On The Road: Rwanda

Progressive State

A former Belgian colony, the country of Rwanda has only recently shifted from French to using more English as part of its ongoing integration into the larger East Africa cultural sphere. Compared to its neighbors it is the most developed country in the region. A beacon of order and progress, the local people refer to home as the Singapore of Africa. But as in Singapore, moving forward has come at a cost. The government imposes strict laws regarding public conduct, and the more money people earn the more obsessed they become over status and privilege. Security is also a problem. Internal strife has torn apart both the Democratic Republic of Congo to the west and Burundi to the south. Refugees continue coming across the border, a stark change from when Rwandans had fled into those countries to escape their own civil war some 20 years before. In Africa a country can abruptly become undone in the turn of a few days. But somehow Rwandan president Kagame has held his country together and allowed it to flourish economically. Many people have told me that now its Africa's time. After centuries of exploitation and economic stagnation the continent is on the verge of rising up to claim its due place on the global scene. Rwanda may be small and lacking in natural resources, but it will without a doubt be one of the countries to lead the way.

Rwandan Flag

Genocide

For most Westerners, when the name Rwanda comes to mind, it evokes vague recollections of the 1994 genocide between Tutsis and Hutus, a conflict that by some estimates left as many as a million dead. The Rwanda Genocide Memorial in the capital of Kigali was erected beside a mass grave of the victims. The site recounts the history of division between the Hutus and Tutsis, along with the eventual tragedy that befell the country. From what I gathered the two groups originally had some ethnic differences but were later categorized as social castes, with the Tutsis being the more privileged one. Then, during the Belgian colonial era, the governing body drew a clear distinction classifying Tutsis as those families which owned 10 or more cows, and all others Hutus. The Belgians favored the Tutsis in society which caused resentment among the poorer Hutus. In 1962 after the Belgians left the Tutsis held most positions in government. In time the numerically superior Hutus challenged them and this inevitably led to civil conflict.

In 1993 the situation took a turn for the worst. In Burundi, the country south of Rwanda, chaos broke out between Hutus and Tutsis, and some 200,000 died. This should have been a warning to the UN and other security forces in the region. But when the same thing happened in Rwanda a year later, they stood by unprepared to act. The country was already at war between Tutsis and Hutus. Matters then escalated with the downing of an airplane carrying the Burundi president and Rwandan Hutu leader Habyarimana. The Hutus blamed the Tutsis for the attack and Hutu general Bagosora called for action. He instituted a plan of ethnic cleansing, and using military force, began to round up Tutsis. But it was propaganda spread over the radio that caused most the damage. The Hutu leadership incited the Hutu masses to violently turn on their Tutsi neighbors. In villages around the country men soon used machetes, bamboo spears and other makeshift weapons to butcher any known Tutsi. To prevent escape, checkpoints popped up on roadways where armed Hutus asked for identification. At the time a Rwandan ID showed whether a person was Hutu or Tutsi. The latter were killed outright.

Inside Memorial

Human Skulls

Display

Photos of  Victims

The carnage lasted for about 100 days and an estimated 90% of the Tutsi population was murdered. Often it was friend who killed friend. And in the case of intermarriage, Hutus had to kill their Tutsi spouses. If a Hutu woman had had children with a Tutsi man, she was forced to kill her children the same. Known HIV positive men then raped the woman to further punish her for having married a Tutsi. No one was exempt. A wave of horror swept across the land, one that people later likened to Armageddon. Little surprise that Tutsis sought refuge in the church. But even pastors turned on their congregations allowing helpless people to be brutally slaughtered in the Lord's house. It was carnage of the highest degree.

In spite of deeply seeded hatreds, imagine that during this period many Hutus were not inclined to murder their neighbors, but in such a climate of  fear, they did not have the courage to do otherwise. It's a hard truth to accept. People would like to think they'd do the right thing under terrible duress, but no one can say for sure how they'd react until confronted by the unthinkable. In the case of the Rwandan genocide, it took true character, and only in rare cases did Hutus stand up for Tutsis. Some Hutus hid and fed refugees until the bloodshed was over. In other instances they helped them to escape across the border into Congo or Uganda. If caught, such defiance was punished by death. Thus, moderate Hutus too numbered among the victims.

The killing ended when Kagame, the leader of the Tutsi RPF (Rwandan Patriotic Front), subdued Hutu military forces. Once the war was lost many Hutus fled the country for fear of reprisals. The French, who had for years supported the Hutus, allowed the worst perpetrators to flee the country. As for the RPF army, soldiers returned to villages to find family and friends dead, the corpses sometimes still warm. A number of these soldiers shot the Hutus they'd suspected of carrying out the murders.  Kagame did not condone retribution of this kind, and to set an example, he executed soldiers caught killing non-combatants. In this manner order was maintained. Then, once the country was secure, Kagame began the process of rebuilding a torn nation, and after that, the even more difficult process of reconciliation.

