After disembarking the Liemba at around 9:30, paying more port fees at immigration, and dodging a bag check with skulls cunningly disguised under Napoleon's wig and my floppy hat, I tagged onto the Germans and headed for their choice of accommodation: Aqua Lodge. After some poor navigation we were there quite swiftly, it being both unsignposted and spitting distance from the port. I left camping rate negotiation to them as it was their choice, but it was quite a nice spot right on the Lake. They were wiffing about so I just got some washing done, roped them into changing $20 into Tanzanian Shillings for me, and shot off into town. What a joy to be speeding along pannier free! She was a bit twitchy at first, but got the hang of it swiftly. Just like riding a bike really! I wanted to go and visit the Livingstone memorial up the road in Ujiji and also figure out the bus situation for the next day. I also decided in the end to make the effort and get a Tanzanian SIM. This was partly to try and instill some level of organisation and preparation for Dad coming out to Rwanda, and partly because I'd been out of comms for a few days. This turned out to be a real palava with registration needed and no less than 3 photos as well as signature, address and all sorts. After that I tackled the prodigious hill up into town and over into Ujiji. It's quite a pleasant town with a nice old railway station and lots of market stalls and tuktuks and KingLion motorbikes whizzing about. At the top of the hill I stopped at a bus ticket booking office. Uh oh - Saratoga had nothing going tomorrow. He then started blathering on about adventure and I was starting to get cross. 'Yes I was on an adventure already, and didn't want booking a bus to turn into one'. It transpires that there was another bus company called Adventure across the road. The guy in there, Dennis, was very nice and helpful, but seemed to just make problems. I showed him the bike and he said he wasn't sure it would fit. It was a bit like pulling teeth but I gathered it was a full on 60 seater coach. No roof rack but surely no issues getting Tina in the bins underneath. She's not that fat when bagless, after all. Dennis would not be moved, and asked me to come back at between 4-6 to test it out. I wasn't keen on this but I had to get away tomorrow so agreed I would swing by after the memorial visit. The ride to the memorial took on a rather Belgian hue with about 3km of pavé to tackle. I got there and the nice gateman came running over to let me in. 'Welcome, welcome. 20,000 entry'. £15?! Not a chance my friend. I just laughed at the guy and went into the compound. Let the games begin! The charade continued with the 'proper' admissions oke also asking for 20,000. I just flatly refused: I was keen to see the memorial and whatnot seeing as I'd been following in Livingstones's footsteps to some extent, but I'd also been to a few African museums now, none of which are worth more than about a quid entrance. The guy Dennis (one of them was called Dennis that day) looked crestfallen but not altogether surprised. 'How much do you want to pay then?' That's a dangerous question. 'Nothing' was the reply. The whole process took probably 15-20 minutes with a cross forming and in depth discussion about the morality of me having juju skulls on my bike. It was all good fun (or at least I enjoyed it) and they came down to 12, then 10, then 5. My best was 2000 and in the end we agreed I'd pay some more at the end 'if it was worth it'. Dennis obviously liked my style (or hadn't earned enough from the ticket cash), as he attached himself to me as tour guide and photographer. He was a decent oke, and definitely told me (or made up) some stuff I wouldn't have found out otherwise. For example, where the monument stood was actually bang on the lakeshore 150 odd years ago. It had since plummeted about 200m due to a navigable channel into the Congo river being dug, water extraction and tectonic plate shifts. It must be mostly due to the plates as it's an absolutely massive lake so even a fall of 1m is an unimaginable amount of water. He then told me that the Arab slavers planted Mango trees all along the slaving route to Bagamoyo on the East Coast as markers and providers of shade and food. The original tree that Livingstone and Stanley met under started to die in the 1920s and the Poms, aware of the historical significance of the site, took 4 cuttings from the tree and planted them around. 