From Kigali to Kigoma

On Tuesday morning we said good riddance to the DRC and headed back to Kigali. After a night in Kigali, we headed east for the Tanzanian border and back into a country of cheap food, cheap accommodations, and a familiar language. Western Tanzania is vast, open, and remote. The roads are unpaved, dusty tracks cutting through endless landscape of dry grasses, rolling hills, and acacia trees. Small villages crop up along the roadside every now and then, providing a great contrast to Rwanda's hilly roads that are inundated with men on bicycles, women walking with massive loads on their heads and infants on their backs, and seemingly endless numbers of children spilling from the hills. By Wednesday evening, we had made it as far as Nyakanazi, a small, but typical rural Tanzania town consisting of a smattering of shops that all sell the same basic necessities, a few restaurants all offering nyama choma (grilled meat), ugali, and beans, with a guest house attached to the back. With no electricity or running water and tired from 2 full days on the road, we had called it a night by 8pm. Of course, as soon as we had laid down and gone through the nightly mosquito net ritual, the electricity came on bringing with it bright lights, blaring music, and screaming TV sets. I was able to drown out the obnoxious commotion and fell asleep relatively easily, but by the sleepy look of Kate the next morning, she didn't have such a good night.

After sitting on the side of the road for close to 2 hours, the bus for Kigoma finally arrived. Packed to the bursting point with people, market goods, and even a few chickens, Kate secured seats for us (although I think a few passengers lost their seats in the process) while I found room for our backpacks underneath the bus. According to my map, the road to Kigoma appeared to be paved, however the hopes of a smooth ride were quickly dashed as we took off down the red dirt road. Having the window seat and Kate in the aisle, her patience was tested and the invasion of personal space severely violated. People from the aisles practically sat in her lap, elbows rested on her head, and chickens squawked in her face. She's learning some good lessons in patience here, and after a few moments of irritated frustration, took it all in stride. I am really proud of how well she continues to adjust to the harshness of life here, and although we still have different preferences in terms of food and accommodation, we are traveling very well together. I think we bring good balance to each other and have both learned a lot about compromise.

The bus stopped for a 15-minute lunch break about 4 hours into the 10 hour journey, and seeing the fatigue in Kate's demeanor from the constant onslaught of people touching her and bumping into her, I offered to switch seats. She happily accepted. The remainder of the bus ride was much the same as the first half--a bumpy dirt road, red dirt coating everything exposed to its constant cloud, and the loud rattling of glass windows set into window grates that were just a little too big. Kate's face and chest slowly accumulated a thick layer of copper red dirt, and by the time we arrived in Kigoma she was unrecognizable. Her sunglasses created a raccoon effect around her eyes and her teeth suddenly seemed blindingly white. Noticing her appearance, the sly giggles of passengers spread and soon the entire bus was talking about her. Pointing, smiling, laughing. The laughter was contagious and soon both of us were keeled over in our seats, tears brimming our eyes, our sides cramping from lack of oxygen. It's been a while since I laughed that hard. Why she was so much dirtier than anyone else on the bus is beyond me, but it was probably one of the funniest things I've ever seen!

We got off the bus tot he onslaught if taxi drivers biding for our business. Kate desperately wanted to stay in a nice hotel where she could take a hot shower so directed our chosen taxi to the Lake Tangayika Beach Hotel. But after driving down a road clearly under construction, we were informed that the hotel had closed. Refering to Lonely Planet for another potential hotel, we asked the driver to take us to Hilltop Hotel. His beat up old Toyota Corolla chugged its way up the hill towards the hotel, but without enough gas, the engine kept cutting out. Park. Reverse. Neutral. Turn the key. Give it a little gas, and off we go. We made it up to the resort overlooking Lake Tangayika and the eastern most reaches of the DRC, only to nbe told that the hotel had no vacancies. I'm convinced our taxi driver was some 16 year old kid who borrowed his big brother's car for the afternoon to see if her could make a little money, because honestly he was completely incompetent. We drove around for the next 20 minutes searching for a place to stay. Yet despite signs pointing towards hotels and guest houses, stopping to ask for directions, and an engine that couldn't stay running for more than 2 minutes, we seemed to go in circles. And in a small town with only a handful of guest houses, it was pretty pathetic. Park. Reverse. Neutral. Turn the key. And off we go. We finally made it to Omega Guest House where luckily there was running water, otherwise Kate probably would have started crying. The place wasn't exactly the $140 a night place on the hill that Kate was hoping for, but it had warm water, a functional shower head, and a comfortable bed. What more could you possibly ask for?