Trekking Mt. Bisoke

We spent all day yesterday trekking up Mt. Bisoke, a 3711m volcano located in Rwanda's Volcano National Park. We set off at 8am, driving nearly 45 minutes from the park head quarters to the edge of the national park and the base of Rwanda's sencond hightest peak. Led by our guide, Jean-Pierre, and sandwiched between two rifle totting armed guards, we set off up a trail that we expected would take us no more than 5 hours to complete. The trail began as little more than a nature walk, cutting through local farms and lush, dense forest. An hour into the walk we reache the true base of the volcano and the once-home of Diane Fossey. "Now the hike begins," warned Jean-Pierre. "The next 3 hours will be uphill." And uphill they were. Ankle deep mud, rocks, and stinging nettles occupied my concentration as we climbed. As we got higher, the mist thickened, and the group grew more and more tired. The cold gripped my fingers, making it difficult to get a firm grasp on my walking stick. But we kept going My feet absolutely blackened by the wet mud, my nose dripping, my breath escaping me. About half way up, 4 people turned back overwhelmed by the intensity of the trek. Hunger began to set in, people's moods deteriorated, muscles began and cramp. "Only 40 more minutes," Jean-Pierre announced. A low grumble came from the other hikers. The promise of scaling a colcano, the beauty of its crater lake, and views of the DRC kept me going. Fatiguing my body felt incredible. My feet struggled to grip the muddy trail, my arms burned from incessant contraction as I pulled my body wp the path. But eventually, finally, and with utter relief, we finally made it to the top. The terrain changed quickly from wet, mist covered rainforest, to rocky, grass covered plains. Hungry and fatigued, but thrilled to have reached the summit, I broke out in a run towards the volcano's center and the crater lake tucked in its interior. I sat there, just on the edge of the volcano, engrossed by the stunning views and my proximity to the DRC, literally just a stone's throw away. After devouring a few odd snacks gathered from other hikers, (I didn't bring food with me as I expected the hike to last only a few hours and to return to town by lunch!) watching the clouds roll on and off the peak, and taking a few photos, our guide announced it was time to begin the descent if we were to make it off the volcano by nightfall. I had expected the trek down to be much more difficult than it was, however within minutes we were all covered in mud. My hands and feet were completely caked in black goop and sliding down the face of the mountain proved disatarous for my poor Chacos. The straps were tested to their limit and the soles of the shoes, that just a few days before underwent their fourth superglue job, came undone. Halfway down and with still two hours to go, I decided to finish the trek barefoot. The mud felt great squishing between my toes. Sometime between worrying about stepping barefoot on stinging nettles and swinging from the vines of a giant tree, Jean-Pierre hushed our conversations and pointed into the thick vegetation. "You hear that? Can you hear the gorilla's eating?" We watched in excitement, the rustling in the distance. And then he appeared. A silverback gorilla sitting peacefully, chomping on wild celery. Without a care in the world the gorilla glanced in our direction revealing the enormity of its head before going back to the mundane task of peeling his celery. Having not purchased the $500 permits to officially track the gorillas, we were told to keep moving and sternly reminded not to take photos. Fair enough. Another 100m down the trail and the rustling began again. Jean-Pierre pointed out into the thicket of grasses, vines, and trees, and a streak of silver lumbered away from us before finding the perfect place to sit and eat. Jean-Pierre explained that in this family group there are 27 members, 5 silverbacks, and we just encountered 2 of them! The sheer rush of excitement that pulsed through my body shot through onto my face in a wild-eyed smile that took a long time to fade. We observed the second silverback for a few minutes before we were ushered off and continued down the mountain. To be in the presence of such an amazing animal, such an elusive giant, but one that is gentle and exhibits such striking resembalences to us, especially when you look into their eyes, its no wonder individuals ahve gone to great lengths to save them. The feeling is indescribable.

We completed the hike by 3:30pm, a long, exciting, and unforgettable 7 hours later Kate managed to not once, but twice step into wet, juicy mounds of buffalo poop, covering her socks and sandals in the stuff Between my barefeet covered up to the ankles in thick, black mud, and hers in buffaloo poop, we were a mess. Luckily for us however, one of our fellow hikers offered to give us a ride to our next destination, Gisyeni, a lake-side town 150km away.

The ride to Gisyeni was uneventful and by 6pm we had expressed our gratitude to the Dutch man and his son, hopped on the back of motorcycles and rode the last 2km to a cheap local hotel. Tired, hungry, and in desperate hope of finding a hot shower, we were dropped at Auberge di Gisyeni, where the man at the reception adamently refused to let us stay in a single room. Too tired to argue for long, we conceeded to the more expensive double room, but when the toilet didin't flush and the shower didn't drain, and the stale stench of the room's last occupants permeated the sheets and walls, we were moved to that cheaper, single room we'd wanted to begin with. The room was clean, but the shower was frigid. A cold shower, a heaping plate from the restaurant's buffet, and a Primus later, we passed out on our soft bed, tucked snuggly into the green Shrek sheets. What an amazing day!

