Day 44: Lasting Memories.

Kigali, Rwanda – Kigali, Nairobi, Amsterdam, Detroit, London. As I sit in Kigali International Airport with my departure nearing, I am struck by what I am leaving behind.

I have munched on my last succulent brochette skewered on a fresh stick of green bamboo in Nyanza. I’m done driving through the towering hills of Nyungwe in darkness (while standing in the back of a flatbed truck as the cold air makes my knuckles chatter). I’ve said goodbye to Richard, Daniel and Jethro – and to great staff at KCCEM. For now.

I’ve seen my last tropical rainstorm that sends people scurrying for cover, like ants. I’ve cupped my way through my last shower from a basin and breathed my last waft of a field of eucalyptus. As we passed, it shimmered in the sun as though it were winking. I’ve felt my way through my last blackout and spied the last of the swaddled babies poking their heads out of the backs of their mothers’ kitenge.

The ‘tea girl’ has brought me my last morning tea in my office and the women at the canteen will no longer ‘forget’ to return my change. I’ve quaffed my last Primus. And Mutzig. I’m down to my last remaining bills of ‘mafaranga’ and will no longer feel the buzz of the clippers at the ‘saloon’. And certainly not at foreigner prices.

The last wide-eyed child has stared at me, pointing tentatively while calling me ‘muzungu’. Followed by ‘good morning madame’ or ‘agachupa!’ or ‘give me money’. I’ve watched my last banal programme on Africa Magic television and finished joking about ‘mashaza’ and ‘My Sandra’. At least until the emails begin.

No more will I be stuck behind petrol trucks that struggle to inch up each and every one of Rwanda’s thousand hills. No more Impala minibuses. The sharp cut of horns to alert children and bicycles weaving onto the road will no longer fill my ears. I’ve driven the road to Kigali one last time.

I’ve seen the last of the low-lying cloud hanging over the hills and taken the last picture from ‘the spot’ in Kitabi. I've seen promise for great things from KCCEM. I’ve witnessed the last Rwandan vista whose beauty surpasses the last. Last day, last look at homes perched seemingly impossibly on the edge of hills, last pair of clean boxers.

But this is just the beginning.

Day 43: Ode to Kitabi.

Kigali, Rwanda – With the amount of rain Kitabi gets, it was appropriate my eyes misted over at having to say goodbye to its rolling tea fields and looming backdrop of Nyungwe National Park yesterday morning. It has begun to feel like a second home, and I am remarkably at peace there.

Look closely and you’ll see that each of Rwanda’s ‘thousand hills’ is covered by slightly different vegetation, the result of human impact, different altitudes, mineral deposits, water absorbance, etc. From vast fields of banana palms swaying in the breeze to forests of coniferous trees, the country is painted with chlorophyll.

Unlike much of Rwanda, however, Kitabi is located in a poor region for agriculture. Its drier soil is fine for producing tea, peas and tubers like sweet potatoes, but tropical fruits are hard to locate. When we did not travel, food variety waned.

It makes me appreciate how hard it is for the predominantly poor residents of the area, most of whom are unable to travel to markets an hour or two away. Moreso, it makes me realize how lucky were are at home to simply go to any number of grocery stores and select anything we feel like having from around the world.

Kitabi: you are more to me
than rolling carpets of tea,
than a silent
forest of green.

You are somewhere I have grown
and grown to love,
somewhere that gave me breath
and took it away.

I am changed by your change,
and changed by your same,
and believe I came to love
my home away from home.

Day 35: The Road to Kigali.

Kitabi, Rwanda – Like the spokes on a (very curved, and very hilly) wheel, all of Rwanda’s roads lead to the capital city. As I alluded to yesterday, this is a very Kigali-centric country and it is hard not to pass through it, regardless of your destination.

It is Rwanda’s power base and home to much of the country’s wealth. Most professionals work in Kigali and many of those employed elsewhere maintain homes there. Even though the trip from Kitabi takes more than three hours, for example, most of the staff here at KCCEM begin their pilgrimage home each Friday, as do many who work at the National University of Rwanda, in Butare. For more than a million people, it is home.

It's hard for me to believe, but this is my last full day in Kitabi, though I have a bit more than a week left before I depart for home. Tomorrow, we head to Goma, DR Congo, where I will be co-facilitating a two-day session on leadership and management for the International Gorilla Conservation Programme.

