So now it's still Feb. 27 for us all, reunited at our bungalow, and this is Seaton starting writing again.

It could have been Feb. 26. The previous day they had been in Goma and visited the post office, and we had missed each other by just half an hour. But never mind now.

We spent this first afternoon sitting on our terrace looking out over the coffee trees to the lake, with its islands and hills around and the volcano, Nyiragongo, smoking in the distance. And talking, and reading diaries to each other. What more perfect place could there be for my recovery ? We have been invited to stay for as long as we like.

Feb. 28.

A rainy morning. I let the others go off on their own again for morning shopping, and they found a clinic to supply me with more cortisone to complete my course. A surprising thing happened on the return journey, Marion relates. Bo, driving, suddenly stopped the van when Jennifer was misbehaving. A cyclist in front immediately leapt off his bike, leaving it and a crate of beer bottles lying in the road. He raced off and disappeared into the bush. A beer thief, a bike thief, or both? Obviously frightened of our military-looking vehicle. After lunch," Seaton said it was the best lunch he had had for a long time," says Peter, but I have no record of what was so good. Everything, I suspect. My first job was to repair a fuse to try to restore our lights, but no luck with that. Not necessary; we do have candles and torches. We also experimented with a fire in the grate to cheer up a damp evening; the room filled with smoke.

March 1st. Thursday.

Hot sun today. I drove the van again. But only down to the plantation workshop for attention to brakes. There are various jobs to get down to sometime myself, but not just yet. We have had our chimney swept by one of several people who have been round with offers of help. We think that they all assume that Europeans cannot live without servants. Now we probably will not need a fire again; certainly not tonight. A tape of Welsh songs we had had for a Christmas present was a suitable St. David's Day entertainment for us on another dark evening.

March 2

Now that I had got back to the vehicle, troubles started once more. Carburettor failure soon after setting off for Goma again. And after 1635 more or less trouble free miles without me. I must be a bad influence. So I did spend an hour investigating before giving up and abandoning the vehicle in our drive for the night. Marion slept beside it; this seemed necessary after two water containers had disappeared off the roofrack during the day.

But we did have power back in most of the bungalow, having disconnected the suspected short circuit. Lights outside too: lightning flashes over the hills to the west and the volcano glowing in the east.

Local flora: a lemon tree with strange red flowers with long tubes and ripening fruit, a pomegranate tree with flamboyant pink trumpet flowers and fruit, and twigs and leaves like a sloe, a great tree euphorbia with ferns growing on its branches, a pawpaw with male and female flowers and the fruit hanging on long stalks with the male flowers above. An attractive green and white orchid that Marion made a drawing of. Kaffir Boom trees are a colourful feature of the woods, with their brilliant red flowers like bottle brushes leading us to give them the wrong name at first The plantation has coffee bushes at about ten feet intervals, growing to a height of ten feet or so. The half inch diameter berries cluster thickly along the branches and are picked when they turn red. Then they are treated in water to remove the pulpy outer covering, and then dried.

March 3.

Carburettor success with the help of a mechanic from the workshop who found a satisfactory spare valve I could use.

Then another peaceful day, pleasantly hot until a really heavy thunder storm in early evening. Useful for our domestic water supply which entirely depends on rain. In the morning Bo had diligently lit a fire under an outside boiler for bath water; much appreciated.

Next day, a day out down to the lake for swimming off the black volcanic rocks. Interesting rocks formed of rivers of lava with great slabs lying as if just cooled from a molten mass. Swimming very therapeutic for me, I thought; easy exercise; walking still makes my legs feel very weak. "I," Peter, "made a sort of boat out of a reed and Bo made Jennifer a raft for her doll, and we played a game with them." On the way we stopped in Sake village for the Sunday market. A twice weekly mass of colourful humanity and equally colourful wares. Cloth and clothing, woodwork, crockery and metalware, fruit and vegetables are all spread out in long lines on the ground on the black earth. There is also a cattle section. When a cow escaped and careered through the whole assembly a lively scene of chaos ensued. Our day's meat ration was not available until the afternoon, but turned out to be the most succulent and tender we had had for a long time. The honking of the hornbills will always be associated with this place, particularly in the early mornings. Grasshoppers and fireflies also abound.

