Boozy Blues

Blue is my favourite colour (well, mostly. Selecting just one of many options isn't something I do, therefore it depends on what day it is and how I'm feeling as to whether the 'favourite favourite' is blue, green, cerise etc.) Let's stick with blue for now, otherwise this wouldn't be much of a story.

A strong believer in allowing serendipity to choose whenever possible, the sparkly aquamarine nail polish hidden in the salon basket was the perfect colour for my pre-beach pedicure. Proving the point, said polish's name was Beach Bum Blu. Exactly right! See:

Tell me that isn't a perfect match! A week in Diani's balmy, fragrant air and lolling in translucent turquoise waters was restorative beyond words and to be truthful, there was a sulky dropped lip when Him Outdoors called time and said we had to return to Nairobi.  

Buying wine in Kenya is difficult at the best of times, thrice so when the Beach-less Blues cling and the lip remains stubbornly drooped. The little supermarket liquor outlet, the size of my bathroom at home, presented the usual conundrum - which overpriced plonk to choose? Hold on, what is that sapphire glow at the back of the Chardonnay shelf? Has someone misfiled the Bombay? 

No, it is indeed Chardonnay. A blue Chardonnay, Alma Azul Blue Soul, matching my still-Beach-Bum'd toes and memories of that gorgeous Indian ocean. A must-have gem of aquamarine delight was just what the doctor ordered for Blue Monday. 

This tale of cerulean delight has further twists. I showed off my deliciously blue purchase on Facebook and was surprised to get a note from my London-based cousin whom I haven't seen for decades. This wine she must have, it's the perfect match for her corporate brand and would make the ideal client gift. Can she get it in London? Does it taste good? 

Fancy that. She lives in the centre of the universe and my treasure is a revelation to her! Yup, I reckon she'll find a case or two of Spanish vinho somewhere in her city. Hold on, her mother is right at this minute holidaying at their summer house in Spain, about 20 miles from the Alma winery in Almeria. Dear aunt was alerted that a shopping expedition was called for but before heading out, tasting had to be done and no better person than yours truly and her friend and neighbour to take one for the team. We'll drink the blue stuff!

Even the cork is blue!

We took it seriously, I promise. Tasting portions were poured and we sat back, lips smacking, sniffing and swirling. "It's so fruity, mango?" wine ignoramus posited. "Apricots," declared Maria. Definitely. We sipped and mused, refilled to muse some more and in a trice, the beautiful bottle was bare. Can't be, we were just having a tasting!  

We agreed that we'll have to try the Alma Azul sparkling wine we saw in another wine shop, there really is no point in doing a half job. 

Isn't it amazing that in a teeny Nairobi supermarket wineshop we have unearthed a novelty wine made a few miles from where my aunt summers? And found the perfect corporate gift for my cosmopolitan cousin on the other side of the world? 

Living in Africa is a permanent lucky dip. Around every corner there is something interesting and astonishing. Life is never boring and while 'blue' is often associated with sadness or depression, for me it is tranquil, the colour of sea, sky and my soul; simply my favourite colour of all. This week.

PS - our tasting notes, in case you stumble across a bottle of Alma Azul Blue Soul Chardonnay:

Strong apricot nose and initial palate. Easy drinking, high novelty value. If reasonable low price a definite wine for casual quaffing. Great corporate or novelty gift. If higher end price , not worth keeping in the cellar. We enjoyed but at the price point here, many better options of quality wine. Xxx

Treehouse Fear Factor

Him Outdoors and I are taking a beach break in heavenly Diani on the Mombasa south coast. A working holiday, I hasten to add. Plenty of hard graft going on from my beach lounger... kind of!

Keeping it real (and in budget!) our accommodation is a backpackers but Stilts is no common or garden establishment - we are living in a treehouse!  (see www.stiltsdianibeach.com) 

Life in a canopy is simply marvellous. Sykes monkeys defiantly glare from their eye-level branch, patiently waiting for us to vacate our veranda so that they can move in on the off chance we've carelessly left any food outside. The pesky blighters made off with our treasured hoard of Jacobs coffee which apparently wasn't to their taste as they scattered it everywhere. Flipping waste!

It may be (probably is!) my imagination but the air above the trees seems richer in oxygen and the rippling birdsong clearer. Every evening we are visited by a bushbaby which lands on the thatched roof with a heavy thump then crawls down the rafters to pause a while on the veranda railing. Sweet thing.

Of course, paradise usually has a snake and the novelty and excitement of living amongst the treetops is tempered by my fear of heights. On a scale of 1 - 10 in terms of fear factor, a solid 9.9. We may only be 3 metres up but add my 1.73m to the top of a ladder and the forward pull when I have to go down is sickening. 

Back in our early days, HO thought my wading streams rather than stride over the wee bridges rather quaint, until we had to cross a disused railway bridge one fine day.

He strode manfully ahead, wheeling his bike then turned to see where I was. Precisely midway and frozen like Lot's wife. Trying to negotiate a wider than usual gap where sleepers had fallen through, I'd looked down into the lazy waters of the Magalies River 20m below and turned to stone in a nanosecond. Chuckles, coercion and impatience became real concern as HO began to realise that this was much more than a personality quirk. Sheer terror fixed me some 50m from either bank and nothing he offered was going to budge this woman. No, I wasn't going to hold his hand and absolutely NOT was he going to carry me across - that would take my feet off solid ground AND raise me even higher! I squeakily suggested a helicopter (ok, I was panicking!) but eventually, cutting a long halt short, the ignominious sight of his beloved clutching a rusty railway line to her chest and slithering across the bridge on her belly proved to him for eternity that taking my feet off solid ground was not a good idea!

