Hitch Hiking into Rwanda

THE UNFOLDING OF TODAY"S EVENTS....
1. Woke up early and ate leftover's from yesterday's lunch, boiled potatoes and beans, from my handy dandy frizbee as I watched the sunrise over Lake Bunyonyi.

2. Checked out of the resort and walked 3km up a very steep hill waiting for a ride into town. Finally, once we reached the top of the hill we got picked up by a sweet potato truck, crammed ourselves into the back with about 35 other passengers and rode down a very dusty road into Kabale.

3. Waited at the Celtel (my cell phone service provider)store for over an hour trying to get my cell phone credit activated, but with no success. Oh well, Celtel doesn't work in Rwanda anyways!

4. Walked through Kable towards the border twon of Kituna for 30 minutes before getting picked up by an incredibly nice, new, and modern Mercedes Benz big rig which took us to the Uganda-Rwanda border. That was probably the most comfortable ride I've had yet in Africa.

5. After crossing the border into Rwanda, Kate and I sat on the side of the road and wiated for a ride. Within minutes we were speaking French, Swahili, and English with a girl walking up the road to collect water. Between the 3 of us and 3 languages we could almost understand each other!

6. After a little begging, the driver of a petrol truck straight from 1960 agreed to give us a lift. Hesitant of the police checks up the road, hakuna matata, we assured him and off we went. 9km and nearly an hour later (yes, this was the slowest transport I've ever taken) I was told to lay down and hide from the police. I made myself as flat as possible in about 3 feet of space and hoped for the best. Even when the police opened the drivers door to look inside the cab, somehow they missed me, the muzungu laying diagonally in the front seat. We continued up the road at literally a snail's pace, Kate and I passing glances at each other indicating, "This is ridiculous, we could be walking faster than this!" Eventually, I asked the driver to pull over so that we could walk. A little surprised that we wanted to get out of the truck in absolutely the middle of nowhere, he let us out, and we waved goodbye to the cigarette smoking petrol truck driver. And yes, we did walk faster than the truck until gravity pulled the truck down the other side of the hill.

7. Dropped in the middle of nowhere, Kate and I walked and walked and walked up the steep road that snaked through beautifully green hills. Kids appeared from the hills. One turned into five, and five into ten. They followed us in curious hesitation, never getting with 3 feet of either of us. Their smiles were shy and reserved. Their timid behavior leads me to believe that they don't see too many muzungus here.

8. We finally made it to a tiny little town that had a few restaurants grilling bananas and goat brochettes (kababs) and serving beer. Having not eaten since breakfast, exhausted from kilometer after kilometer of uphill walking, and needing to pee, we collapsed at one of the 3 nearly identical restaurants lined up on the road. Manueuvering myself past the hanging goat carcass, around the BBQ, down a tiny alley into the back of the restaurant, I find the toilet--a mud hut sitting on the edge of a cliff over-looking the fertile valley below. It may have just been a hole in the ground, but the view from the squatting position was breath taking. Walking back to the restuarant, still distracted by the view and my rumbling stomach, I forgot about the goat carcass and ran into it. Yes, full on bumped into a fully skinned goat hanging upside down from the ceiling!

9. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to catch a ride the remaining 60km into Kigali, we ordered 2 giant Primus beers (720mL each!), a grilled banana and took our places on the side of the road. Again, one guy turned into five, which turned into ten. Within minutes, there is a semi-circle with a 3-foot buffer surrounding us. To keep things lively, I play a popular Nigerian song on my phone and soon enough we're dancing, laughing, and carving our names into the history of the town.

10. Vehicle after vehicle passed us, none willing to give us a lift. It was approaching dusk, so I gave us 20 more minutes to find a ride, otherwise we'd just pay the $2.50 fare and take a matatu (shared minibus taxi) into Kigali. But I was determined to make it all the way to Kigali for free. A Land Rover owned by the International Red Cross Society slowed as I flagged it down coming around a bend in the road. I pleaded our case and after momentary hesitation, he agreed. Yes, we're going to Kigali!

11. Turns out Rwanda is 1 hour behind the rest of East Africa, so when we arrived in Kigali it was just approaching 5pm, not 6. We got dropped in town and figuring we'd easily find a guest house in the sprawling capital city, we set off on foot to find a place to stay. Not once did we see a guest house, only a smattering of fully booked high-end hotels. Kigali's roads twist and turn over the hills that house the city and don't exactly offer the most inviting or navigable city grid. Lost, tired, and unsure of where to find accomodation, a woman finally suggests the One Love Hostel, puts us on motorbikes and off we go.

12. We arrive at the gates of the hostel, which is obviously set up for tourists, and cross our fingers that they have an available room. Turns out they did have a room available, but at $30 a night I had to push back the anxiety rising in my chest. The room is huge and grungy, easily another 10 people could fit in here with a few bunk beds. The water stained ceiling is flaking off and caving in in spots, and the dungeon-like feeling of the room is only bettered by 2 small windows. Famished, we head straight for the restaurant. We're told we have 2 to chose from, so we decide on the one closest to our room. Walking through a courtyard we're greeted by the squaks of caged parrots poking their heads through the tops of cages and by at least 12 cats. Dirty, mangy cats who have obviously been in their fair share of fights. The first restaurant is really just a bar, their food menu consisting of nothing more than local snacks--grilled bananas, meat brochettes, and a few other items that disguised themselves in the mystery of the French languauge. Hungrier for a little more than bananas, we walked through the hostel's compound, which by the way seems to be completely deserted, to find our second option. The outdoor restaurant is illuminated by a single light hanging from the branches of a tree. A group of young business men occupy one of the many otherwise vacant tables. The waitress speaks only French and the menu, written completely in French alludes even Kate who studied the language in school. After struggling through the menu's options, I order what I suspect is fish salad and Kate gets fried fish and chips. Surprisingly, this is exactly what is brought to us nearly 30 minutes later. The dim lighting makes actually seeing our food difficult, but as I bite into my salad, fresh rings of onion, shredded carrots, cabbage, and chunks of fried fish smothered in mayonaise, I'm happily surprised. Better than I had expected. Kate too digs into her fried fish, but after a few bites is completely repulsed by the awful odor coming from her plate. The middle of the fish literally smells like cat urine. Although my better judgement told me that the fish on my plate was likely once part of the the fish on Kate's plate, I found no funky odors coming form mine and continued to eat. The food tasted good and I was hungry. We both went to sleep, in the nearly abandoned, a little shady and bizarre hostel, fingers crossed that a good night's sleep wouldn't be interrupted by gastronomical urgencies.

Phew, what a day!