Day 40: Hello, Moto.

Kigali, Rwanda – I tried not to think of how many heads had been where mine was headed (pun intended) as I pulled the heavy green helmet over it. The flimsy plastic clasp on the nylon strap refused to grip tightly.

Pulling through Kigali on a moto-taxi for the first time, the visor threatened to catch in the wind and pull the helmet right off. Then we’d start uphill and the small motorcycle would sputter to summon the strength to pull us toward our destination. Too many sweet potatoes.

In the end, I made it halfway across town for 1,000 FRw (about two dollars), an uncommon slickness in my hair and a brief period of travelling like a local.

Saying Goodbye.

Kigali, Rwanda – This evening, I was unexpectedly struck by a startling reminder of how little time I have left in Rwanda. For the first time, I had to say goodbye to someone with whom I’ve developed a strong friendship in Kitabi.

Though I had not realized I would not be seeing him again before I left, I am very thankful for having come to know my new friend Richard. Our paths will diverge over my remaining days and he came to say goodbye tonight in Kigali. Apart from Jethro and Daniel, I have spent more time here with him than anyone, laughing about mashaza, the Cheetah Girls and the world’s many Sandras. I will always remember the morning I wandered off into Nyungwe National Park for something to do, only to find him walking in my direction to make sure I was alright as I popped out of the forest.

We had planned to travel together to Uganda, but the clock operated against us. We talked of visiting his parents’ village on our return from Kampala and that we did not have the chance to do so is the one regret I have from this trip. “Next time,” he says.

Finding out this was it really sucked. I’ll miss him.

Day 39: A Red Mark.

Kigali, Rwanda – Crouched on reddish- black volcanic rock, a long, jagged row of homes and businesses that line the road from Gisenyi bear a red ‘X’ like a modern-day scarlet letter. The mark indicates the structures will be destroyed for being too close to the road. Though owners receive compensation from the government, they are still often forced to relocate.

I have seen this throughout the country and it reflects Rwanda’s infrastructure development, particularly roads, in the face of little formalized land ownership.

Passing through the northern province, even more letters are stencilled on signs and onto the facings of most buildings. The words they form, however, reflect a slogan introduced by the region’s popular governor. Like scars beginning to heal, they remind passersby of the genocide, but speak of hope for the future.

Loosely paraphrased, the phrase asks people for peace, forgiveness and to fight genocide from the roots up. That this message has been branded throughout this region is particularly significant given that it was home to former President Habyarimana and many of the genocide’s organizers. It is also where the war continued the longest.

In most instances, the word ‘Jenocide’ is singled out in red.

Day 38: Going Grey.

Goma, DR Congo – Driving through Goma at dusk, as we did last night, can be likened to being an extra in an old black-and-white film. It’s moderately surreal and volcanic ash from an eruption three years ago has tainted everything in hues of grey. Even the colourful African fabrics women wear are muted.

People paid us no mind and, despite constant reminders of the conflict that has plagued the region for more than a decade, it is obvious life goes on here. Fancy leather shoes hung from boards on the main street, men rode large, handmade wooden scooters and people continued to carry-out their tasks in the market.

Goma is very dirty, though, and fires of lit cardboard burned on the sides of the main road. The smell cuts at your nostrils. Gutters overflowed with refuse of all varieties and goats rooted through it. I temporarily lost my appetite for brochettes. Black volcanic rock has been salvaged and used for fences, but the buildings carry a sooty reminder reminiscent of parts of London, England.

Though we passed a house where each room was made from old shipping containers, Goma, much like Kigali, is witnessing a construction boom. Enormous mansions are being built right in the city, proving there's still money in the region. And presumably, some degree of safety in the city.

The UN maintains a large camp at the airport and the vast white sea of its shelters, trucks and armed vehicles contrasts dramatically with the black tarmac. Its peacekeeping force in DR Congo is the largest in the world. While I’ve become moderately accustomed to the presence of automatic weapons in Rwanda, a couple Congolese soldiers we passed carried handheld grenade launchers. Serious stuff.

I can imagine the conflict here has gone on so long that, for many, theatrics in the region simply play in the background, like white noise. I'm sure they'd still like it to come to an end.

Day 37: Conservation of Leadership.

Goma, DR Congo – Six stacked tables over which a large white tablecloth had been draped served as the backdrop for our presentations in the grand meeting hall at the Ihusi Hotel today.

As the tropics seeped through the windows, words in English and French hung in the humid air. Translation flowed like a discordant echo. Air conditioners, meanwhile, lined the room, sitting silent, as fluorescent lights winked awkwardly. The crushing roar of UN planes taking off and landing nearby shook the walls, often drowning-out the microphones.

Jethro and I were co-facilitating sessions about leadership and management for 30 senior conservation officials from DR Congo, Uganda and Rwanda on behalf of KCCEM. The trans-boundary meeting is being led by the International Gorilla Conservation Programme to provide updates and to discuss conservation efforts, environmental sustainability and community development. As the United Nations has declared 2009 to be the Year of the Gorilla, it also served as an opportunity to discuss events for the coming year.

As seems to be inevitable, we were required to reorganize on the fly to manage time. One key presenter arrived five hours late and had not yet even begun drafting his slides. Needless to say, the schedule went into the blender. Our sessions were fairly well received and provided me with an occasion to present and discuss theories of leadership in both English and French. It was a great opportunity, with one more day to go.

On an interesting cultural note, people are often given a cash per diem and certificates of attendance for coming to such conferences and meetings. Otherwise, many don’t come.

Day 36: Going, Going, Goma.

Goma, DR Congo - It's a byline that scares many from the western world. "Goma." "DRC." But the guns aren't sounding nearby and, in fact, I'm in one of the nicest hotels I've been to in Africa (the Ihusi).

Travelling from Kitabi this afternoon, the roads were lined with banana palms, which are erected along roadsides in Rwanda for weddings and for government officials. Given the sheer number that pointed our way to Gisenyi, we gathered they indicated a significant event. It certainly wasn't for us. In fact, all of the Rwandan government (more than 200 people from the Director level up) are meeting for a retreat in the lakeside town this week. Needless to say, security is high.

Though the process was a little lengthy as officials scrutinized our passports and examined a letter of invitation that had been prepared to ease our transit, we made it through the Congolese border without any difficulty. The sheer number of UN trucks (and UN planes that flew overhead) and Voluntary Repatriation Manifests that had been casually stacked onto the counter in the immigration office was a little sobering, however. I have never before been in a country engaged in a civil war.

Not that you can tell, where we are. It is humid, tropical and the mountains loom over the shimmering blues of Lake Kivu. People laugh, share beers and welcome you to what may be an oasis in the midst of madness. The sounds of birds merge with the waves, lapping against the shore. A man dangles his pole for small fish to add to his ugali. And a gunboat patrols the lake.

It's hard to believe that within a couple hundred kilometres down the road, six million people have died in this conflict over the past 11 years.

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).