I walk to the top of the street, and before long they see me. The moto drivers. I wave to one of them and he drives over to me. I tell him where I want to go, and we briefly negotiate price. It's easier when you know the going rate. I climb onto the back of the motorbike, and we head carefully out of the village. I think I picked a good driver. The mudbrick houses slowly give way to open landscape, and green rolling hills with small clusters of cows, and boys with sticks watching them. We pass people along the way, carrying bundles of firewood on their heads, pushing bike loads of green bananas, or carrying passengers on their bicycles. The landscape zooms past us, and I feel relaxed and free. We pass the low lying fields, where we once saw a family of baboons playing, and head into town. Although the traffic is heavier, it's still a quiet place, and we easily negotiate our way to my favourite place in town. The Demi-Sheraton. On my way in to my favourite hut, I call out the greeting, "mirriwe!". A waitress heads towards me, and I order a drink. I settle into my hut, dig out the laptop and mobile internet, and get to work.
We are settling back into our routine after the longest break. Two months in Australia with family, a week back in Rwanda, and two back to back weeks of visitors from Denmark have thrown routine out the window. But they have given us something else. A renewed desire to throw ourselves into life here. And, on the horizon, a new season for us, with both of us involved in making a difference in this community we call home.