2 have survived and are now 93 years old (they're called Robert and Mugabe). Dennis encouraged me to scale one for a photo. Not sure why, but I enjoy a scramble so had a crack. That and the memorial itself, made of holy stone from Jerusalem (Livingstone was a man driven by an extraordinary religious zeal), was pretty much it. There was a distinctly sub par, even by African standards, 2 room museum. One of the rooms, the Tanzania one, was empty apart from a bit of rubble. I stood there just imagining so poor Mzungu losing the plot after paying 20,000 entrance fee. Based on that they got no more of my money, but I did bung Dennis another 2000 for showing me around. On the way back I tried catching up with a few people as I had a full 1GB of data to use in 24 hours. Despite being able to see, and indeed almost touch, the signal mast, I became increasingly enraged as it cut out every 30 seconds. Oh well, coverage has certainly made the trip a lot more civilised than even 10 years ago I suppose. After that I pitched up at Dennis no. 2's office. Surprise, surprise - no bus. There was another one across the road, a similar one I gathered, so after much hand wringing and ear bending I persuaded him to ask if we could try putting the bike in there as a trial and sort the matter once and for all. They opened the largest bin and it didn't look good. Balls! Dennis then made a few phone calls and it got to the point where they would definitely take me, but it would be 15,000 on top of the 20,000 for me. I didn't really have a choice as I had to get to Kigali in time to meet Brook senior, and I definitely wasn't going to make it by bike alone. So, I paid for my seat and took the ticket, with the balance to pay in the morning. Dennis said I must be there before 5 in order to get it packed in there, which would mean a 4am wake up and 10km cycling in the dark. Not ideal. We then walked over somewhere else for a reason I can't quite fathom, and whilst he was talking to someone else I noticed a nice looking Land Cruiser with a roof rack. So I sauntered over, stuck my head in the passenger side window and simply said 'Nyakanazi?' (where the dirt road ends and tar begins - hence my preferred destination). 'Hapana', (no) was the answer. 'Not today'. A glimmer of hope - so when are you going then? It turns out the guy Ibrahim was heading practically all the way to the Rwandan border the next morning. I'd have to pay for my ride; this is Africa after all. But even if more expensive than the bus, it was a later start, would be faster, and I could get dropped and start cycling whenever I wanted. I couldn't believe my luck. In fact, I didn't really until he showed up at 8 the next morning (he moved it back from 7 which worried me a bit). Dennis took it all rather well, recognising that it made a lot more sense for me, and probably the bus guys too. He refunded me my ticket and wouldn't even take me up on the offer of a free beer to say thanks very much for his help. I think he saw it more as his good deed for the day, but I must admit I had pangs of guilt at wasting so much of his time for no reward. I returned to camp feeling pretty smug with myself. It was my last night with the Germans, and probably high time seeing as when I came back they were 'jamming' on a eukelele and guitar sat on the beach by the lake. I think I'll leave it at that as they've basically done everything wrong for me in that scenario. I had a bath in the lake, Happy Gilmore caddy style, and then went off to Bangwe Beach for a solo dinner and some peace and quiet. I'd just ordered my food and a Kilimanjaro when one of the crew from the Liemba turned up. I donated half my beer and got the inside scoop of the company set up, liquidity, profitability and freight rates for the voyage. I shan't get too into that, but it was interesting stuff. Their break even is 24,000,000 shillings, and he thought they'd miss the next sailing as they're not allowed to depart with only one main engine (you can get away with it if it happens mid voyage). The guy is nice enough, but is a bit of a patronising sod - for example once I'd ordered my food he told me I should have eaten at where I was staying instead. Cheers then! - so I dashed off to hustle some pool instead. That went pretty well, and despite the distinct disadvantage of no local knowledge as far as both the run of the table, and the rules, are concerned, I was 4 wins for 0 losses at one point. I didn't take losing badly but I retired after that single loss as one of the locals looked pretty eggy that he didn't get to play because the Mzungu was winning everything. A brief goodbye to Mr Crewman and I was home by about 10. I'll be honest, that's pretty late for me, and the Germans weren't around so I thought they'd gone to bed already. It turns out they got back in at 11 ish, but I was far too snug, and nude, in my tent to get out and say goodbye. I was awake from 3am not feeling great and I was up and on my way into town in the dark. It gave me a chance for a maiden test of the bike balls Charlie got me for my birthday. I didn't get run over so I'll recommend them to anyone who is looking for a comedy bikelight that also saves lives. Waiting for Ibrahim to arrive I focused on using up my data before it expired by offlining google maps and the like. I also did a bit of breakfast shopping: jamless doughnuts and bananas from the street vendors. My ride pitched at 8 with 2 more passengers: Crispy, who was very nice, and his silent sister who didn't say anything for the first 3 hours. She was certainly an odd one, alternating between trying to sleep and using her 2 mobile phones. Her first words were Swahili, but given what ensued next, I can only imagine was, 'Quick, pass me a plastic bag, I'm about to chunder'. It's quite awkward sharing the back seat with an anonymous girl heaving into a plastic bag whilst crying a little bit. I alternated between offering unhelpful suggestions such as eating