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The food here is wonderful - pineapples that are so sweet you’d swear they were tinned, a sack of passion fruit for less than 30p, whole Nile perch grilled over charcoal, yams, sweet potatoes, rice, plantains and local goat’s cheese.

Everything is knobbly, mis-shapen, organic and full of flavours we’ve forgotten in the west. Carrots are unbelievably carroty. Green beans are so wholesome they’re a meal in themselves. Avocados are silky, buttery perfection. We have glossy aubergines, lettuces, old-fashioned cucumbers (the sort you have to peel), indecently sweet tomatoes (in a blind-tasting you’d mistake them for strawberries), occasional broccoli, okra, onions, green peppers and scorching Scotch Bonnet chillis.

Meat is equally good - two huge T-bone steaks for less than £1, goat galore, veal, pork, home-made pate of international quality and the best sausages I’ve had anywhere, ever.

And that’s it. Sounds like a pretty good choice. But after a couple of months it begins to feel a little limited. Rwanda is a land-locked country in the middle of the turbulent Great Lakes Region. Imports are virtually impossible, so she relies on what she can produce herself. Blessed with a perfect climate and fertile soil, most things grow exceptionally well; but there is no winter on the equator.

So apples, oranges and pears never ripen. Peppers are never red, yellow or orange. There are few fresh herbs, no wine (grape vines need a cold snap), no cereal for breakfast (imported muesli is £6 per small bag) and the lack of refrigeration means that fresh milk in tea has become a distant memory.

That said, we’re healthier, haven’t had dyssentry, and enjoy cooking fresh food every day. People here are full of energy, happy and plump, although in rural areas there is malnutrition due to lack of variety rather than lack of quantity. The poor rely on staples of plantain, yam and cassava flour, which is made into a stiff paste called ‘ugali’. It’s incredibly dense, filling and not in the least suited to the British digestive system - be warned!

Rwanda is a monoculture. Coming from a country as ethnically diverse as the UK, we think nothing of having friends and family members who differ from us in colour and creed. But here, being white really makes you stand out.

We are a source of great fascination to many, especially children. Shouts of ‘Eh, mzungu!” (Hey, white person!) are commonplace, as are crowds of squealing kids following us down the street. Slightly more disturbing are the people that just stare, standing very close indeed as if peering into a fishtank. If you’re waiting in a car somewhere they press their noses against the glass, their eyes the eyes of people observing a mythical beast rather than another human being…

Learning a few words of the local dialect, Kinyarwanda, helps. Suddenly faces light up, eyes beam and hands are extended in greeting. But even then the feeling of being a curiosity rather than a person remains.

We’ve recently decided to buy a car, and a friend of ours from work has offered to help. He’s the kind of guy who knows everyone and everything, and immediately came up with a choice of three. His embarrasment knew no bounds when he told the vendors that we were mzungu, and they put up the price of their cars immediately by between 500,000 and 1,000,000 Rwandan Francs (£500 - £1000). He’d never believed that Rwanda was a racist country - in fact didn’t believe that racism could exist in any direction other than against black people.

As a nation we have much to answer for historically in our dealings with African nations. Still, it feels a little unfair to have to bear punshment for the sins of out great-great-great-grandfathers…

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So, where do I start? It’s been a bit of a whirlwind so far… We arrived at the airport after a 36-hour journey to Kigali via

Nairobi bleary-eyed, dusty and pretty exhausted - and were bundled straight to a local wedding. Tom had been hired as the photographer with absolutely no guarantee that we’d arrive in time. Luckily we did – and had a spectacular introduction to Rwandan society.

Weddings in Rwanda are not to be taken lightly. Day one was the civil ceremony, followed by a cocktail party. Day two was the church wedding, followed by a reception for 300 and a late-night party. Day three was the traditional marriage; a 12-hour epic of ceremonial gift-giving, tribal dancing, singing and drinking. Each day was attended by literally hundreds and involved several different outfits for bride, groom and family. There were cakes of almost indecent proportions, gardens worth of flowers and, more often than not, a military brass band.

A family committee had been formed months before the event, and each minute of each day had been planned to the last, extravagant detail. By the end, the bride and groom looked exhausted – and we had more than a thousand photos to edit…

As for the rest, well, we’ve hardly left the office in three weeks trying to meet the deadline for Rwandair’s in-flight magazine. Happily, it’s now on the way to the printers in

Nairobi so we can relax (a little) and get on with our other projects. Thus far these include: getting a stand ready for the airline at the annual expo which starts tomorrow, rounding up and photographing a portfolio of models for a top African designer who’s scouting here, producing

Kigali’s only private sector magazine, interviewing the British Ambassador, and designing a series of adverts for bus shelters across the city. And that’s just this week!We had running water (cold only) last night for the first time since we arrived, which was an unexpected pleasure. It’s amazing how quickly you can get used to being without the luxuries we take for granted. I can barely imagine what a hot shower feels like, and am now an expert at washing my hair in two jugfuls of cold water.

The weather is like an English summer’s day, and the initial effects of high altitude seem to be wearing off. To start with, even climbing a flight of stairs made our hearts race. Beer still seems to have a dramatic effect, which may have more to do with the strength of it – 6% minimum, with no regulation at all. So you never know quite what you’re getting for your 30p a litre…

Everyone and everything is late - we get laughed at for being on ‘mzungu’ (white man) time. In the UK we’re notorious for our lack of punctuality – in

Rwanda we’re early for everything! Even the wedding started at least two hours after it should have done… It’s chaos, but everything seems to work out in the end…Anyway, right now I have to finish the words for the expo stand. More soon!