So, back to Diani and great excitement about a treehouse that I clearly didn't think through very well. Up I clambered, chattering like a Sykes but, what goes up must come down and this is what I faced:

Probably nothing to you and it's pretty unimpressive in the photos but in real life, this was like standing right at the top of the Eiffel Tower with gravity's claws wrapped around my neck pulling me frantically forward.

It's painful how slowly I mooch down every morning, with a white-knuckle death grip in real danger of crushing the handrails. The planning that goes into ensuring I ascend and descend as few times as possible is laughable!

Still, it's not all bad and we've extended our stay twice, not wanting to leave this treasure of a spot. Vertigo has stood down from Defcon 1 to Defcon 2 and while I'll never be happy at the top of those stairs, I'm sure reaching the bottom rung a little faster now!

48 Hours in Kigali Part Two - Inspire

If Africa was a body Rwanda would lie just below the heart, quite apt, we think, for a country that crashed into the bowels of Dante's 7th circle yet found the courage to climb, hand over hand, back to the surface.

'Courage' is deliberately used here; the essence of courage is undertaking an overwhelming difficulty or pain, driven by a cause worthy of the struggle. Rwanda's national animal, the leopard, signifies ferocity, the Great Watcher and courage. The country is all this for sure.

Squeaky clean streets in Kigali

It must be tiresome for Rwandans to have their tourist industry zoomed in on the inky blackness of their darkest hour; centuries of culture and life overshadowed by 100 days. Yet with calm and graceful patience, the horror is quietly acknowledged and spoken of. "There is more to Rwanda than genocide and gorillas!" exclaimed a Western aid worker. She is right, but first, the elephant in the room has to be confronted and passed.

During our 48-hour visit, we continually asked the same question of ourselves and other tourists. "How did Rwandans manage to move forward and reach this platform of quiet serenity, law and order?" Our eventual theory was that the nation was so broken and destroyed, they willingly followed a strong leadership determined to rebond and rebuild. Traumatised and exhausted, they placed their faith and trust in a government that had fought and shed blood to end the holocaust. 

Signs like this abound in Kigali

Still, on a visceral level, when the machetes and clubs stopped swinging and gunfire died down, what possessed the terrified Tutsis to trust enough to emerge from hiding? How did the Hutu find the courage to stop turning their faces away from the slaughter around them, or to put their pangas down and to re-assimilate themselves into a semblance of society and community? There is a leap of faith there that beggars my understanding.

This was neighbour against neighbour. Godparents handed over their godchildren, priests their parishioners, families their in-laws, patients their doctors, teachers their students to be massacred. The cat's cradle of close connections was tightly knotted; it's completely inexplicable that the bonds of love, respect and friendship could be dissolved so harshly. How does a nation put that behind them to reknit those relationships?

Ranulph Fiennes' The Secret Hunters is the best explanation of how a genocide can happen within a nation that I've ever read. A clever play on human nature is all it takes. First, you isolate Group B, refer to them as vermin (rats, cockroaches) to diminish their humanity. Tell Group A how they are superior and all the woes they suffer (or imagine they suffer) can be laid at the door of Group B. Then you insert slivers of fear into Group A - it is their duty to inform on / report their neighbours. Dire consequences for their own families await those in Group A who don't prove their loyalty to the state. Stage set, let the action begin.

Somehow, the little country in the heart of Africa stopped its own genocide. Then it began to rebuild and repair. A huge part of this surely lies in the Kigali Genocide Memorial, a no-holds-barred unravelling of the slaughter centuries before it actually began. Six years after the genocide, Kigali City Council began to build the shell of this memorial. Only six years! Such emotional maturity is staggering.

The Campaign Against Genocide museum provides a detailed plan of the Rwandan Patriotic Front's campaign to halt the madness. While told with some understandable jingoistic braggadocio, the end result is undeniable. This clean, safe, orderly, united, proud and thriving nation is a shining beacon of healing and forgiveness to Africa and the world.

Patriotic fervour in the campaign memorial - soldiers protect babies (the future), fallen comrades, women (mothers of the nation) all the while staring far ahead into the future.

There is a somewhat Disneylandish feel to the eerily clean and law-abiding city which seems to be run along the lines of a military camp with unquestioned precision. Perhaps this stern paternalistic rule helped the rebuilding process; citizens meekly followed and obeyed, terrified by what they and their neighbours were capable of and only too happy to be directed into line. 

Solar powered advertising on street litter recycling bins

Whatever the mix of ingredients in the Rwandan cake, you will frequently hear "There are no more Hutu or Tutsi, we are all Rwandan." Ethnicity has bowed out to proud nationalism. Viva.

Rwanda today is a wonderful place to visit and next time, we'll leave the city and tour the lakes and hills. Meanwhile, we urge you to support Rwanda whenever you can. Gorilla trekking? Coffee? Flying anywhere? Go Rwanda! Not just because they are a small country with few natural resources to offer the world, but because WE need to hold this African story close at heart and support its success. The deaths of one million people have produced possible solutions to many issues confronting other countries as well, If only our politicians and soapbox shriekers would listen.

Meanwhile, why not follow https://www.facebook.com/RwandaTheHeartOfAfrica/? Incredible photographs of this magnificent country mingle with inspiring stories about the day to day business and happenings. It's my feel-good read when News24 has me throwing my phone across the room!