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's strange - I wrote about plants in compost to come here and the woman I am going to stay with is a farmer, who they call a gardener [in her winning entry to this competition Jean made reference to taking stock of her life, digging deep to find meaning and comparing herself to a "plant with no compost"]. She uses the earth to empower her – she relies on it to support herself and her family. All I know is that her name is Beatrice and she has six children, and I will be immersed in her life and with her family for a few days. I am dreading sleeping there. I hate creepy crawlies. At home I love my bed and sleep well, but I don't think I'm going to in Beatrice's home.
I feel confused. Quite unsure about what I will experience. Even now I have no expectations of the trip. I cried this morning when I said goodbye to family. I wouldn't normally. It's the fear of not knowing. I feel that this Beatrice might be stronger than me, I think her life and what she has to say will make me feel humbled. It's strange that I am going to hear her and be with the family and hear them. But they want to hear about me, too. And nothing I will have to say will seem worthy.
I have had mixed feelings about this trip. I have had mixed reactions from the people who mean something to me about going to Rwanda. My eldest daughter said: "Mum, you won't be able to change rooms. Bloody hell.'' My husband ran to the bar and got a round in. My younger daughter nearly cried. Friends laughed and one commented: "But you always like to sleep by the window" – I don't even know if there will be a window where I'm going. My mother reacted with a silence followed by a "don't trust anyone". She told my aunty that the government should help its own people. I suppose she doesn't get it. I'm scared of the nights. I like to go to the toilet. And I'm not sure I'll be able to. I will be sleeping in a room with other people – smelling and hearing them. I hate staying over with friends, even. And I'm quite awkward. Stiff even.
I don't know how I'm going to be able to help these people; a bit of water carrying, maybe a bit of helping in the home. It's paltry. Observing, staying over and we can't offer money. Wouldn't be suitable. And Rwanda, all I know about the country is the awful genocide in 1994, and that the life expectancy there is 50 – I'm 48, so perhaps I'll be among the oldest people there.
