something, however small.

The government hopes such initiatives will lead to an increase in per capita GDP to $900 by the year 2020.

Day 14: Something to Whet that Appetite.

Kitabi, Rwanda – Food plays a central role in Rwandan culture and is a major aspect of most events and gatherings. Thanks to an excellent climate for agriculture, it’s also abundant, which is so rarely the case on this continent.

Tropical fruit is served at most meals and generally includes some combination – or all – of tree tomatoes (sweet, unlike field tomatoes), passion fruit, pineapple, banana (sometimes the mini version) and paw paw, a sort of sweet melon.
With the exception of one day where soup was also served as an appetizer, breakfast has been the same every morning since I got here: fruit – either before or after – a couple slices of dry bread (or sometimes a sweet bread) and a pseudo-omelette for making an egg sandwich. Daniel, the ‘house boy’ (not my term) who prepares our meals at home in Kitabi, puts onions in, making them that much better.

As with my experience in Kenya and Tanzania, the starch-laden lunches and dinners are hardly Atkins-friendly. At each, you can expect to be served at least two or three of fried or roasted potatoes, rice, sweet potatoes, fried or mashed bananas, or spaghetti. Though generally made from cassava here, ugali can also be found, but it is not as prevalent as it was last year. I had heard fried plantains could be found everywhere here, too, but I haven’t found any yet.

Mashaza – peas, often salty and with carrots or tomato – are a staple found on most plates. Other typical meal-time vegetables include cabbage, collared greens, tomatoes or carrots, often shredded into a salad with onions (usually topped with mayonnaise, which I avoid here). Vegetables don’t tend to be much of a focus. While we don’t tend to eat meat at home, meals on the road have typically included fish (fried whole, or in filets), chicken (split into pieces and eaten with your hands) or beef, usually in a sauce.

Unlike my (granted, relatively limited) time elsewhere in East Africa, however, I’ve found that Rwandans devote more attention to flavour, liberally using herbs like rosemary, particularly in meat sauces and gravies. Eating out, you’ll often find yourself lining up at a buffet. Unlike North America, though, you’re only allowed to take one trip. You may pile your plate high, so get your fill the first time. In larger centres, you can also find French, Italian and Chinese restaurants.

For faster food, brochettes – goat or beef kebabs – and chips (fries) are ubiquitous. The brochettes are prepared with onion and seasoning, and are particularly good when they don’t carry with them the lighter fluid flavour of the gas over which they have been broiled. Roadside, it is also quite common to find men standing around fire pits roasting a dry corn that really ends up tasting like popcorn.

I’m happy to say that, while I came prepared with emergency food, I haven’t needed any of it (except during my layovers en route). The food here is really quite good.

I’ll write about beverages another time.

Bon appétit!

Yes, I am the Foreigner in the Group, Thanks.

Cyangugu, Rwanda – In anticipation of the start of more formal work at a team retreat that begins tomorrow, we arrived in time to meet with KCCEM staff for dinner at the La Petite Colline Restaurant. Located on the border of the Democratic Republic of Congo, Cyangugu is also on the shore of Lake Kivu.

Dinner was comprised of chicken, two enormous whole tilapia, rice, peas and chips. There I was, trying to be all polite by removing the tough chicken from the breast bone with my fork and knife. The woman who runs the restaurant came over, reached into the giant platter of chicken and scooped one out for me she figured I could handle: a drumstick.

I immediately started using my hands as everyone around me had been doing.

Day Two: Kigali: “Let’s Go for Chinese".

Kigali, Rwanda – Day two, and still no bags. I spent a significant amount of time at the airport this morning, only to discover they had found their way to Entebbe, Uganda. They’re the adventurous sort of bag, it seems. Nobody can track them down definitively, but hopefully tomorrow. This is Africa.

I awoke to a cool and hazy morning after a few hours of being tormented by the air-raid siren of a mosquito buzzing around my head. I wasn’t sure if it was inside my mosquito net or not. It was gunning for me, though, I am sure.

Bright and early, the hotel’s cute little garden courtyard was feverishly swept by boys with small hand brooms constructed of bundled twigs. The rhythmic whisking was punctuated by the sharp staccato chirps of a variety of birds that danced in the trees outside my window. There would be no more sleep.