something or sitting in the front instead, and smirking with amusement. The lads in the front seemed very nonplussed about it. There was no stopping, or indeed slowing down, just a bit of fresh air for 5 minutes before it got too dusty. Luckily it didn't smell so the second time it happened I was able to just keep on chowing my chippati rather than get involved. I don't know whether Dennis (keeping with the theme) is normally a bad traveler, but her illness should be viewed in context: the road was an absolute shocker, and we tackled it at pace. I can't really excuse her sullen silence for the first half an hour as that was perfectly fine tar: maybe she knew what was coming, and steeling herself against it. Basically the road descended into absolute chaos with busses, lorries, cyclists, pedestrians and taxis all looming out of a dense red mist of dust. Just to add to the fun, it was also raining a little bit. I felt extremely glad to be ensconced in a Land Cruiser sealed away from all the dust and rain. The Germans were determined to at least try the dirt road, despite my (sound) advice to just not bother. I spared them a thought from time to time. Admittedly it was more along the lines of you're naive and stupid than I respect you for trying. You've got to pick your battles on an African cycle tour I think, and 300 odd km of terrible and busy dirt road isn't one of them I don't think. We stopped a couple of times in 4 hours but otherwise we just kept on going. Ibrahim was a jolly chap, and I enjoyed listening to their melodious Swahili from the back seat, picking up the odd word or phrase, but he wasn't messing around in the driving department. I wouldn't describe it as manic, but he certainly subscribed to the theory that if you're bigger then you hoot and them until they're out of your way. Often it was unnecessary, and some poor laden cyclist having a panic attack, and veering off of the road, was a common sight. Likewise pedestrians and motorbikes would often swerve or leap out of the way. It was the goats that I had the most respect for, blithely ignoring the beeping bravado. I found myself wondering what would have happened if Mr Cyclist had held his nerve and stuck to his line. He probably would have won out, but then I suppose no one wants to test the theory. No NHS out in the bush! I would describe it as a proper African road: awful condition, no real rules, a bit of construction going on, super busy, and a few crashes and breakdowns sprinkled along the route. At about 10:30 we started passing the buses that had left 2 hours before us. One had broken down, but as we overhauled the others, I felt very very lucky. Even motoring along on our express service we didn't get to Nyakanazi, where the tar starts again, until almost 2pm. I spent a lot of the time just watching and observing, enjoying the lack of effort needed to cover the distance, but also feeling a bit detached from the environment compared to riding a bike. We also chatted a bit, and covered both European and African politics to a large extent. I suggested they needed to get the President to visit Kigoma, and then he'd see first-hand how awful the road was, and do something about it. Crispy told me that he was in fact from around these parts, but said that they have an African saying for this type of thing, basically along the lines of 'You can't speak with your mouth full'. It essentially means the guy is gorging himself at the trough of power, and is thus too busy to do anything about it. It did make me chuckle, although the expectations, even from successful or educated members of the public, is depressingly low. Getting all crazy beating the trucks up the hills in Tanzania.The timing put a different complexion on things: whilst I didn't want a lift all the way to the border and ending up doing the 150km from Rusumo to Kigali too quickly, ending up killing time there, I wanted to get to within about 25km of the border by the end of the day. The road continued to be pretty atrocious, and in fact tar and potholes is sometimes worse than a more uniform bumpy dirt road. In the end I got dropped somewhere I can't remember the name of, at about 3:15 with 66km to go until the border. I'd like to have cycled more in Tanzania, but it seemed like the right compromise for getting some riding in, arriving in Kigali on time, and not cheating too much. I had the money chat with Ibrahim and we agreed on 30,000 for the trip. I think we were both happy with that as it gives him about £25 in his pocket as a bonus and it really helped me out. That it worked out cheaper than the bus was just the cherry on top. I was very fortunate to get that lift, so it just goes to show how far a bit of speculative canvassing can go. The guys drove off after a bit of a photoshoot, abandoning me to an ever increasing crowd of onlookers. I bought some peanuts off of the first kid on the scene, and went to the shop for 3 litres of water. From talking to Leo about his cycle across Tanzania, and from observing both the lack of bush pumps, and the amount of people collecting water from rivers in 25l drums and cycling off with them, I decided that I needed plenty of water to see me through. Buying that 3l took