March 5. Monday.

Another day out. First to Goma for shopping and a celebration visit to a cafe for coffee, coca-cola and expensive cakes. But while Marion was shopping in the market "I had an adventure," she writes. "As I was buying eggs, two policemen came up behind me and one said he was going to arrest me. I asked why but they could not say. I did not care for the way one of them whispered in my ear. I asked them to accompany me to the vehicle, and one of them got annoyed and asked if I was trying to resist arrest. Eventually they agreed that I could return to the vehicle as by that time a large crowd had formed around us. They did not follow directly behind me, and only came up to the vehicle when they saw that we were waiting for them. Now they had a different story. They said that as I was buying eggs a man had been about to attack me and they had arrested him -- Seaton must not permit me to go unaccompanied to the market again. This was all rubbish. Seaton said that I would not and we parted with hand shakes and artificial smiles."

We were then able to continue on our way. Ten miles north towards Rutshuru to see the volcano country at closer quarters. This was somewhat quenched by midday rain and low cloud, but we did get to an excellent place for buying fresh strawberries from the roadside, enough for jam making and for supper. Making strawberry jam in Zaire was not something we had expected to be doing. Floods in the centre of the town as we drove back. Drainage not a top priority, it seems. Marion brought back several plants for drawing, including a glorious yellow and red climbing lily, and a tree thistle with labiate flowers. Evening coffee we made from beans that the others had bought in Poko, roasted ourselves and crushed with a hammer. Very tasty, but hard work for a small result. When we go up to see Mr. Kostatt from time to time, he always produces a cup of Cypriot style Turkish coffee accompanied by a glass of cold water.

Unfortunately, Marion has developed a septic swelling on her ankle, and also three other septic places on finger and toes.

March 6. Shrove Tuesday.

Pancakes for lunch. Marion made marmalade, and Bo cakes. We don't starve, but we are probably thinner than we used to be and are not giving up food for Lent.

More vehicle maintenance and schoolwork. Timothy's daily reading improving rapidly. We had two 'gardeners' working for us, weeding and grass cutting, as part of our improvement programme in thanks for this home of ours.

March 7.

Took the van to the workshop for spring repairs, which could not be completed for want of a spare centre bolt that was found broken. Had to leave it there. Marion and Bo carried on gardening. Louis followed me up from the workshop. He is one of two black boys who have been making themselves at home with us, and the children seem to have accepted them as friends. They have all been playing a great chasing game, rushing round the house and garden; a game with no language barriers.

Next morning Marion made the necessary trip into Goma to get a spare spring bolt. Thus: "I found a so-called taxi to transport me -- a short wheelbase Landrover with fractured roof and rusted doors, with a U-bolt to hold one door shut. There were four people on the front seat, and the back was crammed with another eight or so, several crates of beer and various other bulky packages. After an unsuccessful push and a number of turns of the starting handle, we were off. The driver chose the left of the road, but was prepared to move to the right when an oncoming vehicle was met or a horn blared loudly behind. The mirror was not adjusted, none of the instruments on the panel worked, the gears made a grinding noise, and the brakes pulled the vehicle hard to the left. However it did manage one more successful journey to Goma. I was not pleased to be charged 30 makutas when everyone else had to pay 20." But she did get a suitable substitute bolt for our own vehicle. She had difficulty with money changing. The bank informed her that money exchange had been suspended indefinitely, and shops would not change her dollars, but finally she had success in a bakery/restaurant and a good cup of cafe au lait. She steered clear of the market, and found a lift home for 20 makutas in an ill-maintained car. Our spring was soon repaired in the workshop.

On her return she found that a boy she had commissioned to find her a chameleon had produced two. She made coloured drawings of the intricate colours; not always easy when they change in the middle. Also a drawing of a coffee shoot with berries and a flower.

March 9.

