Shoestring Adventures

[First, I would like to apologize for the major slacking I have been doing with this blog. I start to write but then get caught up in something else, and recently I have been trying to sort out all my thoughts after some unfortunate events. But I have decided a post has been long overdue, so here it is!]

I have made it, yet again, on another successful travel solo. Crossed a border at the break of dawn and managed, once we arrived at the taxi park, to negotiate a boda ride to the guesthouse I made last minute reservations at. I had to pronounce the name at least five times before there was an understanding, but I it was finally clear and I was handed a helmet and we took off (side note: bodas require the passengers to wear helmets in Rwanda – a concept up till then that was foreign to me). On the way I noticed a lot about Kigali in contrast to what I was used to in Kampala. First, the roads were in incredible condition – as if they were just paved last week. The streets were also so clean. Or clean at least in my book, after walking down numerous roads in East Africa filled with potholes of murky water and lined with layers and layers of garbage. The streets were also a bit tamer – stoplights were much more prevalent and cars actually paid attention to them. There’s a shocker. I arrived at the guesthouse. It was the cheapest place I could find but surprisingly close to the city center and fairly clean. It was only about ten in the morning, and after a sleepless bus ride I should have napped for a bit, but I was ready to take on Kigali and see what it had to offer. I asked the reception how far the Memorial Center was in relation and before he answered my question he looked a little puzzled. He asked how I was not tired and said I at least needed to have some breakfast before I took off again. Fair enough. He led me to the little bar and restaurant and in no time another man came out with some coffee and breakfast rolls. Not quite sure what to think of the butter-colored powder they set in front of me for creamer, I just added sugar and drank. It could have been a little exaggerated by the lack of sleep, or the fact that the majority of my coffee consumption in Africa has been of the instant variety, but I was sure that was the best sip of coffee I have ever had. It really didn’t need sugar. I really didn’t even need food after that. I thought for a minute I could sit in cafes in Kigali for the rest of my time and just drink coffee (mind it tasted like that) and be happy as a clam. I didn’t go that far, but I did finish every drop, paid, and took off for the museum.

The Kigali Memorial Center http://www.kigalimemorialcentre.org/old/index.html is a newer attraction in Rwanda, opened about 6 years ago, and is dedicated to the remembrance and education of the genocide that struck the country only 16 years ago. I have seen numerous films (mostly documentary) and read up a decent amount on the Rwandan genocide. During my study at University of Queensland I even wrote a research paper concerning the problems with the ICTR in providing justice for the crimes committed. All of that paled in comparison to the museum’s powerful effect. I think a lot of this is due in part by the fact that you are not only reading about the history, accounts told by survivors and walking through rooms filled with articles of clothing worn by the victims – but you are in the heart of the city where such unimaginable autocracies were committed less than two decades ago. Walking down the road outside of the museum I think, anyone over the age of 18 must have some recollection of these events, how could anyone ever be the same? How did, or could, these people start anew? How could one try to forget what a group that was not given dominance by some colonists did to a group that was deemed more powerful according to the standards of people that really had no idea of the culture and way of life before they came upon the land? I feel very fortunate to have had the experience of visiting the memorial. Feeling a bit pensive after this experience, I took off to do things that most travelers would think to do from the start – exchange currency, get airtime and see what else the city had to offer during my short visit.

Once I return to Aubergne Cavernes (the guesthouse that is nearly impossible for me to pronounce) I talk to Erick, the manager, about tours of Volcanoes National Park. He has a friend come talk to me about how much it would cost, after transport and lodging, etc, etc it came to about $250US for a day, and about $400 to stay until the next afternoon. And that wasn’t even for gorilla trekking. I try to explain to him, I just want to get to the park. I don’t necessarily need to see African wildlife or hike a volcano (lest it may erupt months after I leave – Volcan Pacaya case in point). I just want to hike a trail, enjoy the views – nothing fancy. So then comes the part where I get a bit frustrated with the conditionality of my travel. Granted I did not plan ahead enough to even obtain a permit for the gorilla trekking, and I did not do quite enough research on nearby places to visit – I knew that most of that would be out of the budget anyhow. Honestly, while sometimes it can get a bit irritating, I can see the point of those who sit on the side of the road asking for money from travelers quickly passing them. I am almost sure that the majority of the white population in Rwanda were either NGO workers and the like or those staying in the plush hotels that lined the tops of the hills and only venturing out to climb in their 4-wheel drive vehicle to take off for some exotic adventure that cost more than what most people in that country make in a year. Ok, so I am a little jealous that I can’t take part in such adventures, but I also understand there are other ways to experience a country rather than fork out exuberant amounts of money to pay park fees and a tour guide and ride around with the safety of their knowledge and the rabbit ear folds of your guide book. So that is exactly what I intend to do. So the next morning I went for breakfast (basically more coffee – my diet in Rwanda was predominately coffee), and with the intentions to navigate my own adventure – on a tight budget and following many winding roads. I stopped at the internet cafe to look up parks, and according to the Rwanda Tourism board you could take a public minibus taxi to a place called Masenze, the town that lies on the outskirts of the volcanoes and where large populations of the world’s gorillas roam. I did not know where that was in relation to Kigali, how far the park actually was from there, or even what I would be capable of seeing once I arrived, but I’ll be damned if I don’t give it a try.

