Rwanda and Going Home
Our bus ride was filled with lots of lumps and bumps and I remember more than once being woken up a couple inches off my seat. I tried to rationalize it as the same sensation as being on a roller coaster...I like that feeling so it is all good, right? We arrived at the Rwandan border early in the morning (it was actually cold!) and we all sleepily shuffled off the bus to stand in a surprisingly long exit line. It is always a bit of a weird sensation walking in 'no man's land' from one country to another. I was joking about which country would arrest us if we did something bad in that limbo place, but one angry look from a Ugandan soldier and I shut my mouth. I guess it is just like yelling "BOMB" in an airport. Oops. For anyone that wants to know U.S. citizens do not have to pay for Rwandan visas (probably because of the obscene amount of aid we give to their country), but apparently those dirty dirty Canadians do! Two really nice Canadian gentlemen that were 'bus buddies' with us (there is a deep connection made from the mutual discomfort made on those bus rides) got stopped at the border and were told it would cost them well over $100 a piece to enter, which from the backpacker-esq looks of them I don't think they had. Unfortunately the visa was about the last free thing Rwanda offered us and we more than made up for the cost in miscalculations regarding food, places to stay, and transport. Darn chapati not being 30 cents!
Our arrival in Kigali was hurried as the bus was continuing on to Burundi so we were all shuffled off, handed our bags, and bid a possibly genuine farewell. We sat down at the bus station to eat some food and gather our wits when I looked across the table and saw Kim's face contort in a look of worry and confusion. She asked "did you grab the bags in the overhead compartments". From later recounts of the story apparently my face went as silly looking as hers as we simulatenously looked over the balcony to see the bus pulling away. Those bags, filled with all of our collected trinkets from the trip, were collectively worth well over $100 and the darn bus was driving away with them! Because we didn't stick out enough already as English-speaking white folk, Kim and I instantaneously sprinted like there was no tomorrow across the bus station, down the flights of stairs, and over to the bus. Our friends still up at the restaurant were hollering like lunatics as we tried to flag the bus down while waving our arms in the air in a similarly frantic manner. Thankfully our commotion was noticed by someone on the bus and my banging on the side of the bus was noticed by the driver, so we got on and retrieved our things. Whew! After a rather awkward lunch with everyone staring at us we walked to another bus station (I know, we haven't had enough of 'em) and traveled from Kigali to Ruhengeri. Without intending to sound cocky I have traveled a lot of places and seen a lot of different things. But nothing, nothing compares to the stunning landscape and rolling hills of Rwanda. The countryside is lush with every sort of tree and different covered bougainvillea you can imagine! It was clean, and as strange as it may sound, it smelled nice. The people waved as we drove through little villages and towns hidden between the hills. One would never know what had happened in that country just over a decade ago unless they caught a glimpse of one of the delicately placed genocide memorials along the road. Every time I saw one my heart sank a little more and honestly, I was afraid to stop at the Genocide Memorial in Kigali on our way back. In the same vein of thought as the global community had in 1994, isn't it just easier to look the other way? But I will get to that later.
We arrived in Ruhengeri a couple hours later- it takes about three hours to get from the farthest corner of the country to the other. Whether it was our delirium from being on buses for what I think is far too long for any sane person, or Rwanda's attempt at confusing all of its tourists, we couldn't, for the life of us, read the map and figure out which way our hotel was. After some botched attempts made by me at asking in French we finally got into a taxi and made our way there. The hotel was nice enough and I don't think they much appreciated us dangling all of our wet clothes (we had been rained on earlier) over their neatly trimmed hedges outside. After a quick bite to eat we decided to muster all of our courage and head over to the Rwandan Parks Office. I tried as best I could to replicate my mom's Masterchief face when she demands something (and gosh darnnit she will get it and you better bring it out with a smile!) though I cannot imagine I gave it justice. Why the stern, demanding faces? Well after two weeks of heckling the Parks Office to give us our permits and a lot of disorganization on their part, we still didn't have them. And now we were in Rwanda so we kind of needed them...especially since we had spent all day in Kampala at the banks trying to deposit money. These permits were starting to have the elusive appeal of the "golden ticket" in Willy Wonka. On our way there we ran into some other foreign students at UDSM, Outi and Matthew in Ruhengeri for the gorilla trekking as well! They had been having problems with the Parks Office as well so they joined our tough-lookin' group and we all marched over together. Nothing was solved during that meeting and we were told to "come back at three o'clock". Apparently there weren't any permits available so we had essentially payed for non-existent pieces of paper. Kim Martin, the girl in our group that was 'in charge' of the permits would have been blowing steam out of her ears were she a cartoon character. We decided it was time to eat. We sat around the table of the restaurant devising ways into obtaining our permits coming up with anything from me being pregnant and 'this was my last opportunity to see the gorillas before I have the baby!' to 'we have connections in Dar es Salaam...don't you make me call them!". If worst came to worst we would march into that office and get our money back (and probably sneak into the park regardless of our permits). Thankfully after a rather bizarre meeting with an aussie gent we got everything settled, faxed in proof of ID, and went to bed happy.