And yes, we’ll have to go through Kigali first (though if a straight road existed to Gisenyi, which is opposite Goma, the six-hour trip would be reduced to one).

Day 34: Rural Rwanda.

Kitabi, Rwanda – An endless line of rural citizens had begun the long walk through the dark with bags of charcoal or vegetables balanced on their heads. Most were barefoot and shielded their eyes as our headlights pierced the darkness, hands shooting up to steady their loads. It was six a.m. and many had likely already walked great distances.

Men, women and children alike coughed as a hundred trucks carrying sweet potatoes to the capital from outlying areas belched acrid clouds of diesel exhaust. The farther one goes from Kigali, the more evident the extreme nature of poverty in Rwanda – ‘Capital P’ Poverty. For most, the sole means of subsistence is whatever crop they are able to produce and sell. In areas around the capital, this means making long daily treks into the city to sell what is not needed at home.

Houses are commonly made from hand-made clay bricks hewn from nearby hills. Some are covered in a mixture that includes chalk to make the surface smooth, and occasionally painted. Others are made from mud stacked on a framework of sticks, often listing to one side. Some of the poorest homes are simply mud cubes. Roofs are often comprised of steel sheeting, or clay tiles. Unlike Tanzania, few are thatched, in part because of a government mandate against them.

Experiences like this still affect me deeply, despite having been to other developing nations, and to Africa twice. It pains me to see children in these communities gathering water from puddles that pool at the end of muddy driveways during rainstorms. And to know it is often cleaner than the alternative. The extent of poverty can be staggering.

It hurts, and is a constant reminder of the excesses of home.

Day 33: Feeling Like a Local.

Kitabi, Rwanda – Having been here 33 days, I’ve begun to feel like a bit more of a local. I have my hotel in the city. They know me by (last) name (well, close to it). I don’t rush to the manager when I find women’s underwear hanging in the closet and used soap in the bathroom.

I have my go-to restaurants, my favourite meals and my local friends. I have a spot at the table and a mobile phone. I have a barber, though I wear my hair short. I can sing along to the chorus of some songs in Kinyarwanda. And not know what they mean. I drift unconsciously between languages when greeting people.

I have a job and need to wash my clothes by hand. I’ve given up hope for a warm shower with water pressure. And for not having to flush using a basin. I have eaten brochette after brochette and have quit resisting all the fresh tropical fruit. I have places to go to feel peace and I have a routine.

I know the prices of things, have ridden a minibus halfway across the country and have grown to love the taste of mashaza. I no longer take a picture of every single thread of low-lying cloud hanging over the mountains. I don’t flinch when the power goes off for the seventh time of the day. And it rains for the tenth. I have watched hours of Africa Magic television and have begun to dream with a Nigerian accent. Children smiling remind me of my own.

I know to order my drinks akonje and my sides without mayonnaise. I know the bends in the road and the smells. I respect the opportunities I have in life, and appreciate that others don’t. Time spent waiting has meant more time for thinking, observing and listening. If it weren’t for Paul, I wouldn’t know how North American sports teams were doing. But I've developed a better appreciation for futbol.

I've likely seen more of the country than most Rwandans. In some places, I’m less of a novelty because of the colour of my skin.

But I don’t have my family and friends in Canada. I miss you (but I’m still not ready to come home).

Day 32: Riding the Impala.

Kitabi, Rwanda – As we arrived in Nyanza, the minibus jerked to the side of the road and was instantly surrounded by a horde of entrepreneurs hoping to sell food and beverages to the 33 passengers. Fermented milk, juice, doughnuts, roasted corn and brochettes on fresh bamboo spears were hawked through the windows. Stooped women with faces lined like the fields and handicapped children approached the door with pleading eyes and hands out.

The seats in the Impala minibus were comfortable enough as I returned to Kitabi this morning on a route that continues to Cyangugu. A ticket for the nearly seven-hour trip costs 4,000 FRw, about eight dollars, though I disembarked at the midway point.

