A couple weekends ago I went to Kigali with the other Ngara WorldTeach volunteers (there are four of us in all). We had all wanted to visit the city for a weekend, and having been told by my Field Director that I might have to spend three days and two nights to extend my visa, we made plans to go. Ultimately, my visa situation was sorted out, but since we had already made the plans we decided to go anyway. It was a nice – if very short – trip.
We left early Saturday morning, catching a “taxi” to Benako, a small town that was once the site of a large refugee camp during and following the Rwandan genocide, and from there we continued in a taxi to Rusomo. Ngara town is only 26 kilometers from Rusumo, but for some reason all the taxis go through Benako, which is actually pretty out of the way, and adds maybe double the distance. It is 3000 tsh (or about 2 dollars) to get to Benako, and other 3000 tsh to get to Rusomo. “Taxis” are Toyota hatchback sedans that uncomfortably fit up to 14 people. On this trip we we lucky to be the only four people squeezed in the back seats. I think because we are wazungu, they didn’t force anybody else on us, and four people crowded in the trunk, while three more crowded up front with the driver. Yes, the driver shared a seat.
We arrived at Rusomo about an hour later, and walked to the Tanzanian immigration office to get our passports stamped, before we crossed the border. We walked down a long hill full of trucks waiting to get their turn to cross the bridge over Rusomo falls into Rwanda. People had been telling us we had to go to Rusomo to see the falls, but they were not really that special, and I am glad we did not go solely to see the waterfall, because it was nice but completely unspectacular (and very brown). I would call them a lesson version of Whatcom Falls, in Bellingham, if that helps you gain some perspective on them. The one lane bridge that crosses the river is the border, and once you cross the bridge you meet with Rwandan immigration on the other side. We quickly realized that this is why there were so many trucks waiting to cross. Not only does it seem like they have to deal with immigration, but after crossing the border trucks begin driving on the other side of the road (in Rwanda the roads are like the US, while in Tanzania the roads are like the UK). I can only imagine this is difficult for truck drivers to adjust to, but the single lane bridge that shakes like it will collapse when trucks drive over it makes this transition a little easier, I guess.
After crossing a border, we hopped on a bus. Conductors from three different companies ran to us trying to write us tickets for their busses, but we ended up hopping on the one that was getting ready to leave. The busses leave Rusumo nearly empty, because not many people cross the border, and pick up passengers on the way to Kigali, which extends the time of the journey somewhat. For 3000 francs (about 6 dollars), we got all the way to Kigali. By the time we arrived in Kigali we had been traveling for just under 6 hours. On the way back it took us closer to 5, because the busses leave Kigali full, and don’t pick up as many people on the way.
Entering Rwanda two things became very clear: Rwanda is much cleaner than Tanzania, and the busses are much nicer. It is clean because plastic bags are actually banned there, and once a month it is the law that everyone takes a day to clean (picking up trash, etc). Most of the busses are relatively new, and they are far more comfortable than Tanzanian busses, even if you end up squeezing an extra person in an aisle.
Rwanda looks a lot like the landscape of Ngara, but it is much more densely populated, so there was not a single stretch of road that didn’t have houses alongside it, and there were farms everywhere. Unlike Ngara, there were also rice fields, and what I think were artificially made fishing lakes. And, of course, there were banana farms everywhere. Kigali was very pleasant. It reminded me of Pretoria, South Africa, without the crime problem or townships. Obviously there is a wealthy upper class in Kigali (and the associated mansions, high walls, and barbed wire), but these differences are not as stark as in Pretoria, and the city is supposed to be very safe. We stayed at a hotel in the city center, which is on the middle of a hill. Kigali is very hilly, and it seemed like there were no streets without an incline.
We only had the rest of the day, and the next morning in the city before we had to leave, so we explored, ate food, and saw some of the sights. We also managed to have an adventure involving a search for a restaurant that was recommended in my Lonely Planet guidebook. As it began to get dark, Marisa, Elizabeth and I (with our computers) walked in search of this place. It got dark, and we asked a policeman if he knew where it was it. Already this story is quite different than the story I would be telling in most big cities in Africa, because you avoid policemen because they are corrupt and you never walk around at night (especially with valuables). That’s not to say that we should have been walking with valuables, or that walking after dark is a fantastic idea, but Kigali is supposed to be the safest city in Africa, and there were policemen everywhere. The first policeman had no idea where it was, but the second did, and called us some motorcycles to take us there, even though it was just around the block. We hopped on our motorcycles, and I quickly discovered that my driver had no idea where we were going, and didn’t speak any English or Swahili.
We spent the next 20 minutes driving around in the dark, temporarily losing each other (because the drivers did a poor job of sticking together), as the drivers tried to figure out where they were going. It was a little terrifying, and my adrenaline really began to pump. I pulled out my iPad, which I instantly regretted to try to show the driver the map of where the place was supposed to be, and he puzzled over it before I put it away, not only feeling stupid for letting him know that I had it, but also feeling stupid for trying to have him read a map, which Tanzanians (are presumably Rwandans) do not ever use. Soon, we began to tell our drivers to take us back to the hotel, but they refused at first, until eventually they realized that they had no idea where the restaurant we were looking for was. When we arrived, they demanded far more than our agreed upon price after we arrived, but we ended up paying them 500 francs a piece, which they angrily ended up accepting.
The concierge told us he knew where the restaurant was, and called us a taxi, who was also unable to find it. We stopped at a posh hotel to ask for directions, and Marisa met an older couple from New York that was amazed at our lives in Tanzania, and our travels. During this time our taxi driver (who spoke Swahili) discovered that the restaurant had moved, and this couple ended up recommending us an Indian restaurant that was delicious.
The next day we headed back to Tanzania. It was a great trip, and I look forward to going to Kigali again. Next time I want to spent some time seeing some of the genocide memorial sites, as the whole time I was there I simply could not get it out of my head that most of the people I was seeing and meeting had witnessed (and maybe even been involved in) genocide. The topic is, apparently, taboo in Rwanda, but it would have been very interesting to learn more about how Rwandans perceive the genocide, so I am looking forward to going to some of these memorials in the future.