The drive there was majestic. Simply. Purely. Truly. Cruising blissfully through Mother Nature…her valleys and ridges, her peaks, hills, gorges and effortless endless curves. The drive from Jinja to Kigali, Rwanda takes about 10 hours; and as it’s Africa many of that ten hours is spent circumnavigating surprise potholes, goats and toddlers or muscling your vehicle, fists clenched, lungs pursed over the boulders, stumps and other odd solid masses that have been mistaken for smooth concrete by the public works ministry. Upon arrival we were told by the ‘Cavern du Auberge’ that unfortunately a group of 6 mzungu girls traveling from Kampala that very day had been mistaken for our group of 6 mzungu girls traveling from Kampala and thus our reservation had been surrendered mistakenly to the wrong group. Which is all fine and well when you can freely glide across the metropolis that is Kigali asking each friendly Rwandan where might there be alternative lodging… however when their first choice language is Kirwandan, the second Swahili and the third French… I find it a tit bit more difficult. In any case we bunked up across the street at the Dream Inn for a few dollars more, had running water, two double beds, flushing toilets (!!!) and a television that broadcasted CNN world, French golf and low budget Rwandan hip hop videos.
This experience was intermingled with the kick in the mouth reality that there were no ATMs in the entire city and that the following day was Sunday meaning no banks would be open. Four of seven of us were unable to withdraw money the whole trip, keeping reckless spending to a minimum and alcohol consumption violently stunted. Despite my pauper status I was able to score three beautiful Rwandan fabrics and am now on the market for a Ugandan tailor to craft me some style.
An honest ‘sad truth’ about the whole trip was that the food was maybe my favorite part. You must understand however that food takes on a different kind of meaning in your life when you are confined to cabbage, potatoes, matoke, rice and beans for every meal…such is my eating reality in Uganda. We met up with this really fun cute couple from U of O who had just graduated and decided they’d play house for the first time in Rwanda (whatever you’re into I guess)… anyway they were Kigali experts and the first night took us to an UH-mazing Indian restaurant complete with Mango Lassi and every muted color curry you can imagine…heaven. The following evening they hosted my favorite kind of yuppie wine, salad, pasta, bruchetta party; I remenesced about yuppie parties past. I was a little homesick, a little tipsy and sufficiently stuffed as we departed; it made me happy to know that half way across the globe I can still find a few conscious Americans who want to step out of any present catastrophes and bask in wonderful indulgence.
Monday we drove 3 hours east towards the DRC to Volcano National Park, only to be met with a firm “no, I’m sorry, it’s not possible” upon request to a private guided volcano hike…only 1 hike leaves a day, and that is at 7am. Somehow we whined and lied and puppy-eyed our way into the system and before I knew it we were trekking upwards at a pace that me and my “I’ve been sitting on my ass in Africa for a month” thighs were not prepared for. The ascent to the top of the volcano whose name I can’t remember was 3800 meters, and took about 3 hours. About 100 feet from the top, it started raining…sorry, I meant pouring…sorry, I meant hailing. My mantra of “wait till you see the view from the top” was immediately dashed upon summiting. I realized that my only view was of the thick envelop of cotton ball mist and the thick bowling ball raindrops wailing in front of my hooded view. We all kind of half-smiled at each other, choked down some donated glucose biscuits and prepared for the descent. This experience I may add, was perhaps one of the most challenging I’ve encountered and demanded from me supplies of patience, focus, strength and humility that I had never tapped into. Going down took longer that hiking up as each step had to be calculated perfectly keeping in mind hill grade, mud viscosity, leg shaking vibration gradients and how-close-to-tears measurements…all in all a very scientific experience. All I could think about was how I wished I’d brought a helmet and how I had no medical insurance in this country, it was great. We did see two gorillas though (normally a $500 event, seriously); they were hanging placidly in the big huge jungle trees making noises I’ll never be able to replicate despite my tireless efforts.
On our first day there we visited the Rwandan genocide memorial as well as Niyamata, a memorial church. It’s hard to speak about what that was like. How it affected me. How it changed or broadened or shed light on or confused my perspective of Rwandans. The whole event was nothing but devastating, nothing but utterly horrifying. The brutal itching scars of colonialism coming back to haunt a culture years and years after their occupation. It makes me sick. It makes me wonder how a Rwandan could ever look at a mzungu with anything other hatred. I don’t quite feel up to describing the experience right now, but I will and I ought to. But I really encourage people to do some research into the history of the genocide in Rwanda.
We saw zebras on the drive home. They were grazing by the side of the road. So free, so wild…we were able to slide the windows back in our taxi-bus and I could feel the cool equatorial air whip at my face and my chest. My ipod was playing Neil Young I think. It felt good, one of those “I love Africa moments”…
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