Passengers carried goods from the city they hoped to sell at the other end. Fabric, electronics and a stack of Master P jeans (well, I guess they had to go somewhere) wrapped in clear plastic rested at my feet. Seats folded out to accommodate more passengers and we listened to R&B music in Kinyarwanda and English. I played peek-a-boo with a baby seated in front of me. She didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Next to me, a woman unwrapped the largest Hubba Bubba lollipop I’ve ever seen and proceeded to suck on it for the next hour. Then she played with the (obnoxious) ringtones on her mobile phone. At long last, she contented herself by singing softly under her breath. While the confines were not as tight as in the dalla dallas in Tanzania, if we had been any closer on some of the turns, she may have conceived.

I was amazed the tires managed to stay on the rims as the minibus accelerated around the hills’ many corners. Even still, the ride took me three-and-a-half hours, the horn sounding constantly, mostly at the streams of children who were just getting out of school for the morning. Many looked back indignantly, covered their ears or pretended to throw things in front of us.

My legs were still sore from gorilla tracking the other day, so I was not sad to have to give a sharp whistle to finally get the driver’s attention. Kitabi – home away from home. It was my stop.

Day 28: Time to Bolt.

Kitabi, Rwanda – We were enveloped in a sudden flash of white and the instantaneous roar of deep, rumbling thunder shook the ground beneath us.

Having dodged raindrops the size of grapes while running from the computer lab to a waiting truck yesterday, either the vehicle itself, or the ground beside us, was struck by a large bolt of lightning. For a moment, the air was bleached; I had never been so close to one of Zeus’s arrows.

This followed a lightning strike a few minutes before that had hit the lab, sending a long spark out of the server and over our heads, alerting us that it might be wise to leave. Lightning arrestors would be a prudent investment.

The weather can change very quickly here. Given that Kitabi is located on the edge of a rainforest, it’s not surprising that sunny days can suddenly dissipate into skies of looming cloud and rains that make the hills disappear. The area accumulates approximately 2,000 millimetres of rain annually, which feeds the lush vegetation that springs from every inch of soil. I have never seen so much green.

And yet, when it is sunny, the skies seem to be painted on over rolling hills, making this one of the most beautiful areas I’ve seen in the world.

Day 27: A Word on Language.

Kitabi, Rwanda – At any one time here, the lyrical tones of a variety of languages are carried on the breeze. With everyone talking on a mobile phone, it can be a real symphony.

Many educated Rwandans are at least bilingual and often speak three or four languages, at least passably. Persistent chatter on the street is generally in Kinyarwanda, but the government implemented a policy this past year that made English the working language. Meetings, however, often dissolve into the national tongue.

I imagine the transition will be interesting – and likely challenging – in the short term, given that the policy is not being phased in. It’s already in place. Imagine waking up one morning and suddenly finding out that all of your work had to be done in a different language – one you understood little of. All of a sudden, school curricula are in English. Signs, advertisements, newspapers, overhauled.

Though it may handicap the nation in the near future, the President believes the change will help Rwanda better position itself on the global stage in the long run. English is also central to the country’s desire to join the Commonwealth.

Kiswahili – the language of much of East and Central Africa – has now also been made mandatory in schools.

Given France’s extensive historical involvement in the country, many Rwandans also speak French (though there are areas in which you may be thought less of if you do because of disgust with the former colonial power). Rwanda was once part of ‘La Francophonie’, the association of French-speaking nations, but diplomatic relations have chilled with France because of its colonial past and its role in the genocide.

On an interesting note, Kinyarwanda is blessed with a couple idiosyncrasies that can be somewhat confusing if you’re not prepared for them. For reasons I do not understand, the ‘k’ sound is often pronounced as “ch” and an ‘l’ can be pronounced as ‘r’. As an example, Kigali (where I’m headed back to tomorrow) is often pronounced “Chigari”. To add another wrinkle, ‘b’ can be pronounced as ‘v’, leaving the oral form of Kitabi as “Chitavi”.

Confused yet?

Day 23: A Measure of Safety.

Kitabi, Rwanda – Having finished his transactions, a man walks out of the bank with a paper bag filled with money (plastic bags have been outlawed here and this is still strictly a cash society), casually strolling into the busy street with the bag held flimsily in one hand. In Nairobi, he wouldn’t make it three steps.

Here, nobody pays him any mind.