me up to 5 total. That's 5kg on the hills, but would be needed if I bush camped. I turned out to be correct in my prediction and quite a few people were after my mansi. Unfortunately I needed it as, even though I didn't set off until gone 3, it was hot and hilly. For that reason I took it fairly steady as my only objective was to get within striking distance of the border for a mid morning crossing. As I'm sure you can see from the pictures, the landscape has taken a real pounding. There were a few charcoal vendors knocking about, but not that many. Probably because there are basically no trees left to charcoal-ify. It was quite a depressing landscape, but also one which I was really glad I'd got out and cycled through: the people were all friendly and enthusiastic, and the landscape was actually quite striking in a lunar, post-apocalyptic kind of way. Gawking at the landscape and degradation kept me quite busy, when I wasn't weaving around potholes or saying hello to people. I was coming down a hill when a whole herd of cattle crossed the road. This was my first encounter of the Akergole cows famous in Rwanda. The best way to describe them would be tuskers as they have the most gigantic horns going. I got serious skull envy looking at the choicest animals. They do look a bit ungainly though as, although it may be down to the environment, there's not to them body or head wise, and then they have a whopping great set of horns up top. In the next hour I'd see a lot more of the beasts, and they looked like some giant hedgehog or ancient instrument of war bearing down on you along the road. Exciting stuff indeed! It was a bit earlier than I was expecting - about 5:30 - but I spotted a pleasant looking place with a banana plantation and bunting hung out. I assumed it was a school or somesuch, and decided to give it a go. After a lot of sign language and ropey Swahili, the security guard let me in after signing some register. Fancy place! I got down the bottom and encountered nuns - lots of them. I decided there and then that I'd probably found a place for the night. I spotted a couple of Mzungus, an old couple from New York called Sergio and Joanna, so approached them for permission. They explained that this was a new project for helping the elderly affected by the refugee crisis and the ensuing 'missing generation' and it was being inaugurated tomorrow. What a coincidence. However, they couldn't give me permission to camp as the hierarchy went up to a certain Sister Madiza, who wasn't about. The Yanks started getting on my nerves after a while but luckily Sister M then turned up. She was very very nice (as you'd expect I suppose) and practical too. She had to get approval from the AG or something like that, so set about calling her. I didn't follow too closely, but rather wolfed down the peanuts I'd bought earlier whilst my fate was being decided. After a bit longer I was in, providing I let them photograph my passport. Rather bizarre but naturally I agreed (as did Sister M on how handsome I was). I set up camp under a tree a way off, after raking out a nice spot. Whilst in the process a nice mik came over to chat. I was quite aware during the approval process that I wasn't on the most PC bike around, and there was an awkward moment when she asked what the bike balls were. 'Oh, just a light in case I have to ride in the dark', I replied breezily. Close call that one. There was no water or anywhere to shower so it was basically bush camping with a security guard at hand (3 in fact). The nuns did give me a bottle of water and some cake things which was good of them. Dinner sorted! I didn't sleep well that night either but not sure why. There was a lot of mooing of cows going on, possibly explained by the hyena calls. I was quite surprised to hear the whoooop and manic cackle of hyena as the environment seemed pretty barren and lifeless. But it was nice to listen to them as I'd not heard any since Botswana I don't think. No lion though luckily - I felt that would have tested the mettle of the night guards a bit too much. I got up early ish to a pretty dull and grey morning. I made a load of porridge which I struggled down over about half an hour. I also had a sore throat again, which was either due to all the dust yesterday, or that cold/flu coming back. Not great but nothing to be done. I was on my bike and on the way out at 8:55 when Sister M turned up with her bakkie full of nuns. After a few photos and her asking for my details I set off. I'm sure she'll be kept quite busy praying for my soul if she starts following the blog! If Rwanda is the land of 1000 hills, then Tanzania is the land of 999. It was a tough 27km to the border, with almost 500m of climbing along the way. I was crossing at Rusumo Falls, a place where international press gathered during the 1994 genocide, and reported seeing bodies swept over the falls at the rate of about 2 a minute. A sobering entrance to Rwanda, and reminder of the horrific recent history of the country. That said, I looked forward to seeing what they'd achieved in the intervening years. The border was nice and easy, and with an East African Tourist Visa under my belt, that would be my last one, as long as