We set out for a visit to the Lacs de Mokoto to the north. After 1 1/2 hours of uphill travelling on a rutted road climbing over 1000 feet. we had done a mere 16 miles. This seemed far enough, so we stopped and went for a walk. A lovely place. We were in a green and pleasant land, the most pastoral scenery we had seen in Africa since the north coast. Steep meadows dotted with large trees, and even steeper intensively cultivated slopes of bananas and all sorts of vegetables. We walked up through an Alpine meadow with numerous wild flowers until we found hydrangeas, roses and arum lilies which turned out to be in the derelict garden of a derelict house. We had lunch overlooking a couple of grass-hut villages on spurs of hill with green grazing grounds and long-horned cattle on the slopes beyond. I later went down to inspect one of the villages and tried speaking Swahili without much success. 'Jambo', the standard greeting seems to be 'Yambo' here. I did discover that they do not eat the elderflower that was growing nearby, so I picked some for our own use. I was welcome in the village but did not receive an invitation into a hut; anyway most of the population were up on the road interesting themselves in the ambulance and our activities.

A pleasant day in unexpected surroundings.

March 10.

A search for a lake swim took us down the west side of Lake Kivu where the shoreline was reed fringed and muddy and any possible swimming place very overpopulated. We diverged along one of the 'routes touristiques' to the Lac Vert. This proved to be a volcanic crater filled with a murky green pea soup and no access to the main lake. So another diversion led to the village of Nzolu where we did find a good place to swim off shelving rocks. A few dugout canoes passed by with high pointed prows.

Lunch was back at Sake, in the wooden shack restaurant that we thought we ought to try. Three tables and stools and an earth floor. From an impressive Swahili menu just two items were available -- omelette, and beef with potatoes. We sampled both. Both very good. The tender meat was served in individual bowls in a fatty but tasty gravy with chapatis, the potatoes in a communal dish and nearly cold. The children had the only bottled drink on offer, a synthetic pink fizzy liquid that they much enjoyed. Coffee was off, so we had our own at home. The meal cost 80 makutas (65p) for the six of us.

March 11, Sunday.

Last day in our bungalow home. A day of work. Packing, washing, schoolwork, mango and lemon jam making, cleaning inside van. And so on. Last day of my cortisone course; no more need to be salt free.

March 12.

Expedition on the way again after our two week holiday.

Up to the house at 7am to say goodbye and thank you to Mr. Kostatt before he leaves for work. And off to a good start at 8.15.

But we had half an hour for reading beside the lake after passing through Goma, as we were too early for the immigration officer at the customs post. Then minimum formalities, and a mere 200 yards later we were in RWANDA. Here we had to buy visas at 200 Rwanda francs each (70p) for which we were able to change French francs. The visas last only six days which should easily see us through this small country. So into the border town of Gisenyi along a short length of tarmac road past European bungalows in floral gardens, hotels, cafes and tourist shops. We considered prices in one or two shops, not as cheap as Zaire, but petrol even cheaper at 19p a gallon; bought ten gallons.

The road soon turned away from the lake as we left in a heavy rain shower, and became once more black gravel, rutted and stony. A long climb out of the rift valley up to a pass. Many villages. Green hilly country with distant volcanoes. Several brief stops to see, for example, a roadside pottery where large pots were being made without wheels, and a brickworks making bricks of clay sparkling with flakes of mica. At the next town Ruhengeri we had to obtain authorisation from the prefecture to buy petrol (it is in short supply), and we were too late to buy bread.

We then turned south towards Kigali, the black gravel of the road turned to red gravel, and we wound up a valley containing a sluggish stream and swampy ground between the steep terraced hills on either side. We carried on before looking for a camp site to get away from this potential mosquito breeding ground, and eventually stopped on a spur of hill overlooking the deep valley. An attractive place in the clear evening light, which improved as we sat having supper, two distant volcanic peaks framed in trees becoming more and more clearly outlined in the sunset glow.

Things seen during the day: cranes, ibises (?), red-hot pokers in the woods, bottle brush trees with their bright red bristly flowers, many silvery eucalyptus trees, tree ferns, giant lobelia, hedges of moon flowers and hedges of tomato-like but very hard yellow fruit with spines. And still banana grove after banana grove. "Beaucoup d'arbres de bananes," as Peter said; his nearest approach yet to a French sentence, but he does like doing sums in French. Apart from Swahili and French, Narwanda is the local language, we learned later, and Kigali and Kigombu are pronounced Chigali and Chigombu.

