ActionAid offered one Guardian reader the opportunity to go on a life-changing trip to see the charity's work first-hand in Rwanda. Jean Woodhouse, 48, kept a daily blog of her experiences, thoughts and feelings, which we're publishing here
It is sunny and warm when we land in Kigali, from the airport terminal building the city looks a bit like Tuscany, all red roofs and tall trees and lots of hills. I'm met at the airport by people from the local ActionAid office and meet my interpreter Jolly, who seems a lively and educated young woman. As we make our way to Shingiro in the north, I am surprised by how clean everything looks – not at all how I expected. The scenery as we wind our way through the hills is so beautiful it gives me a lump in my throat.
The hillside has been carved into terraced fields, all the way to the top, sometimes on very steep ground. All along the roadside are people – children in school uniform, men walking home with tools, women with babies tied to their backs. Musanze, the nearest town, is buzzing with activity, there is a throng of people buying and selling and there has been a delivery of shiny tin roofs – apparently the government is giving roofs to the poorest people in a drive to replace the traditional thatch.
The road then gets very bumpy and we drive up towards the forest. It is getting dark and when we arrive we put our bags in a dark house. This is where we will sleep. It is made of a kind of wattle and daub with a swept dirt floor. Beatrice is small and self-assured with a lovely smile. Her husband Joseph is reserved. We meet the children – Beatrice struggles to pick them out of the throng of village kids who have come to see these white people arrive. There is Christine, her eldest, who is 17; Emeritha, 14; BienVenue, 13; Elijah, 10; Sandrine, 7; and Valance, who is just four years old. They also look after three children who are orphans. I'm scared I'm not going to remember all their names!
They have been waiting for us to arrive before preparing dinner. So we sit down and help Beatrice peel potatoes – she's very quick and I feel a bit useless. She straps Valance to her back and then picks up an axe and chops firewood. I tried to help but it was really hard. I like Beatrice. She engages with me and looks into my eyes even though we speak through an interpreter. We are both mothers, and I think that gives us an immediate bond.
Her experience of life must be so different to mine. She has no bathroom, no cooker, no washing machine or any of the consumer items deemed necessary for modern mothers. But she shines. She's a woman who is in control. Her home is welcoming us. I don't like it much though.
We sleep on a grass mat on the floor in a cell-like room with a tiny shuttered window. There is just enough room for the two of us to sleep side by side. In the night I am convinced there is a rat and I'm terrified. But at least I have a sleeping bag – the kids are in another room with just blankets.