An Update on My Plans

I've decided against going to Burundi. Internet searches and local newspapers highlight violence that continues to grip both urban and rural parts of the country. And its not just violence between civilians and rebels, hutus and tutsis, but foreign aid workers are being targeted, especially in Bujumbura, the capital city. So instead, I'll cross back into Tanzania and travel south along the country's remot western cooridor towards Zambia and Malawi. I think I'll have about 3 weeks to see either or both of the countires before returning to Dar Es Salaam to visit Cathy and so some shopping, then head up to Babati to visit Morris and go on a safari, spend a week at the training camp in Mbulu, and if I have time, spend a few days on the slopes of Mt. Kilimanjaro before flying home on September 17. My time is really widdling down, but its amazing how much you can do, see, and experience in just a few weeks! But no more planning for the future, today Kate and I are looking forward to trekking the volcanoes and hopefully spotting some primates at Volcanes National Park just outside of Ruhengeri in north western Rwanda. This park is home to Rwanda's infamous mountain gorillas and although we don't have permits to track them, we're hoping an availability or two opens up so that we can see the magnificent animals.

Why are we so scared?

Hitch hiking has slapped me int he face with the realities of muzungus in Africa. Only once has a car driven by whites or with white passengers even slowed just the slightest bit to make sure we were ok, and never once have we been offered a ride. It's hard for me to comprehend why. Is it fear? Or indifference? Or lack of commraderie? I think it must be a little bit of all of those. But why? Are two American girls walking down a road in extremely rural Uganda a threat? Why wouldn't you stop if you saw two foreign girls sitting on top of their backpacks more than 20km from the next Rwandan village? I think the reactions we've encountered--fellow tourists and expats zooming by in their armoured vehicles, barely even daring to glace in our direction--speaks to the culture of fear that we as Americans, as westerners have grown accustomed to living in. Propoganda domiates our media. Terrorism. Guns. Suicide bombers. Civil war. Hate crimes. Murder. Gangs. National Security. Don't leave America because it's dangerous out there, shouts the media. And unfortunately, that fear is all too evident here. The vast majority of tourists I've encountered have been shocked and baffled that I'm traveling throughout the region as an independent traveler. Most come on organized tours, never leaving the percieved security of their private cars, their fellow travelers, or the hotels catering almost exclusively to foreigners. I get the feeling that far too many peopel come to Africa, to far off, exotic, and dangerous sounding places to snap photos of dirty kids, of people in traditional dress, and of wildlife just to impress people at home. It infuriates me that people come to Africa only to experience it from an arms length, from behind bullet-proof glass, and from the comfort of an eco-lodge or 5 star resort. We're safer here than we are at home. The people here are curious about us and want to have conversations with us. The local food is safe and delicious. Local transportation while it might not be the most comfortable, you'll never feel more connected to a country or have a greater sense of commraderie than when you're piled into a minivan with 25 people and their goats. Step outside of your box, leave your security blanket at home, and you'll be amazed at the world out there.

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!

Rwanda!

We're going to Rwanda today! Rwanda is one of those countries that has always held a certain level of mystery and excitement for me, a place that my mom regards as one of the most beautiful places on earth, and a country with a culture unique to its own. Mention Rwanda and images of a horrific genocide are conjured, but that was nearly 15 years ago. Nobody talks of the enormous strides the country has made in uniting its people, of healing shattered communities, and bringing justice to the perpatrators. Why is it that people are still scared to visit Rwanda? Why are we still hanging on to a history that we chose to ingore in a country's darkest hour, but now, well over a decade later, we can't seem to let go of? I hope that me being there opens the hearts and minds of people at home to the true realities of this tiny East African country.

Relaxing in Uganda

What a peaceful and relaxing place this is. After weeks of constantly moving, river rafting, hitchhiking, hippo watching, more hitchhiking, walking, walking, and more walking, both Kate and I were exhausted. Not the kind of exhausted that can be remedied with a good night's sleep, but an exhasution that takes a few days of utter relaxastion to cure. I spent most of the day yesterday doing the things I love most--getting lost in the hills that surround Lake Bunyonyi, making friends with school kids, devouring a new book, and swimming in the lake. I guess I didn't really sit still too much, but indulging in such activities was just the recharging relaxation I needed. Swimming in a fresh water lake in Africa is a rare occurance, as nearly all fresh water bodies of water on the continent are infested with bilharzia, a tiny parasite that wriggles its way into your skin and eventually into you liver, where it lays eggs and causes all sorts of serious trouble. So, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to swim in one of Africa's only safe lakes and in Uganda's deepest lakes, despite the chilly weather. As the sunset, Kate and I sat around the campfire and talked about family and happiness, and I am so grateful to have the family I have. No matter how bad or dysfunctional your family may seem, it could always be worse. I am so blessed to have healthy and supportive parents (3 of them!) and a wonderful sister. There's no better feeling in the world than to know that I have strong and loving people surrounding me, who love me and who will do anything for me.

Rushing to Wait

And here we are again, in the same predicament we seem to find ourselves in just about everyday--rushing to wait. I woke up this morning to the shrill horns of buses and to music blasting from huge speakers just outside my hotel window. Good Morning Africa! But that's what you get for choosing a guest house just next to the bus stand. Aside from thumping music, I also had a strong feeling that we should get on the bus today for Kable, 8 hours south of here, rather than hanging around Fort Portal for an extra day. Leisurely I got dressed, washed, and packed up my things, as Kate lay in bed cursing the unwelcomed wake up call. I walked out to the buses waiting outside to inquire about a possible departure to Kable. "We're leaving momentarily, get on the bus, quick!" With Kate still back in the room I ran to hurry her along, grab my things, and hopefully find breakfast sometime before the impending departure. Kate was ready within minutes, and luckily the bus hadn't left. We grabbed breakfast from the hotel lobby and ran to the bus. Phew!, we made it. An hour later, we're still sitting on the bus waiting to leave. At least I was able to snag fried eggs and bread from the hotel!