I didn't decide to nip over into the Congo. I was a bit concerned for my skulls at the border as I thought Rwandan officials would be the least likely to let me off or make a plan. Thus, rather than being let through, some man (or woman - hard to tell) with a gun summoned me over for a bag search. A bit of a gulp (back skull was just draped over with my trusty proteas hat) and out with the high school French. What exactly are you hoping to find?, and I've been all the way up to here without any searching going on. I showed him/her how boring my front right pannier was and was let through. Phew! I then sorted out a sim, ate some grub, and set off into Rwanda. True to form, it was an uphill away from the border post. Classic. A lorry passed me with a cyclist hanging onto the back. However, I was neither brave nor tired enough to try that out at the moment. On the ascent I accrued various cyclists as I went. They were mostly taxi guys as the ones laden with bananas or rice or maize (or anything - I've seen live goats, about 20 chickens draped over the handlebars, a fridge, crates of used bottles, and milk churns) were pushing rather than cycling. We chatted a bit in a mix of broken Swahili, English (on their part only, obviously) and French, and I was told off for going too fast by some of them. However, aside from the fact that Tina and I ride to our own pace, we had places to be as we had to make Kigali by tomorrow and I wanted to get sub 100km away today. They gradually fell away during the climb, and I found that in general, depending how much they're carrying, they'll draft or pass you on the downhills and fall off on the (rare) flat sections and uphill. Don't get me wrong, if I slapped it into top gear and churned away, they'd not be able to keep up on the descents. But, given the amount of hills I preferred to chill on the downhills and save myself. Having crossed the bridge/border into Rwanda, there was a palpable change. For starters, customs had an X-Ray scanner for the trucks, and then more generally there were actual bins around. It was busy again, with lots of people about, and we were also back in aid 'Mzungu, give me money territory' so it had nuances of Malawi. But I'd say it was Malawi on something like Ritilin, or some other performing or concentration enhancing drug: there was a sense of purpose and intention lacking elsewhere on the continent. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't the shift change I had thought might be apparent. There were still a lot of bars, loud music, rubbish and people not appearing to do much, but my general sense of things was that this was a population out to improve their lot, rather than live with it. I also found that here the kids like to chase you a lot more; something that gets a bit awkward on the old hills as sometimes it's tough to shake them. I started dishing out high fives so that they felt they had achieved something and would then desist with the pursuit. Nice friendly people though, I must say. It came across as a very pleasant Africa to me, and I found the sense of purpose and optimism encouraging. The roads were also good, especially compared to Tanzania, and the roadside food was plentiful and decent. Nothing not to like really - except the hills. And boy was it hilly: I was in for over a mile of vertical ascent after a day of just 104km. It was relentless riding in a way, where you either had to work hard on the uphills or concentrate on the downhills. There were occasional flat sections along valley floors but otherwise it was up and down. The countryside had a vague sense of SE Asia to it, and I was surprised to come across a lot of rice paddies and flooded paddy fields. Otherwise the banana tree ruled, and I found myself wondering what the landscape looked like before introduction from S America. A lot of the trees were fast growing non-indigenous types such as Eucalyptus and Pine, and whilst this was a shame, at least they recognised the land-pressure and deforestation issue and had tackled it pretty effectively. The pine-shaded roads also made for pleasant shaded riding, which although in overcast conditions, was still quite warm. We're now officially equatorial, and I was actually expecting more of a riot of greenery. However, I'm not complaining as greenery means rain, which I don't like whilst cycling. That first day in Rwanda I went through good patches and bad. After a hilly 25km to the border, I felt very frustrated, not to mention knackered, after 2 hours and only about 30km done in Rwanda. I stopped for lunch at a buffet type place where you pay per plate. They'd pulled the usual trick of supplying rather small plates, but I followed the local example of going high to compensate for the lack of circumference. I cautiously shuffled back to my table, spilling beans and chips as I went. After demolishing the and washing it down with a Stoney Ginger Beer I settled my tab (£1,60) and got underway. The feed helped me no end, and a good job too as I soon found myself on a rather gargantuan climb. I enjoy a good hill so just plonked Tina in the granny ring and spun up the hill, enjoying the sites (and overtaking). I'm not exactly sure but it was about 300m