Breakfast consisted of fried eggs, done like an omelet, toast and a thermos of chai, as well as a side of mini bananas and passion fruit. We even had lunch at a Chinese restaurant – yes, we’re still in Rwanda – and it was, in fact, the best Chinese food I’ve had outside Asia. First, yesterday’s mansions, now really good Chinese food – I’m beginning to feel I’m not in Africa after all. In many ways, Kigali is a city like others around the world.

We also met up this afternoon with a Rwandan woman named Bernadette who lived for many years in London, Ontario and now runs a guest house in Kigali where she keeps two crested cranes that wander the property. We spent a bit of time talking about how London has changed and become a little more diverse, and about the University. It’s neat to come across someone with common acquaintances and experiences during travel.

This city is rife with motorcycles, including moto-taxis, and entrepreneurs roam the streets, hoping to sell you everything from newspapers to towels, to shoes. For being a large African city, it’s also very easy to feel safe. Of course, this is helped by the abundance of heavily-armed security guards and police.

Though English and French are becoming more common in Rwanda, I began to learn – and use – some Kinyarwanda today. I got some impressed laughs when I greeted everyone at breakfast with “muaramutse” (good morning) and have also mastered “murakose cyane” (thank you very much). I’ve also been working on “muramuke” (goodbye, in the evening) and “agachupa amazi aconje” (cold bottle of water). I know some other words from Kiswahili or French already, but I’m having a little trouble with how many words sound alike. It is, however, only day one.

The government’s move this past year to anglicize the country is a significant step it hopes will establish Rwanda for the future. Kiswahili is now also mandatory in schools. In the meantime, it’s easy to see challenges given that most of the country speaks Kinyarwanda, grew up in a French state – possibly with little education in the language – and now has to make the switch to English and Kiswahili, which is predominant in many parts of East Africa. There will no doubt be growing pains in the short term.

Unlike last year, however, I’ve only heard the catcall “muzungu” (white person) once, and that was from a couple of teenagers. Given the number of foreigners working in, and visiting, Kigali, I’m not so much of a novelty. And I’m appreciative of that.

Given my adventurous baggage, we’re going to stay in Kigali again tonight, this time at Le Printemps Hotel, which is another guest house, but a step up from last night. Tomorrow, we will leave regardless of my bag arriving as we have a retreat to attend in the south-west of the country. Ironically, by the time the retreat ends on Sunday, I will have been in Rwanda for nearly a week before having had a chance to visit my short-term home in Kitabi.

Day One: Kigali - "Toto, We're Not in Africa Anymore. Are We?"

Kigali, Rwanda – With the cloying humidity and a distinct pot pourri of smells that includes the sweet smoke of home fires and the choking mask of diesel exhaust, my senses took me immediately back to my last trip to Africa as I stepped out of the airport this afternoon. Driving around Kigali, however, things looked fairly different when compared to Tanzania and Kenya.

Given that this is the most densely populated country on the continent, the sheer volume of people is unavoidable. That the city – and most of the country – is built on sprawling hills has also made everyone’s plot in life stand out all the more. Tremendous infrastructure developments like good roads seem also to have attracted that many more drivers. There also appears to be less yelling and jostling. Case in point: there is an orderly system at the bank – policed by its users – whereby you take a seat at the end of the line and move down one until it’s your time to visit the wicket. I dare say that would not work in Nairobi.

The biggest shock for me, though, was the houses. Housing developments of hundreds of homes that would rival the largest in London are cropping up everywhere. It’s not just a couple select communities, either; it’s all over the city. Apparently, over the past 15 years – and even moreso over the past six – foreign investors have invested heavily in Rwanda and have begun to build monstrous homes with imposing gates, Roman columns and infinity pools. It seems so out of place, particularly given that extreme poverty is enmeshed into the very same communities. Jethro explained to me that, unlike a city like Nairobi, which has very geographically defined slums, sparse land has left the poor living side-by-side with the rich.

Entire hills are being carved out for these new developments, leaving the shanties that previously occupied the land in toothpicks. For me, it raises the question of where these marginalized people are going to live, particularly given the population density. Driving through these neighborhoods, though, you no longer feel like you’re in the Africa you’ve become somewhat accustomed to. It’s surreal, much in the way I imagine Las Vegas to be.