Despite the country’s recent history – or likely because of it – Rwanda appears very safe. In cities and rural areas alike, people walk the roads at all times of day and night. You don't see confrontations and special attention is paid to the safety of foreigners. Given the country’s dependence on rebuilding its tourism sector, one of the last things the government wants is to have something happen to a visitor.

And yet, razor wire twists rhythmically atop heavy iron gates and the jagged teeth of broken soda bottles line the tops of walls that surround homes and businesses in the more affluent areas. Private security companies often appear to be one of the country’s largest employers and military and police are as much a part of the landscape as the buses that careen through villages en route to Kigali. All are heavily armed.

It may be safe, but the caution can sometimes cloak a sense of foreboding.

Day 22: A Change of Pace.

Kitabi, Rwanda – Now halfway through my stay in Rwanda, I can hear the ominous ticking of the clock as time evaporates into the thin mountain air. With the realization of what we have accomplished already, and what we plan to do, my schedule has begun to fill quickly.

I have been working at the Kitabi College of Conservation and Environmental Management (KCCEM), which falls under Rwanda’s education and tourism sectors. Thus far, most of my time has been spent on the education side, editing manuals, a strategic plan and curricula – 130,000 words and counting. Over the next few weeks, however, I have been asked to devote efforts to the tourism side and will be making my way around the country to take photographs and prepare written materials.

Given my love of exploration, wildlife, writing and photography, it’s really not a bad deal.

Thus far, our plans involve visits to the country’s three national parks, including a middle-of-the-night trek far into Nyungwe to track chimpanzees and possibly golden monkeys. Deep in Parc National des Volcans, where Dianne Fossey conducted much of her research, we hope to get close to some of the last mountain gorillas remaining in the world. Giving our legs a break, we’ll finish in Akagera National Park, which is located in the only region of Rwanda that is arid savannah. It is also home to many of the animals one generally associates with Africa.

During my remaining time, I’ll also have opportunities for other personal experiences. My friend and colleague Richard and I are planning to take a bus to Kampala, Uganda, and I’ve been asked to help facilitate a session for the International Gorilla Conservation Programme in Goma, DR Congo. Right before I return to Canada, I’ll be attending a colleague’s wedding in Cyangugu.

It promises to be a busy few weeks, but a period rich in experience.

National Heroes Day.

Kitabi, Rwanda – While I didn’t personally have an opportunity to participate in any of the many ceremonies taking place around the country today, it is National Heroes Day in Rwanda. This holiday is similar to Remembrance Day in Canada except that it’s held mostly in honour of four heroes (or group of heroes).

I spoke to a number of Rwandans who expressed that they would be spending the day thinking of Fred Rudahigwa, who was the leader of the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) until he was killed during the first day of fighting in 1990. He was succeeded by current President Paul Kagame. They will also remember Agathe Uwiligiyimana, the country’s Prime Minister during the early days of the genocide. Uwiligiyimana’s assassination also led to the deaths of 10 Belgian UNAMIR soldiers sent to protect her.

Students of Nyange Secondary School are also being remembered for their courage and solidarity. Three years after the genocide, they refused demands from insurgents who had just returned from then-Zaire to separate according to Hutu and Tutsi lines. In the end, two of the three girls killed were Hutu.

The fourth hero remembered is King Charles Rudahigwa Mutara III, who is believed to have been murdered by his Belgian doctor when he expressed opposition to Belgian colonial policies.

Day 21: Take the Community to Work Day.

Kitabi, Rwanda – As the last Saturday of the month yesterday, the country came alive for mandatory community work Rwandans call umuganda. Young and old, weak and strong flooded the streets and hills with hoes, picks and other tools. Colourful toques and a rainbow of kangas dotted the landscape like a vast garden of flowers.

Organized at the local cell level (umudugudu), umuganda brings the community together to identify, and act upon, development activities that will improve their areas. Many such initiatives are related to issues of sanitation, security and the construction of water channels.

Community members will typically work throughout the morning until 10, before attending meetings until noon. It’s at these meetings that further development opportunities are identified, and where the community discusses issues related to family planning, healthcare, local politics and security. Funds are also collected for security (approximately 1,000 FRw – $2 – apiece to pay for local police) and for garbage removal (another 1,000 FRw).