in one whack. By the time I got to the top I was a sweaty mess so I treated myself to an apple juice and a few cakes whilst I cooled off. In terms of Rwandan sophistication, it was a mixed bag: I'd passed some guys undertaking what looked like a full engine rebuild on a truck on the side of the road - I guess you could say this was primitive, but also argue that they were fixing it rather than just dismantling the vehicle - I also saw another lorry where the guy had his charcoal burner out. You're clearly in for the long haul if that's the case I decided. I couldn't decide whether to vilage camp or not that night, but after no shower the night before, I decided a nice lodge with a warm shower and clean sheets was a better idea. Boy did Rwanda disappoint in those stakes! The place I was directed to was cheap, at only £5 a night, but it really was dive to be honest. In the end, seeing as they couldn't provide a mozzie net, I got the Coffin out and slept in the garden for £3 instead. The bucket shower in a dark and stinky outside bathroom was not what I'd been looking forward to, and in an ironic twist, it was Tina who got a room for the night whilst I camped in the garden. She's living the African Dream that one! It wasn't a great night's sleep but I was up and on the road by about 8:45. After struggling with the porridge yesterday I made do with 3 hard boiled eggs and a packet of party biscuits, with a promise to stop for something more within the hour. I pulled in at a supermarket and scored some meat and egg samoosas and some chippatis and bananas. More excellent scenery and friendly people ensued with lots of friendly waves and bikers coming along for a chat and/or a race. I was only too happy to oblige on both counts. The country is very very hilly, and after a few lumps and bumps for the first 40km I then enjoyed a lovely descent down into the valley floor. The hillsides are mostly cloaked in banana trees (they account for about 30% of productive land apparently), with a bit of terracing, but the valleys are where it's really going on, with a patchwork of rice and other crops creating a lovely mosaic effect. Having zoomed down quite a long way, I was rather worried that a gargantuan climb back out of the valley would appear before Kigali. However, that wasn't the case luckily and I got to the city with only about 800m of ascent. Before getting to the city proper, on one of the descents I decided to put my 'hold your ground' theory to the test. There was a lot of honking but nothing coming the other way, and whilst all the other cyclists around me bailed I tucked myself over but didn't drop off the shoulder. The next minute I'd lost my wing mirror: the bastard had knocked it off! It was a big green Ritco coach, and he got the treatment, not that he cared I expect. Thus, I was a bit nervous going into Kigali as, even though the roads are decent, it's busy with trucks, cars, buses, taxis and pikipikis (motorbike taxis). I'd reattached my mirror so now dived off onto the rough tar when I thought I had to. I found it quite a confusing city, ranged over several hills and valleys, and although perhaps lacking the character and history of some other African cities, first impressions were good. I wish I could say the same for the hostel: I'd heard it was a bit of a meccah in Kigali, but I found it run down and overpriced to be honest. I got to the hostel at around 2:30, and with Dad landing at 8:30 I thought about taking a nap. However, instead I went and took Tina to the car wash for a good scrub after 300km of dusty roads on top of a Land Cruiser. While she was in the spa I went to the supermarket for some food and water (as the hostel was more than doubling the price of a bottle, the cheeky sods). There I found a lion bar, a lion branded beer called 'Turbo King' and some sausage rolls. They went down nicely after the samoosas and ice cream I'd enjoyed about 15km before Kigali. After that I got invited for some beers with some ladies going on one of those overlanding truck holidays. They were a nice enough bunch, and after a few of those I jumped on a pikipiki to the airport. They're slightly worrisome drivers, but for £1,50 fare you can't complain too much. Brook Snr emerged at about 9:15 and I decided to get him straight into things by chucking him on a mototaxi back to the hostel too. Haha. We then had a beer and thrashed out a bit of an itinerary (I'd since found him a bike, with gears and panniers to be delivered to the start of the Congo Nile Trail). We decided one day in Kigali would cover things so we made a fairly early start, heading out on foot, and to spend more time on cycling and more nature based activities. Hopefully this was a decisions that he wouldn't regret too much! First stop was a pretty mediocre craft market (silly idea) and after being ushered into every single stall and repeatedly refusing the same old handcrafts, we pikipikied to the Genocide Memorial. Obviously this wasn't going to be a lighthearted affair given the subject matter, but I thought it was vital that we go in order to get a better understanding of Rwanda's history. We spent a few hours there and it was a very well organised and sensitively handled. I