We’ve decided to stay in Kigali tonight at the Agasoro Motel, nestled behind a large steel fence with imposing spikes on the top. While it's very basic, it will certainly do the trick and the lunch they prepared for us – consisting of grilled fish, fresh cut fries with a sauce you could add and spiced peas – was very good.

Given the amount of traveling I’ve done over the past few days, I had also planned to have a shower to freshen up. It turns out that, by flushing the toilet, I exhausted my water supply. There must be a lesson in there somewhere. When in Africa, you have to roll with the punches, or in my case at least, roll with the pungent.

Day 13: A True African Experience.

Mwanza, Tanzania - As large raindrops begin to fall from a darkening sky, one of our host’s daughters reached up and silently took my hand in a sign of friendship as we made our way downhill through a small Mwanza community where we had had lunch. It was a sweet moment on a day that really featured a true experience in Africa that most tourists don’t have the opportunity to enjoy.

Meaghan, Alison and I had been invited to lunch by the interns’ housekeeper, Pendo, at her mother’s home a distance out of town. Making our way first to Pendo’s place, we were greeted by a succession of children – some hers (she has eight), some her sister’s and some her friend’s – in a small dark, teal room with a set of shuttered windows and a curtain that had been pulled across to separate bedroom from living room. Leaks in the ceiling were like large cup rings on a coffee table. Chairs and couches quickly filled as children came in, saying the respectful “shikamoo”. They seemed very excited to be having us as guests and quickly brought out a box of photographs and showed us their English homework. None of them spoke it much at all.

They were, however, quite eager to have their “picha” taken and would laugh with delight – and rib each other mercilessly – when we’d show them their facsimile selves on the backs of our cameras. The whole day, they’d point out photo opportunities and often stepped behind the shutter themselves. It was a nice change from having to be so careful about respecting cultural values here, where you don’t just randomly take pictures of people.

Eight children of various ages, the three of us and Pendo each piled into a dala-dala (a small mini-van-like bus) for the 25-minute ride to our destination. Stuffed beyond capacity, there were at times more than 25 sweaty people in the vehicle. And a basket of live chickens. This is Africa.

With the children leading the way and carrying a large basket of cooking bananas, vegetables, wood and other cooking supplies, we made the 20-minute trek up into the hills to Pendo’s mother’s home. The dirt ground in front of the relatively-large house was impeccably swept and out of small gardens sprouted plants that folded unto themselves when touched.

As one child flicked impatiently though stations on a large radio, another showed off his dancehall moves; others began preparing the food and yet another box of photographs was brought out. The children eagerly pointed out themselves and their parents. Pendo’s mother brought out a large bag of plaited straw and taught the interns how to make intricate patterns that could eventually be woven together into large mats.

Lunch, made on a small portable stove outside, was cooking bananas with tomatoes and onion, and some pineapple. Sitting around a coffee table, the children eagerly dove into a large plate, using pieces of banana to scoop up the sauce. Apart from the great company and honour we felt at being invited, the amazing thing about this was that they fed 13 people – most of whom are still growing – for less than five dollars (the enormous bundle of bananas cost 3,000 TSH, or about $2.75). It boggles my mind.

After lunch, the children rose to action, whisking away the dishes, washing and cleaning the house while Pendo had her hair braided by her mother. This was all a real African experience and I was very thankful for having been able to participate in it.

Day Two: Oyugis/Kasipul/Kabondo.

Advance caveat: I'm aware this is far too long a post for a blog, but it was such an important day, I feel I had little choice. Given the inconsistency of Internet service here, it also comes relatively unedited.

Put simply, this was one of the most incredible days of my life. While there is so much to say, I still feel trepidation in my fingers because words – especially in the written form – seem unable to do justice to all we did and experienced in such a short time. Without first-hand knowledge, much of rural Africa is, unfortunately, beyond the context of understanding for many North Americans.

Complaints about traffic and poor road conditions rank somewhere between hobby and sport in Canada, yet, I have never endured a ride bumpier than today’s trip past various villages into Oyugis, Kasipul, Kabondo and points between. The roads – where formal ones exist – are in serious states of disrepair, while others have been carved from the earth and wend their way awkwardly up hills and over jagged rocks. But it’s not that we could complain about traffic. The roads were nearly devoid of cars, though a few buses spewing black exhaust made things interesting on the narrow strips of pavement.