When I went to the memorial in Kigali, I took my time reading every display, and watched the many videos. It was a tense experience. In the videos, survivors described in vivid detail how loved ones were raped, tortured and butchered before their very eyes. Other times it was displays that presented morbid stories of infants being hacked to pieces in their mothers' arms. If there's one thing I can't stomach, its abuse towards children. Seeing photos of the victims, once smiling and happy, I felt disgust in my heart. The senseless murder of innocents was of a magnitude of order that has made me wonder time and again if people are innately evil, for what had happened in Rwanda really was humanity at its worst. To not repeat the same tragedy, the world should never forget. Rwanda certainly won't. Every April the country has a public week of mourning to remember those lost.

Mass Grave Site

Frog in Garden

Book

What I write here is in effect a blog. I have shared my interests and experiences while traveling and living abroad. A blog has also let me express my thoughts to friends and family wherever they might be. But above that I write for myself. When I was a child I enjoyed reading all types of books. I devoured novel after novel, and I admired the authors who'd crafted them. As I grew older I hoped I too could write a book of my own. It never mattered to me if someone would publish it or not. I only wanted to have something physical to show for. So I wrote pages and pages of material. Yet regardless of how much effort I put in, I couldn't complete any book I'd started. I didn't stop writing though. Maybe I didn't have a big story in me but that didn't mean I couldn't type out something else. A journal for example.

In 2007 something crazy happened. I got cancer. First came surgery and then began the chemo. Because I was in Japan and had insurance they kept me in the hospital for two weeks for each of three rounds. It gave me time to think. I considered the things I had done, and those I'd wanted to do but never did. Creating a book was one of them. So I started again with renewed vigor. I wrote about my experience with cancer. But I had the same problem as before. I'm not a good writer. I lack the ability to formulate a strong narrative. Like so many other would-be authors my stories jump around, become dull in parts, and in the end don't hold together. It's also about discipline. I couldn't keep at it--iron out the wrinkles so to speak. Sad as it was, I failed yet again to complete a book. But I did do other things. I travelled extensively. I became more socially active, made new friends, joined a theater group, went out to take photos whenever I could. I tried my best to make life more worth the living. And it went well. I did my follow up tests and the cancer never returned. In the meantime I had several good years in Japan. Then I left.

I didn't think to try writing a book again. Not even after I'd started what would become this one. But here it is. A work still in progress. For now it remains a blog. But I'm putting the book together concurrently via a website called blurb.com. They operate as a vanity press. You provide the content and pay the money, and blurb creates a beautifully bound, professional quality product. What's great too is that the book is printed in color and can contain photo quality pictures. Another dozen such similar sites exist. The difference with blurb is that the site has a downloadable editing program. That way I could install it and on my laptop and put my book together offline.

Artsy Cards

Reconciliation

In 1944 a Jewish man by the name of Raphael Lemkin created the term genocide to describe what Nazi Germany had done to the Jews before and during WWII. In the years since, large scale genocide has not been so common in the world. So it was of great misfortune that one took place in Rwanda. In the aftermath the country was in utter chaos. There were far too many dead to bury at once. In the streets stray dogs ate the bodies where they lie, and the animals had to later be put down because they'd developed an appetite for human flesh. Other people were dumped in mass graves, never to be identified, no one left to mourn them. As for the survivors, they searched desperately for family who might still be alive. It was a long and trying process of small community networks. But more often than not there weren't any joyous reunions to be had. The children had it the worst. 90% of those alive at the end of the genocide had either been exposed to, or subjected to violence. Now adults, these people still carry the emotional scars of a time they will never be able to forget.

After Kagame had defeated the Hutu militants in Rwanda, he had a choice--revenge or reconciliation. He went with the second. But it was a delicate situation. How could he reconcile with the Hutus who had only a short time before murdered most the Tutsis in the country? Kagame began by dealing harshly with those who had orchestrated the genocide. But other men who had become swept up in the violence and killed under orders were brought to stand trial before local committees. If convicted, the perpetrator was given a choice. He could admit his to his crime and then ask forgiveness from the victims. In the event he did his sentence was reduced, and rather than serving time in prison, the man could spend his sentence doing civil work to help rebuild the country. It was a start in the right direction. But Kagame did not stop there. He also eliminated the distinction between Hutus and Tutsis, declaring that the people of Rwanda were now one people--Rwandans.