The next morning we all met up and drove to the park...me, Kim L, Kim M, Kelly, now two Australian people, Matthew, and Outi. Our tour guide Hope, was a riot and definitely made the whole experience that much better. We climbed up to 9,000ft to see the gorillas (a family of 14) and got within 10 feet of the silverback! It was breathtaking. I had to keep reminding myself of where I was and that yes, I was in fact ten feet from a 200k animal on the top of a mountain in Rwanda. Of course my camera died halfway through our visit with the gorillas (of whom didn't care one bit that we were there). It was for the best because instead of spending the hour with fourteen mountain gorillas concerned about getting the best photo, I just stood and watched them. It made it all the more important to me because these are the last mountain gorillas in the world. Our hike up, observation and climb down took about six hours all together and we were accompanied by Hope, a man with a machete, and once we were in the Park, three men with rifles. When we got to where the gorillas were there were another five men, two with walkie-talkies and three with larger guns. We were told these men were not there for our protection, but for the gorilla's protection. Their job consisted of following the animals around 24/7 to make sure they were protected from poachers...how cool! When we all came off the mountain, albeit covered up to our knees in mud, every single one of us was simultaneously stunned into silence and full of energy. For anyone reading this I suggest that you make gorilla trekking (in Rwanda, Congo or Uganda) a life priority. It would be hard to top such an experience.
It took us each about 45 minutes to scrub the mud off (I deemed my pant legs un-salvageable) and we packed our things. Once we were semi-clean we left Ruhengeri to Gesenyi. Our time in Gesenyi (which is next to Lake Kivu of which I am still certain is a mis-named ocean) was luxurious and relaxing. Let it go on the record that I went to the gym at least once in my whole time in East Africa! However, we all had our own bits of excitement there. Kim and I got on a boda boda (a motorcycle- form of public transport) for the first time. She looked fine but I was praying every second on that thing, start to finish, "God save us, God save us". I would willingly jump off a 144 ft platform a million times before ever getting on a boda boda again. Kim M. and Kelly on the other hand tried to cross the border into the DRC and were (thankfully) turned away. Adventurous as I am I am not stupid. I am staying away from conflict zones. With all of the excitement over we headed onto Kigali.
Kigali was...interesting. It is a beautiful city with very friendly people but our time there was filled with many emotions. I, begrudgingly, got onto a boda boda again so I was scared yet again. Our hostel, the One Love Club was not very loving at all and we were all more than a little upset at the accommodations. Our last night there we went out to a club and the unexpected scandalousness of the dancing made us all feel more than a little awkward and embarrassed. The Genocide Memorial, while touching and intriguing at the same time, left me feeling guilty, morbid and horrified all at once. In such a tiny country it is hard to imagine 800,000+ people were killed in a span of two months. They were killed by their friends, neighbors and even their own families. It was Hutu's killing Tutsi's, Hutu's killing Hutu's...everyone was killing everyone. And no one was spared, not even infants. At the end of the tour in the Memorial there was a section on other genocides which only served to further entrench that sense of dread and sorrow in the bottom of my stomach. The Jews, Armenians, Vietnamese, Ethiopians... I caught myself thinking that while these were undoubtedly horrible events in history, surely people would not repeat themselves? But of course they have and they are. It is a genuinely depressing thought to realize how easily we can turn against ourselves and cause such pain and sorrow without even the slightest remorse. We all think, "oh it will never happen to me" or "not in my country!" but how easily are we swayed by the media and our dislike of change? How easily did all of these genocides happen right under the noses of the citizens, the government, and the global community? And what is worse than all of this? I think it is infinitely worse, worse than killing your neighbor with your own hands, that the rest of the world just sits by and does nothing. We choose to ignore because, well, isn't it easier to look the other way? It was a sad day at the Genocide Memorial indeed.
Walking around Kigali after that was different. We now had a deeper understanding of the history of the place we were in but we couldn't help being touched by the beauty and kindness of everyone and the hills around us. We left the One Love Club early the next morning (more than a little happy to leave that hostel) and got a ride to the airport. Our flight back was rather uneventful except for some unnerving creaks in the plane from Kigali to Kampala but we all got back in once piece. It had been an amazing vacation. There was excitement, thrill, beauty, adventure, friendship, reflection and many opportunities to learn. If I learned anything from those ten days it was to be always appreciative of what I have: whether it be my health, my ability, my friends, my family or my life.
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