It was also the first time since my arrival in Rwanda that I noted a complete absence of buses on the roads. Apart from the buzz of people when passing through a community, the air was silent. By law, they’re not allowed to run until noon as everyone is to be engaged in umuganda.

I can see benefits of such a concept in North America. Beyond community building, it could provide us with an opportunity to clean up our environment and to approach our world a little more selflessly. We may not have the same needs to build ditches, but whether it’s picking trash out of them, or planting trees, it could still provide us with an opportunity to better our communities.

And ourselves.

Day 19: GOP: Goat Old Party.

Kitabi, Rwanda – Around the world, people have been celebrating Barack Obama's ascension to the Presidency of the United States, and it's no different in Rwanda.

Given Obama's Kenyan heritage, in fact, he's a popular choice here. I've seen a few Obama bumper stickers, shirts, baseball hats and have even heard of women wearing kangas printed with his image. He's also often a frequent topic of conversation with people who assume I'm American (despite my attempts to wave the Canadian flag). Inauguration viewing parties were held here, as across the globe.

But the crew at KCCEM has ratcheted up the celebration for tonight. Apparently, promises were made during the election and now the College has to buy a goat. And roast it.

I've given it the name McCalin.

(Update: Given an expected influx of guests, we're now the proud, ahem, temporary, owners of not one, but two goats: McCain and Palin. I can't say I'm overly accustomed to my dinner grazing in the backyard. On its side dishes. Mmmm, goat: no kidding, it can't be bleet.)

Day 17: An Evening in Kitabi.

Kitabi, Rwanda – The smoke of dinner’s cooking fires twists and curls up red hills, dancing with low-lying wisps of cloud like a woman in a loose veil. Together, they lower the blanket over the land.

Children use rough sticks to push plastic water bottles filled with sand down the hill – in the vastness of youthful imagination, everything is a toy. A group of children scampers into the hills – leaving a hand-made wooden scooter at my feet – after I surprise them by coming around the corner through the trees. 

 

Soon thereafter, they return, giggling. A large group follows behind, chattering in excitement. Once a timid girl in a colourful headscarf agrees to a high-five, a line queues behind her. The village is alive.

With no light pollution, the blackened sky curves like an iron pot and sparkles with a million pinpricks that allow the heavens to shine through.

Day 16: Something to Quaff that Thirst.

Kitabi, Rwanda – As far as the eye can see, rolling green hills sprout foot-high plants that produce the tea I’ve been consuming a lot of lately. Watching stooped women with large bags slung over their backs perform the arduous task of picking the leaves, it’s obvious I’m indulging in one of the region’s specialties.

While I’m not normally much of a tea drinker, it’s nice to know it’s produced nearby, and to participate in the local culture. That it’s a great help in my battle to keep warm hasn’t hurt its appeal either. Tea with milk (chai) is also quite common, though I’ve found that it’s often made with powdered milk, which – for whatever the reason – I’ve tended to avoid.

Strangely, while Rwanda also produces coffee, I haven’t had many opportunities to enjoy a nice cup of local brew. Instead, what’s generally offered is a small red tin of Nescafe powdered crystals produced in Kenya – not quite what I had in mind. The search is on, though.

Given the tropical climate, fresh fruit juice is also a popular choice, though it’s best as a foreigner to be sure you know what kind of water has been used to dilute it. If it’s from the tap, you’re best to pass. I’ve had the passion fruit juice a couple times, which is quite sweet with a touch of a tang, and a popular choice around here. Plus, it just sounds cool to say to the waitress, with one eyebrow raised, “Passion”, with a seductive emphasis on the first syllable.

The chagrin I felt last year about the ubiquity of soda products is repeated here, though they seems to be less overtly advertised. There are fewer Coca Cola huts slinging glass bottles of the fizzy drink and fewer buildings either painted the familiar bright red or festooned in Coke banners. I wonder if this may be partly because the climate is more temperate and less dry.

Oddly enough, the generic term for soda here is Fanta (which is a Coke product), though you must specify if you’d like orange or citron, or a Coca. A bottle here is not quite as cheap as in Tanzania, but is still inexpensive, running around 300 FRw, or about 60 cents. Conversely, a small bottle of water generally costs about 500 FRw – a dollar – so the same problem exists.

