On reflection it was a mistake to wear white to catch the bus into the centre. Within minutes a fine dusting of red covered my clothes and hair.
Kigali is a clean and ordered city, no rubbish, or dogs or vermin, but you can't escape the red earth, it's everywhere. Only the main roads are tarmaced and even they are covered in a fine coating of mud from the daily rains.
Determined to make the most of my free day I'd planned a solo trip into town. I asked Sandrine what she recommended I visit. After a few moments hesitation, "the supermarket", she said "Simba supermarket". Along with most other busy British women, Tescos is my second home. I did not, therefore, thrill to this suggestion.
With no street numbers, names or road signs and the absence of my trusty iphone this adventure was, maybe, foolhardy. All I had to rely on was my innate ability to get lost, anywhere.
It is a small city of a million people and with moments of stepping of the bus I met someone I'd interviewed the day before. "Muraho, Muraho" and the ubiquitous hand shake. The bustling city centre seemed a surprisingly easy place to negotiate.
On every street corner and shop doorway men who might once have traded bananas or rice now profferred airtime cards. Often in competition with each other. The yellow MTN Tshirts "mobile on the go" jostled Tigo's blue "express yourself" tabards, vying for custom. The posses of young men did not look friendly, but both groups were doing a lively trade.
The tiny privately owned shops selling 'phones and other electrical equipment seemed only to be outnumbered by hairdressers.
Not wishing to purchase either a 'phone, second hand toaster or have my hair cut I gravitated to the main tourist attraction. The most expensive supermarket in Rwanda.
To enter this hallowed hall required an airport security check. The only thing I didn't have to remove were my shoes. I was scanned and frisked going in, but noticeably not on the way out. Shoplifting is obviously not the greatest worry.
Piles of plastic shoes lay on the floor next to the meat counter. Gimcracks and soap higgledy piggledy on the five aisles of shelving. Sweets and clothes and tins and bottles, a pound store really. Nothing second hand was on sale and there was a toilet, cafe and cash registers, so yes it was remarkable, in Rwanda.
Noone in the supermarket had seen a credit card, so all I bought was water. It will be a while before the tourist trade will flourish here.
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