Clothes here are very gay and colourful, even more striking than in Zaire. Many men wear long coloured skirts with a more conventional shirt and jacket above, or even an overcoat. Women wear bright cotton shawls or cloaks, long pleated skirts, and headscarves. Red colours favoured, but girls have brilliant blue school dresses.

March 13.

The night was disturbed by about ten heavy lorries grinding up the hill at irregular intervals.

An early start, partly to avoid spectators, and partly so as to delay breakfast until the sun became nice and warm. Both of these were achieved and breakfast was taken on a hillside above a valley in which hummocky hills were appearing out of a sea of mist. Almost an English September morning, or could be among the misty morning hills of mid-Wales. Fascinating. For the whole morning we continued up and down the green wooded hills, making the travelling once again a real pleasure. The most interesting travelling since the desert and the most enticingly habitable country we have seen since northern Algeria.. We finally descended to a wide, flat valley approaching Kigali, and stopped for lunch in a wood of tall plane trees between the road and a slaughterhouse. The latter we only discovered afterwards, having seen people walking past carrying stomachs and intestines; unfortunately they would not sell us meat there. Also in the wood were large cassia trees with yellow flowers like chestnut 'candles', and the slaughterhouse was surrounded by red-leaved poinsettia bushes. During the morning we had stopped to look at our first jacaranda tree with its lovely mauve-blue bell flowers. We also had a stop to watch a large tree trunk being chopped in half; it had been felled across the road, so we and a bus, a lorry and a car all had to wait for the operation to be completed. There were also planks being sawn in a sawpit with top and bottom sawyers using a crosscut saw.

After lunch, on into Kigali, a largish hilltop town with a few tarmac streets, a few embassies, and not much else to distinguish it as a capital city. We spent three profitable hours here. Shopping, changing money at an Indian shop, having some welding done at a garage, collecting 21 letters from the post office, and filling up with enough petrol to get us well into Tanzania, and paraffin for the same price as petrol.

We left along the main road towards the airport -- a toll road ! (20 francs. Well, it was tarmac and probably the most important road in the country). About 8 miles out we camped beside a narrow side track by a small banana plantation in which cattle, sheep and goats were allowed to graze. Spent the evening going through all our letters. A mixed bag. Some had been to Tamanrasset, then on to Rwanda via England. The most recent had taken six days.

March 14.

The morning spent writing letters, not setting off until 9.45. Back to a laterite surface after passing the airport, more or less level to Rwamagana market where we could change French francs into Tanzanian shillings in another Indian shop; Indians are a sign that we are approaching 'British' East Africa. We bought a cockerel that Marion plucked as we drove along. Bread never on sale here or in the next village, Kayonga, but we did buy the last of the day's loaves at Kibungo in mid-afternoon. Here was a police barrier for a passport check. We had passed several barriers all through Rwanda and sometimes asked for passports or destination, but whether they were police or something more underhand we did not enquire.

Now we are heading to the border and camped on the edge of a copse of eucalyptus trees in a grassy clearing on high ground with a view of banana-clad valleys. Out of sight of road or any habitation, but were soon surrounded by the usual group of interesting and interested faces. Peter and Timothy playing with their matchbox cars were of particular interest. We managed to use our last 13 francs and half a bar of soap to buy five eggs.

March 15.

Another purchase in the morning: a whole branch of bananas for a whole bar of soap. Soap probably a luxury. I expect they thought they had done rather well. And no doubt they are over-supplied with bananas.

Set off at 8am with no reason why we should not be in Tanzania by lunchtime. We passed through a rocky limestone area with many flowers; wild gladioli, a red globular thistle, a huge St. John's wort-like bush, all quite different from Sake and western Rwanda; Marion photographed me inspecting a sugar bush with large white blooms like rose of Sharon. But we were destined not to be in Tanzania today. Another of our mysterious mishaps intervened. This time, Marion was driving, descending a long slope coasting a little between gear changes, and the engine refused to start again. Back to the old distributor trouble. A spark at the contact breaker and none at the plugs. We coasted a little farther to a sort of layby with one tree for shade, and set to work cleaning and testing rotor arm, condenser and contact gap. Then lunch and siesta on the hottest afternoon since the Congo basin. 90F. Later the arrival of a Siafu expedition of four Landrovers and a Citroen truck was a welcome sight. Even better when one of their number presented himself as an Austrian expert motor electrician. He told us exactly what was wrong. We needed a new coil. He tried our spare, also no good. A new 24 volt coil would not be obtainable within several hundred miles.

