As said before, we arrived in Kigali just after a 36 hour bus ride, and were ecstatic to see the city even if it was raining and especially because our bus was leaking. Our friends from Moshi had told us that we would know when we had hit Rwanda when we saw hill after hill, and they were right. I kept expecting to look out and see gorillas just doing whatever it is gorillas do. To attempt to describe the scenery would be close to impossible, but in a word: pre-historic. The hills were endless, and erosion had added some to them some unique patterns and shapes. Palm trees were spotted throughout, and small rivers and streams connecting somehow to the Nile were scattered. Even the token Irish girl was quite impressed with the valleys and what sat above them.
Now, remember Mr. Alpha from Dar Es Salaam? Yes, yes, silly question--how could you forget? Well people, prepare yourselves for: MR. BERTINE! A bit taller than Mr. Alpha, Mr. Bertine descended down into our lives at the Rwandan-Tanzanian border. He first came to us to point me in the direction of the Forex Bureau, and the rest is history.
Brief Biography: Mr. Bertine (Mr B.) was born in Rwanda, left a few years before the genocide in 1994, and spent 3 years in the bush fighting against the corrupt government during that time. Meanwhile, his family was in Tanzania, and they all returned to Kigali shortly after in 1994. He is a professor of microbiology at Kigali Institute of Science and Technology, and while he and his wife reside in the capital city, he has two children studying in Kampala, two in university in Kigali, and a 7 year old grandchild. Like Mr. Alpha, Mr. Bertine is in his mid-sixties, and for whatever reason we had the pleasure of meeting him.
So, naturally, our timing was more than perfect, and we arrived on Thursday evening...just in time for Easter holidays. Mr. B pointed us in the direction to St. Femille hostel, where we stayed for $5 a night per person. Only a few 6-legged visitors were had, but the showers were usually hot and each room came fully equipped with a sink and crucifix. We intended on only staying 3 or four nights, but ended up having to stay 6 nights because the holiday weekend closed all of the memorials and museums.
Most of the weekend was spent in a coffee shop where wireless was included with the purchase of a drink. It was nice, and I would say if anyone is interested in visiting Kigali, DO! However, be prepared, because you will feel like you have stepped out of Africa...at least when you are in the city centre. Paved roads, skyscraper banks, people in suits, no dirt...and TRASHCANS were such a change. The 24 hour supermarket threw us all for a loop, and speed limit signs were just almost too much to handle. Really, the upper side of the city has such a western feel, and it was nice for a while, but almost too different for comfort. 30 minutes walk outside of the city centre took us back to Africa, and the contrast between the two was shocking.
Easter Sunday brought our first organized activity. Until this point we only walked around, mostly searching for the Hotel des Milles Collines, the hotel that inspired the film Hotel Rwanda, only to find that it could be seen perfectly from our coffee shop.
Finding a Methodist church for Sunday seemed unlikely, so we inquired at our hostel about her parish church, and decided on Easter mass for 9:00 am. We figured this was safe, because there was another mass at 11:00 am, and services in this part of the world tend to be a bit lengthy. So, we put on our cleanest clothes, and headed up the hill to church. I arrived to a group of boys—possibly boy scouts—playing huge bongo drums in the parking lot with 200 people listening, waiting for the 9:00 mass, taxi drivers waiting to take the 7:00 massers home, and some street vendors selling biscuits and the like. Even better was the semi-circle of kids around the three muzungus, so you better believe when the great changing of the congregation began, we were quick to enter.
Inside the service was pretty easy to follow...except for the actual speaking part. Atleast communion is pretty universal...
We ate Easter dinner at the Hotel Rwanda hotel, as it is now a 5 star establishment, and even the cheapest sandwich on the menu was tasty. Happy Easter.
Monday brought Mr. B to our hostel at 8:30 in the morning, as he was going to take us to the genocide memorials for the day. On the way, we inquired about busses to Kampala, and within 20 seconds he had turned towards the bus park where he walked us in, marched to the counter, got us tickets for local—-not muzungu—price--and that was that. Bless him.
Stop number one was Kigali Memorial Centre, which was built specifically for the genocide victims. Outside one can find mass graves, surrounded by gardens of many meanings, and inside are three separate exhibits. The first is dedicated specifically to the Rwandan genocide, the second to other genocides in history, and the third is to the children lost in Rwanda’s tragedy.
The 4 hours it took to get through seemed like forever, and Mr. B passed through patiently with us, waiting as we read each excerpt, ready to answer any questions. At one point I was pushed along by men in suits, and Mr. B told me that it was Kenya’s prime minister on a visit. (He was the only man not in a suit, but donning a flowered shirt with newsboy cap).
We left the memorial, thinking Mr. B was probably bored with us, when he said he wanted to take us to a church just outside of town. We had planned to visit the church on Tuesday, but as it was about 30 km away, we were not sure how we would get there. After we stopped to get snacks, Mr. B’s treat, we headed to a church which was one of many churches to be the site of a mass murder. Stepping inside the church, we stood in the presence of the clothes of 10,000 people who were killed inside over the course of 2 days. I was actually relieved to step outside to visit the mass graves, as the “sanctuary” left me feeling quite sick. I really only noticed one thing when we were underground. Because only a few bodies were identified and placed in caskets, and they are waiting on funding for proper burial, skeletons of forty-some thousand were stacked on shelves. It occurred to me that their skeletons look just like my skeleton and every other person’s as well.
Leaving the church, I wondered how the volunteers go there day after day to give tours, but it was nice to hear our guide say as we left that no one is Hutu or Tutsi anymore, but they “are all just Rwandans.” It is amazing to see the progress of Rwanda, as a tourist would never know if it’s past at first glance. However, Wednesday morning we packed up and caught a bus to Kampala, noticing on our way out of town that the city was even more hushed than on Easter weekend. It was the beginning of a 7 day period of mourning and remembrance.
I have managed once again to exceed my writing space, so will leave the tale of the other city for another time. For now, I am in Kampala and have just started another project with Uganda Youth Development Link. My friend Denis has really looked after us, and we are already quite comfortable here. If you want to look up the organization, the website is: www.uydel.org
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