The two main Rwandan beers are Primus and Mützig, though many people also drink Amstel, which is Dutch. Interestingly, unless you specify otherwise, you will be brought either the large 75 Cl bottle, or two smaller bottles, depending on the make (Amstel doesn’t produce the larger version). Though I haven’t come across any yet, Rwandans area also known for their ‘home brew’ – a banana beer.

Primus is seen as the more blue-collar beer, where Mützig comes clad in a shiny white foil label. While something may be lost in the translation, someone told me people here have an expression about Primus; it’s the beer that makes children say: “Daddy, please stop taking beer so that we can afford to buy sugar.” A large bottle will set you back just more than a dollar. The expression about Amstel, on the other hand, is to the effect of: “Anna-Maria, go home and make the bed.” 

 

I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.

One last note on beverages: as people drink beer, soda and water both ways, you’ll also have to specify if you’d like it cold (“aconje”) or warm (“inshyushye”).

Day 15: Removing the Mask.

Kitabi, Rwanda – Only 40 per cent of Rwanda’s estimated 8.5 million citizens are considered employed and, of them, 75 per cent are their own bosses. The average per capita income is only 62 cents a day. In short, this is one of the poorest countries in the world.

I’ve written previously that the abundance of food and vegetation can sometimes seem to mask the extreme poverty that exists here. Walking through a modern city like Kigali – with its hustle and bustle, well-dressed business people and a recent housing boom that has led to the rise of hundreds, if not thousands, of mansions – it can be even harder to fathom.

But Kigali is not representative of the country as a whole. No, this is a country where 94 per cent of people live in rural areas and where 87 per cent are engaged in agriculture and its related trades. There is very little industry here and 60 per cent of the population is under the age of 20. In 2004, the per capita gross domestic product was estimated to be a mere $228. Statistics can be a little numbing, or awakening, depending on your perspective.

In somewhat of a paradox, this is actually quite an expensive country, particularly when compared to others on the continent. The cost of accommodation in Kigali, for example, is on par with anything you would pay in Canada and potentially more expensive in relative terms when you consider the amenities offered. The lack of industry and a reliance on imports also increases the cost of everyday goods.

It’s enough to make you reassess your opinion of what poverty is, which has been gnawing at me of late. Generally, I’ve personally tended to define poverty as a lack of opportunity – for sufficient food, nutrition, shelter, health and access to education or gainful employment – but the poverty here is different from what I witnessed in Kenya and Tanzania.

Here, food is rarely a problem and with better nutrition generally comes improved health. HIV/AIDS infection rates aren’t as high as other sub-Saharan countries. Following a government mandate, there are few thatch houses remaining and people live in solid homes with steel or tile roofs. But Rwanda’s people are no less impoverished.

The Kitabi College of Conservation and Environmental Management (KCCEM) – where I’ve been working – hopes to marry environmental training with tourism to diversify and further the country’s economy. Located at the world’s only surviving Afro-montane tropical rainforest, KCCEM is being developed with consideration paid to the country’s development thrust, particularly to the government’s ambitious Vision 2020 goals and the Economic Development and Poverty Reduction strategy.

In short, the College seeks to generate employment opportunities and training thorough sustainable use of the environment, and to develop private entrepreneurship practices related to environmental conservation and protection. Overall, they hope to address issues of capacity building in the fields of biodiversity and environmental conservation througout the Albertine Rift region. My work here has helped me feel I am at least contributing something, however small.

The government hopes such initiatives will lead to an increase in per capita GDP to $900 by the year 2020.

Day 14: Something to Whet that Appetite.

Kitabi, Rwanda – Food plays a central role in Rwandan culture and is a major aspect of most events and gatherings. Thanks to an excellent climate for agriculture, it’s also abundant, which is so rarely the case on this continent.

Tropical fruit is served at most meals and generally includes some combination – or all – of tree tomatoes (sweet, unlike field tomatoes), passion fruit, pineapple, banana (sometimes the mini version) and paw paw, a sort of sweet melon.
With the exception of one day where soup was also served as an appetizer, breakfast has been the same every morning since I got here: fruit – either before or after – a couple slices of dry bread (or sometimes a sweet bread) and a pseudo-omelette for making an egg sandwich. Daniel, the ‘house boy’ (not my term) who prepares our meals at home in Kitabi, puts onions in, making them that much better.