So? So he came up with the answer. A new 12 volt coil. One of the other drivers presented us with one of his spares and we were shown exactly how to wire it up using just one of our two batteries and bypassing the ignition switch. We then sent them on their way with thanks and our spare half bottle of gin that we had bought in the English Channel, and went happily back to work. A few local 'helpers' stood around to watch, and Bo's special penknife, a gift from her work colleagues, had disappeared from the wing of the van by the time they left. No time or energy to complete the job before supper time, so we settled down to a leisurely evening at this 'breakdown hill' camp site. The Southern Cross is now clearly discernible, and the Pole Star often below the horizon.

March 16.

I spent some time finishing our electrical work, and achieved success in the end. Marion and Bo went looking for water; they were led down a muddy path by a small girl in a tattered brown dress; the cloudy water they thought unfit to drink, but is presumably the local drinking supply; they pushed one of Jennifer's discarded dresses through the locked door of the only visible hut in the hope of it being well used when found.

So we set off once more singing 'Happy Birthday to Granny' on the way. Ten miles to the border. An impressive sight. A long hill winding down to a gorge spanned by a new (in fact only one month old) steel arch bridge over a fine waterfall. The falls of Rusumo, and our first sight of the river Nile. It is called the Kagera here, but the source of the Kagera is marked on the map as the source of the Nile, a mere 200 miles upstream, and it flows into Lake Victoria 200 miles below.

Rwanda customs were represented by a tiny corrugated iron shed and very informal. We were allowed to photograph the falls, a rushing 50 foot drop into muddily boiling turbulence below, and our 'Explorer' entering TANZANIA over this bridge that had been ceremoniously opened a month before by the presidents of both countries. Up a steep few hundred yards to a frontier post for a quick passport check. Up another 3/4 mile to the customs post. And here the worries of the day really started. Six hours of worries. The first two hours waiting while our friendly helpers of yesterday were still queuing to finish their passport checks. We had lunch close by so that one of us could always be in the queue. Then the customs officer took two hours off for lunch. I spent this break lying on a mattress while Marion fitted a switch into our new ignition circuit. Having had to advance our watches one hour, it was 4.30 by the time customs were awake again. Our vehicle carnet was viewed with complete disdain. It contained no engine number. Unheard of. The fact that the engine itself also did not have a number put the officer in a fine quandary. He spent time searching and scratching with a knife determined to find some evidence. Engine numbers are obviously one of the most important things in his life. He then put us aside to deal with his next clients in the queue and I saw him making out 'Notices of Seizure of Money'. This seemed to put him in a better humour and finally, on my suggestion, he agreed to stamp the carnet endorsed with a lengthy description of how he had looked in vain for the number. He then found another objection; the carnet was issued by the RAC; it did not mention the AA of E. Africa; there is no RAC here; therefore the carnet was invalid; we had much discussion before he finally let it pass. At least it was all in English, a useful relic of this 'British Colony' we have now reached. Do ALL his other customers have AA carnets ? We concluded that he was rather new to the job. He then stamped our currency declaration forms without even thinking of seizing our money, and had no interest in cameras or anything else. Tired out by now, I suppose. So was I. Perhaps another half bottle of gin would have helped things along (or confused things even more).

But now supper was cooking, so we ate it in the car park before moving on away from this scene of unwelcome officiousness. In half an hour, driving on the left of the road for the first time since England, we camped in a gravel pit, a large open area and a great place for children's evening games. The last two days' delays have not worried them in the least -- a day of playing games is as good as a day of travelling, perhaps even more restful. Peter is the only one who seems to realise that delays are delays.

Tanzanian scenery: grass and scattered acacia and thorn trees announce the beginning of E. African bush country. No habitation seen yet (population clearance from the border, perhaps).

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