knew a bit about it from having read some books about African history: how Hutu and Tutsi was never an issue or racial divide until the Belgians came in and categorised everyone by wealth (cattle ownership, obviously) and nose shape and size, and then the racial division was exploited until it festered and caused divisions. What did surprise me was how much the writing was on the wall - the Hutu government set up a youth militia, preached a genocidal rhetoric and basically allowed small massacres or pogroms to happen under its watch. The genocide in April 1994 wasn't a coincidence, but rather the culmination of a long planned extermination of the minority Tutsi. What was also horrendously disappointing was the reaction, or rather complete lack of action, from the UN and Colonial powers. In fact, France was responsible for a lot of military aid to the government and then did nothing as it was put into grisly action. One really struggles to comprehend humanity and how we're capable of such things, and in fact you lose face in the human race as you read about the atrocities committed: the children's room was particularly horrific. I really don't know how you start to come back from such a awful massacre and rebuild the country. They'd murdered over a million of their countrymen (the Kigali monument had 259,000 people in mass graves there) and whole communities had just been wiped out. Friends turned on friends, and even family on family. And this wasn't some sterile, distant extermination such as the Jewish gas chambers: this was brutal, visceral, hand-to-hand extermination, with machetes, clubs and blunt objects doing most of the killing. I just don't know how you go from battering infants and children to death to trying to sort everything out and start again. They set up what sounds like a very effective community courts system where you can confess and ask for forgiveness, or go to prison. The volume of cases they dealt with was outstanding, and I think it was quite successful, but it must have been an extremely complex and stressful business. After such a sobering experience we then went into the centre of town to explore a bit, and it's back to business as usual. What these guys have managed to put behind them, and how much they've achieved since, is really, really amazing I think. Well done Rwanda! We had a very civilised French lunch with beer, followed by patisserie and ice cream, which I was very pleased with indeed. After that we got pretty lost due to poor nav skills on my part, sorted Dad out a local sim and went to the extremely well camouflaged tourism office for some maps and general info. That pretty much took care of the day with just enough time for some sundowners on the top floor of a fancy hotel and then a pikipiki back to the hostel. I'd given up trying to find somewhere showing the final Lions test as the Africans don't like rugby so even if they have DSTV they're lacking Supersport 1, and we needed to get underway in order to get down to Nyungwe National Park in the SW corner of Rwanda. Rwanda is very civilised compared to some of the other countries I've been through, and from a bit of asking around, they were big coaches to Huye from Nybagogo Bus station every half hour. The bus station was only about 5km away so I sent Dad and his two rucksacks by pikipiki and cycled Tina laden. I decided to look past the fact that they were Ritco buses - the guys who claimed my wing mirror. The bus rank was seething with people, and we had to navigate the usual mess of touts, hawkers, baggage and buses. But underneath the chaos it was actually pretty straightforward, and we were booked on a bus within 10 minutes, with the bus due to arrive in 20. I had to buy a ticket for Tina too, but an all in price of £5,50 seemed reasonable, especially considering I didn't have to mess around haggling or dismantle her at all. Miraculously the bus arrived on time and we were all loaded and ready to go within about 10 minutes. Normally African buses go when they're full, and not before, so I was rather surprised when it started pulling off without us. We scrambled on and we pulled out of the station at 10:15. It was a very fancy, and empty coach, with USB charge points in the seat. I informed Dad that this was not a normal experience as far as public transport goes on the continent, and that he should in no way get used to it! Sure enough, after 3 hours to Huye we were dropped at the bus station, and it soon became clear that it was going to be very complicated to get both of us, all our luggage, and Tina to Nyungwe National Park. The highlight was definitely coming across a local in a 'Vote for Pedro' jumper, but in the end (after lengthy discussions and negotiations with various parties) I decided to pack Dad into a minibus with all the luggage whilst I undertook some light touring, aiming to meet him at the Uwinka campsite in the park.
1 Comment
Ian Bowland
11/7/2017 06:18:18 pm
Rwanda looks and sounds fantastic. All the best to you and Tig
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AuthorSam Brook - A mildly Africanised Pom about to cycle from Joburg to Nairobi. Archives
August 2017
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