As with my experience in Kenya and Tanzania, the starch-laden lunches and dinners are hardly Atkins-friendly. At each, you can expect to be served at least two or three of fried or roasted potatoes, rice, sweet potatoes, fried or mashed bananas, or spaghetti. Though generally made from cassava here, ugali can also be found, but it is not as prevalent as it was last year. I had heard fried plantains could be found everywhere here, too, but I haven’t found any yet.

Mashaza – peas, often salty and with carrots or tomato – are a staple found on most plates. Other typical meal-time vegetables include cabbage, collared greens, tomatoes or carrots, often shredded into a salad with onions (usually topped with mayonnaise, which I avoid here). Vegetables don’t tend to be much of a focus. While we don’t tend to eat meat at home, meals on the road have typically included fish (fried whole, or in filets), chicken (split into pieces and eaten with your hands) or beef, usually in a sauce.

Unlike my (granted, relatively limited) time elsewhere in East Africa, however, I’ve found that Rwandans devote more attention to flavour, liberally using herbs like rosemary, particularly in meat sauces and gravies. Eating out, you’ll often find yourself lining up at a buffet. Unlike North America, though, you’re only allowed to take one trip. You may pile your plate high, so get your fill the first time. In larger centres, you can also find French, Italian and Chinese restaurants.

For faster food, brochettes – goat or beef kebabs – and chips (fries) are ubiquitous. The brochettes are prepared with onion and seasoning, and are particularly good when they don’t carry with them the lighter fluid flavour of the gas over which they have been broiled. Roadside, it is also quite common to find men standing around fire pits roasting a dry corn that really ends up tasting like popcorn.

I’m happy to say that, while I came prepared with emergency food, I haven’t needed any of it (except during my layovers en route). The food here is really quite good.

I’ll write about beverages another time.

Bon appétit!

Day 13: Losing Myself in Peace.

Kitabi, Rwanda – A dozen children, wearing clothes as dark as their skin, first dive into the bush, then chase after me down the road that leads into Nyungwe National Park. “Bonjour, Madame (sic). Comment allez-vous?” “What is your name?” “Muzungu – where do you come from?”

Such phrases echo behind, then alongside me, with differing degrees of both enthusiasm and timidity. They are, for the most part, greetings these children have learned in school and don’t really constitute the basis for substantive conversation. One of them appears to be trying to push her friend into me so that someone can say they touched the muzungu who had wandered past their village. They're all extremely excited to see themselves on my camera's screen, pointing themselves out to their friends.

Adults, sitting nearby and minding even-smaller children who cling to the hems of their mothers’ garments, smile in amusement and offer up a gentle “muramutse” (good morning) in reply to my greeting in Kinyarwanda. While Nyungwe is a tourist destination, most visitors simply pass through here in the blur of a hired car, and on to the area deep in the forest inhabited by chimpanzees and golden monkeys.

In other words, it’s not overly common for a 6”3 white man to casually stroll past their small plots of land, many of which are occupied by a clay house, a few stalks of corn and a cow that smells as though it has been wallowing in its own filth. Because it has been. Outside one, a one-year-old plays with a small hoe; looking around, agriculture is unquestionably in his future.

Though a little overcast, it is a nice Saturday morning in Kitabi and I had decided after breakfast to go for a walk, with no real objective in mind. Two hours later, I had left my home here behind, wandered through the buffer zone that leads to Nyungwe and up into some of the Park’s hills. It’s easy to lose track of time in the beauty and peace of these surroundings.

Once I leave the roadway, butterflies flit, seemingly aimlessly. Bright red birds scream at each other before darting across the path in front of me when I pause to breathe in the scenery. Vines tap me on the shoulder. Forest elephants used to roam these hills, until the last one was killed during the war in 1994. There’s talk about re-introducing them to the area in the near future. Branches around me crack mysteriously, and yet it all seems so quiet. Peace, much-needed.

Deeper into the forest, crickets chirp in chorus like a relaxation CD, and yet remain somehow haunting. I’ve remained on the lookout for the military patrols that roam the forest as I have no desire to be startled by a group of camouflaged and heavily armed men. They often seem to simply appear out of the forest like ghosts emerging from the low-lying cloud. Many insurgents hid out in Nyungwe following the war, though most have since made their way to the DR Congo. The military presence is here to ensure it remains that way.