The Hutus that had fled into Congo, however we're still a problem. They reorganized and were intent on opposing the RPF government. Kagame, with US backing, hunted them down in the deep Congo jungle. But the rebels were too numerous to contain. Sometimes they crossed the Rwandan border and raided villages. In one incident in 1997 they went into a school and demanded that everyone separate into Hutus and Tutsi. The students, only 12 year old boys, refused, saying, "We are all Rwandans!" The soldiers tossed a grenade as a result, killing many indiscriminately. But those who died did not do so in vain. Their example of courage and solidarity sent a message across the country, one that inspired others to set aside their hatred and differences. The situation has only improved since then. If only the same could be said for elsewhere, in Congo for example. Unfortunately, for that country, the presence of Rwandan militants precipitated the First and Second Congo Wars, involving at one time or another, soldiers from Rwanda, Uganda, Burundi, Angola, Zimbabwe, Namibia, Chad and Sudan. The two wars have since become the world's bloodiest conflicts since WWII. To this day insecurity plagues the land and it was for that reason I did not visit.

Genocide Criminals 

Kigali

Topographically, Rwanda is dominated by hills and is not the place to build big cities. Kigali is the largest. To go from one part of the city to another required a lot of ups and downs. The most convenient mode of transportation was on a motorcycle taxi. Unlike elsewhere in Africa, the drivers were required to register with a company and use a helmet. They also had a helmet for passengers and carried only one at a time. This was an example of the type of order that Kagame had instituted in his long tenure as president. Throwing trash in the streets came with consequences too. And crime was rare because every 100m or so, armed soldiers stood watch 24/7 and communicated with others in the area by radio. Then plain clothed police roamed the streets mixed in with pedestrians, ever watchful. For a city of its size, Kigali was likely the most secure metropolis on the continent. It was also eerily quiet at night. The place didn't have a curfew, but aside from in a few nightlife spots, there was hardly anyone on the streets after 10 o'clock.

Gati had a friend from France who was living in Kigali. The woman, Barbara, was studying to teach French as a second language. She had only recently found a room at a shared house a ways outside the city center. I was thinking it would be a simple set up, but when we pulled up front by motorcycle taxi, the house was a big white mansion. Well, not quite. It had only 5 rooms. Yet with its colonnaded walls and large yard I couldn't be blamed for my first impression. Inside the house lived a mix of Africans and Westerners. One guy, Vicky, dedicated himself to painting. He was from Rwanda and had been a boy when then the genocide happened. Most his family had died and he'd soon became a solider, using a rifle to kill, and doing it at an age before most men require their first shave. But I'd have guessed it by  looking at him. He was a gentle, friendly guy who shared everything without a second thought. It's strange how life takes its twists and turns like that.

Barbara was a good host. To repay her kindness I cooked dinner  so that we could sit down and have a nice meal together--me, Gati, Barbara, and her Rwandan boyfriend whose name was Ngenzy. When I'd dropped by the local market earlier, I took in the fine selection of vegetables, beans, rice and fruit. My eyes grew wide at the sight of the avocados. They were big, green, and cheap. Two ripe ones was all I needed to later fill a bowl with creamy guacamole. Another French friend named Bruno invited us over another night for dinner. He had married a local and she'd recently bore him a son. Bruno was in love with Africa. He'd had lived in Burundi two years prior and even stayed a few months into that country's political collapse in order to finish a project. And going back a year more, he'd spent six months in a village in the Kalahari desert of Namibia. Oh the stories he told me over beers, of how a black mamba had attacked his moving jeep, or how he'd eaten elephant and giraffe meat with the tribesmen, the leftovers of the game hunts carried out by wealth foreigners.

The last thing Gati and I did in the city was climb Mt. Kigali. More of a large hill than a mountain, it loomed over the southern extreme of the capital, and opposite, gave way to villages and countryside. At the top was a horse ranch, a rarity in the region. Gati liked horses, but to ride one cost too much for her. So we ventured a little further and found a type of restaurant bar known for its BBQ rabbit. It was a Sunday, and a young group of Rwandans were drinking beer at a table. They invited us over and said they'd been partying since the night before. One of the ladies at the tables sat toppled over her boyfriend. She awoke when the food came. The four of them had ordered a plate of rabbit and shared it with us. I made due with a leg. It was tough and stringy, but delicious nonetheless. Before leaving I went to see the rabbits that were still alive. There were perhaps 20 and a man was feeding them grass. Rabbit meat was uncommon in Rwanda, and yet these rabbits were about to become it. Poor little animals I thought. They'd never see the knife coming until it was too late. How hypocritical of me though to pity them. I'd just eaten one.

