Signs, signs, everywhere a sign

 A poster advertising the famous visitors from Canada.

 
This is our hotel in Kigali, Rwanda.  Quite nice for $50 a night.  We shared a bathroom with Ben, and the Stalwicks had the VIP suite, all in the same private hallway, with their own bathroom.  A spacious balcony looked out over the neighbourhood, which got filled with people very early.  Terry would wave and say hi to the ladies washing clothes in their tubs, across the street.  A few days later I was startled to hear a loud "HI!" and frantic waving  from another neighbour to whom Terry had previously waved. The lovely bouquets we'd been given at the airport graced the ledge of our large bath tub.  In the evening we were allowed the use of the gas stove in the kitchen to heat water for soup for our picnic suppers, as the hotel was far from shops or restaurants.  And why was it called "Holy Apartment" ?  Apparently it was run by some Christian friends of Pastor Ephraim.

Meanwhile, visitors from a few African nations stayed right at the pastor's house.  They must've been grateful for such accommodation, as the pastors from Uganda, Burundi, Tanzania and Kenya didn't have any extra for a hotel room.  Representatives from country had their respective sleeping quarters.  Inside one of the rooms was a plain double sized bed; I don't remember seeing much bedding.  The floor was lined with backpacks and small travel bags.  The toilet in the hallway was a horror.  The seat was broken completely in half, and it didn't flush.  Sometimes there was a large jerry can of water, but it was too heavy for me to lift.  But desperation led us there all the same.

This was just one of the interesting signs visible from the Land Rover where Terry, Ben and I spent hours in the cramped back seat as we travelled back and forth from the meetings.  We would amuse ourselves taking pictures from the window.

A sign at the Kigali airport.
Really, we didn't see any plastic bags the whole time we were in Rwanda.  Groceries were given in sturdy paper bags.  Any plastic bags we had were kept hidden in our suitcases just in case they weren't biodegradable.  The country is being rebuilt from the many years of war 15 years ago.  Although there were no plastic bags, plastic bottles were so commonly seen they weren't even picked out of the dirt where the soil was being tilled  (by hand, with a hoe) for the planting of beans and corn. 

A sign at the Nairobi airport

One day in Kakamega, Kenya, Ben and I walked down the street to take pictures of a cane truck that had overturned.  Apparently we were a strange sight, as the only white people in a crowd of blacks.  "Are you walking?"  called some teenagers.  "You will spoil your legs!"  I pondered that question for awhile, thinking possibly they were referring to our shoes in that sea of mud.  These weren't the students who called out, but another group of high school students who graciously allowed me to take their picture.

The sign on the side of the school building at the Jesus Praise Centre in Kakamega.  A series of rooms was rented out during the week to a primary school; other rooms were used for Sunday School and pastors' offices.  When in Carpet Colour in Red Deer ordering our flooring this spring, we'd noticed advertising  another trip to Africa, but didn't think too much of it beyond mild interest.  Little did we know we'd soon be on our way anyway!


At the Nairobi Game Park, I was asking directions to the washroom when I was accosted by the Masai
tribesmen who wanted their picture taken, for a fee
of course.  The sign in the washroom, however, was priceless.

Terry forgot to smile