No, instead, the roads were lined with people walking or cycling, carrying with them their wares, belongings or other people – one bicycle transported five people. Along the way, children waved, smiled and ran alongside the truck; others led their goats and cows along the ditch. As we climbed into higher elevations, the relatively arid terrain gave way to lusher, tropical trees and plants, including coffee, pineapple and banana. Consistent throughout, though, was the poverty. The landscape was dotted by small villages of mud huts or tin-roofed shacks in varying states of disrepair, and by town markets teeming with activity and people hawking their wares.

Following a two-hour drive, our day began at the Rackuonyo District Hospital, where we met with the superintendent, the district AIDS/STI coordinator and representatives from KEMRI and the ministry of public health. The project’s researchers sought permission to include some of the hospital’s 5,000 HIV/AIDS patients in the probiotic yogurt project, a proposal agreeable to the superintendent, so long as privacy standards are maintained. Visiting the hospital was interesting in its own right as it was equipped with very few facilities – mostly an outcropping of small buildings the size of an average North American kitchen. Additionally, when we walked in, a technician was drawing blood from a long line of patients – without wearing gloves. This was mind boggling, particularly given the high-risk nature of the task.

We were then welcomed in the Kokal village by the Oranda Women’s Group, who will likely follow in the footsteps of the ‘yogurt mamas’ in Mwanza, Tanzania, and begin preparing probiotic yogurt for their community. “We are very happy for your visit,” the group’s chairperson stated as we were ushered to seats of honour in their compound as cows grazed and small children sucking on sugarcane peered with curiosity at their visitors. “This is the only project like this in all of Kenya, so you are leading the way for the country,” said Canadian scientist Gregor Reid.

We then made our way through villages to meet with the Nyanam Women’s Group, who showed great promise as advocates for the project and demonstrated particular strengths in communications, marketing and sales. “My argument has always been, who brings food, brings life,” added Isaac Luginaah, the project’s principal investigator. There could be real value in leveraging their aptitudes to help spread the word of benefits from probiotics and to potentially involve them with the sales aspect, rather than yogurt production itself.

For lunch, we stopped at a roadside restaurant and I enjoyed some local fare: fried chicken and a slab of ugali. While I came to Africa armed with 50-60 Swahili words, I have limited my use to fairly basic sayings, particularly “habari”, “nzuri” and “asante” (hello, I’m fine and thank you, respectively), but at lunch I used my first full sentence: “Samahani – naomba una chupa ye maji baridi; asante sana” (“Excuse me, I would like a cold bottle of water; thank you”).

In the afternoon, we met with two more groups of mamas to examine other viable options for community kitchens and were asked some important questions, including one about whether traditional, local sour milk products provide the same benefits as probiotic yogurt. Differences between controlled and uncontrolled fermentation are important to distinguish. According to Professor Reid, while the sour milk may provide certain benefits, bacteria in it dies in the gut and, thus, does not provide the same beneficial qualities as probiotics.

I am amazed by how ubiquitous Coca Cola is here. The company’s logo was permanently overlayed in the corner of a television program featuring music videos. Shiny red, well-painted bus shelters bear the Coke logo (and were unquestionably financed by them). In many villages, bright red Coke stands rise up between dilapidated shacks housing other businesses. And, in nearly all cases, the Coke buildings were the nicest ones in the village. Even more shockingly – and perhaps the irony of ironies – one of the hospital buildings was sponsored by the beverage maker (and bore a large mural to that effect). In a community with a 17 per cent HIV/AIDS infection rate, however, I suppose the hospital’s need for funding surpasses concern for diabetes, gum disease and other drawbacks of soda consumption.

For someone as interested as I am in the world and in how people live, today was an incredible opportunity to experience a different people, a different culture and a different way of life. It was amazing. Children would invariably bound along, waving and giggling or retreat shyly. Many would then soften with wide eyes and take off with peels of laughter with their friends. Replying “nzuri” to their timid hellos left them tickled pink. In matching school uniforms, they’d cut down the laneways and peer into the buildings we were in, often unsure until we waved or said hello. Then came the widest smiles. Driving through the countryside and villages, and meeting the mamas in the various communities was rewarding on so many levels.

This was a day to remember.