I returned to the guesthouse to grab a few things before I took off. After glancing at the map by the reception desk and not finding Masenze anywhere I turn to the front desk.

“Where can I get a minibus taxi to Masenze?”

He looked puzzled, “Do you want me to hire a taxi for you?”

“No, just a public taxi will do.”

“Masenze?” His face still held that furrowed brow.

I raised my eyebrows and gave a slight upward nod (something I find myself doing very frequently now, and without any thought). I knew what he was thinking. ‘Where is this mzungo planning on going and how will she manage on her own?’ He also figured I was still trying for the whole ‘safari’ thing – which was only partly true, but at this point I just needed the road. He was about to inquire about this but I think he saw a stubborn determination in my eyes and with that he replied,

“Try Virunga Express, about 300 RFr for a motorbike there.”

That was all I needed. I thanked him and headed that way. At the taxipark I went in to get a ticket, only about 1,700 RFr ($3US), for noon. I had about 20 minutes, or so I thought, because once I stepped on the “12’oclock” bus the conductor picked up my ticket and grinned at me. “Wrong one” was all he said. “But Masenze, yes?” I was confused – apparently it was the time, I did not have the ticket for that bus’s time. I walked off, a little embarrassed for being caught so unaware and walked back into the ticket office. The clock read 11:30. I had been one hour ahead the whole time, not realizing we weren’t on East African time anymore. Hah, of course. After this little misunderstanding (it’s only time, right?) I was back in the game and eventually back on the (right) bus. The first problem in leaving was the (minor) accident. Apparently two cars cannot merge off a roundabout together, who knew? Ok, so there were some similarities to what I was used to in Kampala. But after only about 10 minutes or so of police showing up, both parties defending their innocence, etc, we were back on the road.

I can’t really explain Rwanda’s beauty, but it is something that makes me wish my eyeballs were cameras to capture the panoramic views in their true sense. While it happens more than I would like, it is always disappointing to know what you are seeing could never be captured in any other way, so you just have to savor it them and hold onto the picture in your mind. The trip was windy, traversing up, down, and around the ubiquitous hills of the countryside. Groups of trees are spotted all throughout the hillside, as are brown and red patches etched out into various rows, columns, and plots offering substance to the Rwandans who stake their claim on that particular part of the hill. The clouds hung so close you feel like you could reach out and grab a ball of its fluff. Children ran alongside of beaten dirt paths that acted as stairways through the land. During this trip I realized there was a big chance I would get there and ultimately have to turn right back around. But I was okay with that. I was taking a road trip (and a cheap one at that!) and happily content with the views and the “ok, we go” playlist on my ipod. However, I must point out that there are some stark differences between the pervasive American road trip and what I was doing. These reasons being, one, you can’t just stop by the side of the road to capture a good photo or venture off some beaten path for a spell and spread out a blanket and just picnic right there, and two, this driver was taking the sharp turns around the endless hillside a bit faster and with less finesse than I would myself. But for $3, whatever, this was all I needed.

During the trip I wasn’t really thinking through what my next move would be once I got off that taxi, and as we neared the destination my heart races a bit with the anxiety of the unknown. So, now what? As a mzungo, I try exceptionally hard to make it look as if I always have some idea of where I am going. While I know I could never possibly slip right in with the surroundings, I try to make up for standing out so much with a forced confidence. After walking a bit down a road and realizing I am getting farther and farther from where I probably should be heading, I stop a boda.

“Bonjour” – On a side note the languages in Rwanda have been quite a barrier for me, Kinyawanda or French. Both not phonetically pronounced whatsoever and therefore impossible for me.

“Parle English?” What the hell, I don’t really know French. But somehow I managed to, very loosely, to tell him I am going to the entrance of the park, and how much?

We go, and it’s pretty far. About 12 km. Once we arrive I am walk to the reception to ask about entrance fees and if hiking was even a possibility. There were two trails I could hike relatively cheaply, but they have to be planned and it was already too late. A bit disappointed I return to the boda driver. I think he understood what I was trying to do, and that it didn’t work. He asked if we would then return, but on the way back he pointed out different sights, taking me around the countryside, and even stopped a few times so I could get photos of the landscape and the volcanoes lying in the distance. It wasn’t much and there were some points I would have liked to stop and take more photos, but again with the theme of the day. It was enough – and it was cheap. I got back to the city center and went into a nearby hotel for yet another cup of coffee. Volcanoes in the distance and the sun beginning to set behind them was truly picturesque. I felt a great sense of accomplishment. I realize I did not get to go on some great expedition hiking through the jungles and observing the wildlife, but simply the fact that I tried seemed enough. Putting myself out there and still getting to witness the incredible countryside of Rwanda, attempting to talk to locals and navigating my way through the unknown was quite the adventure in itself. And I didn’t spend more than $20 for the whole day. I chalked it up to be a pretty big success, and made it back to Kigali just after sundown.

So I left Rwanda, maybe not seeing as much as I would have liked – but I got a pretty good idea. I ventured the streets of the city a little more, saw Hotel Millie Collins (Hotel Rwanda) and perused the markets. I got a good sense of things and got the experience. And then, as quick as I had arrived, it was time to head back what I call home.