It is so silent, and the hills so steep, that you can hear trucks rumbling like thunder long before you see them. Bus drivers careen around corners, the rubber of their tires barely clinging to the rims. Some honk; others wave. Shrivelled corn cobs, picked clean, litter the side of the road. It’s a common snack while driving here, and you can often see roasting pits along the way.

Thunder has begun to murmur over the hills and the first drops have begun hurtling themselves earthward. In the distance, the silky string of rain completes the tapestry of Kitabi. Emerging from the forest, I see a bicyclist making his way down the hill and, around the corner, another man who appears to be smiling in my direction.

My colleague Richard has come looking for me.

Day 12: Signs, Signs, Everywhere Are Signs.

Kitabi, Rwanda – Today is just another (chilly) work day in Kitabi, though it's the first day I've had reliable Internet access (hello, photo upload).

As systems are not as developed as I'm accustomed to, things can take a lot longer to accomplish. Case in point: Jethro had to return to Kigali today just to transfer money from his FRw account to his USD account, which are at the same bank. Yes, that's a three-hour drive away. Not only that, he is going to have cross the street to another bank in order to first exchange the currency, before returning to his bank. Sound complicated? It can be.

People who know me are aware of the small enjoyment I get from signs, products and other forms of marketing that offer some form of double entendre, or a funny inconsistency. In visiting countries where English is not the primary language, these are not uncommon occurrences. Here are a couple I’ve seen thus far.

Throughout the country, you can find several places to get your hair cut on every block. Many Rwandans take their hair pretty seriously and it's a business that seems to have flourished in cities and rural communities alike.

Throughout the country, too, you see signs like the one above and the one to the right, advertising "saloons". It’s a place to get your hair cut, not a place to enjoy intoxicants with your friends. Frankly, if you’re involved in the latter, please keep the scissors away. When I first got here, I had begun to wonder if they had all just used the same sign maker. While many list the traditionally proper "salon", I gather from the prevalence throughout Rwanda that these instead merely reflect a regional morphology of the language. It makes me chuckle just the same.

Given its mountainous topography, Rwanda is not the warmest African nation. That said, it’s certainly not what one would normally refer to as cold – particularly for someone coming from Canada. As such, I found it quite humorous that this Coke ad describes the “Brr Season”. And yes, that is an African Santa Claus. As well as another “Saloon” beneath it.

Last night, I wasn't sure if I should be reassured or alarmed when I discovered that my bottle of "pure" water had a best before date. Of less than a year from now.

While not a sign, I got a particularly good laugh at the expense of a reporter I heard on BBC Africa while driving through Nyungwe. I kid you not, he actually asked his interviewee, as a follow-up question: “So, what’s up with that?”
So?

Operation Red Blood Cells, 2009.

Kitabi, Rwanda – I blame the elevation. And the starchy foods. And the beer.

I just returned from a four-kilometre jog – er, butt-drag – through the mountains and tea fields of Kitabi. Has it really been that long since I last suited up for Starlim’s basketball team? People who know me are aware of my distaste of running for running’s sake. Sports, I love, but running to run – not so much.

I blame Christmas turkey. And long hours on a plane and in a truck. And too much time writing.

But tonight was enjoyable. The sun was setting over the hills on a clear evening that left just a hint of blush in the sky. And more than just a hint in my cheeks. Children ran after us, cheering, when we passed the village. “Funny,” Jethro said. “I’ve run past here many times before and they’ve never done that.” 

 

Chalk up another one to the muzungu.

Up the steepest final hill, a friendly teenaged boy ran effortlessly alongside, seemingly mocking us. I give him a high five and instantly realized I should have conserved the energy. Two young women who had just gathered jugs of water changed their path in order to follow us up the hill home. If they weren’t so polite – and politely giggling – they could have passed us, water jugs and all.

The sun shone behind the house like a halo beckoning us to the finish line. The way I felt, I wasn’t sure if I was really supposed to head toward the light, or not. The elevation has left the alveoli in my lungs grasping like a ventriloquist’s dummy.

Okay, I blame myself.