Downtown Kigali

City Suburbs

Local Brew

Barbara's Home

Out for Fun

Lovely Avocados

Vicky

From Mt. Kigali

Lake Kivu

After Kigali we went to the western extreme of the country where most the border ran along a deep water lake called Kivu. A few towns lined the shore. We first visited Kibuye. Built into green hills that fed into the water, Kibuye was an incredibly beautiful place. The hostel we stayed at, St Jean's, stood atop a peninsula with excellent views. There we met two medical students who were doing an internship at a medical center in the city of Huye. The guy was from Vermont and the woman from Amsterdam. The next day we shared a boat on the lake. Our guide took us to Napoleon Island famous for its colony of fruit bats. He led us up a hill and rambled down below into the bush. When he was low enough he clapped his hounds loudly and startled bats rose into the sky. Thousands and thousands of them circling in the sky. They were the large variety with the head of a dog, something like that of a Jack Russell Terrier. I took loads of photos before they settled back into the tree tops.

Kibuye, for all its majesty, didn't have much to do besides soak in the scenery. So we soon took a bus north to another town called Gisenyi. It was a public bus that quickly became packed with locals. The woman next to me had a little boy flopping his head over her arm. The road wound through a dirt road in the hills and the movement made the boy sick. He threw up on my foot and backpack. The mother apologized and tried to wipe it off with a handkerchief. Onward the bus went, over the bumpy road, up and down. The scenery was stunning, endless green hills with small villages scattered throughout. But the ride was slow going, painfully slow. It took seven hours to transverse the 110km to Gisenyi. I was so happy to reach the city I could have kissed the dusty sidewalk once I'd gotten off. But our priority was to find a lodge. We settled on an establishment called the Africana. After that we had an early dinner. I was biting into a forkfull of beans when I crunched down on something hard. It was a small rock and it chipped one of my upper molars.

I needed to get the tooth fixed and worried the treatment would be subpar considering Gisenyi wasn't so big a place. But I found a good dentist and he went to work with his pointy instruments and loud drill. I'd had a cavity in the same spot and he scraped it out before rebuilding the tooth. When the work was done I walked out the office tense all over. I won’t deny how much I hate visits to the dentist. It’s up there alongside a swift kick to the balls as one of my least favorite things. Anyhow, Gati and I meandered over a half kilometer to the border crossing into Congo. On the other side was a town called Goma. It was one of the more secure places in the country and we saw military planes flying in endlessly, their flight path crossing over the lake. At the border I found a currency exchange kiosk and traded for Congo francs to add to my money collection. Interestingly, one of the bills showed a picture of men digging for diamonds--blood diamonds to be sure. Odd that the government would want to promote the industry on its currency.

Part of the lakeshore in Gisenyi had manmade beaches. I'd heard the water contained some kind of parasite and did not go for a swim. Trapped beneath the lake was also a large amount of carbon dioxide that might at any moment erupt (but never has) to the surface and suffocate all animals and people in the area. Still, it was pleasant to sit near the shore and enjoy the breeze while little waves lapped at the sand. I was lying back on the grass when a young local guy came and struck up a conversation. He said his name was Antony and he wanted to practice his English. So we talked politics and tourism. I learned that in Rwanda it was difficult to start up a business because of high tax rates. But over in Congo enterprise was a simpler matter, so in spite of the country's instability, many foreigners still couldn't resist going in to make a quick profit. Later Gati and I had dinner at a lakeside restaurant, and taxes and all, the business seemed to be managing well. The joint offered beer and simple food items. Gati and I ordered kebabs with French fries, an unhealthy yet quick go to meal in East Africa. I sinfully washed it down with a bottle of Coca Cola.

Lake View

At Hostel

Boat Ride

Looking Down

Local Church

Gisenyi Mosque

Border Crossing

Volcanic

The eastern part of Africa is geologically split into tectonic plates that 35 million years created the Great Rift Valley. It is divided into two branches, the western part having thrust up mountains that mark the borders between Rwanda, Uganda and Congo. In Rwanda the mountains make up the Virunga Range, and at the base we visited the city of Musanze. I'd lined up a Couchsurfing host beforehand for the first time since arriving in Africa. The man's name was Hormisdas, and his wife Modeste. They were very welcoming. As usual I wanted to cook them some food. But because Modeste said she'd do dinner I prepared only guacamole and served it with chapati bread as an appetizer. Hormisdas had invited other friends as well, a volunteer worker from Germany and her visiting parents. The father was a former journalist and he rambled on and on about the refugee crisis in Europe. That lead to a deep political conversation that exposed my ignorance regarding the German government. I hadn't even know the name of their current chancellor. Yet Hormisdas understood very well the politics. It never ceased to amaze me, the knowledge possessed by the Africans I met. People from the outside look at the continent as some kind of backwater, a huge expanse of ignorant uncultured types. From what I'd seen it couldn't be further from the truth.

At first Gati and I were thinking of climbing a volcano. But the cost proved too high. The other attraction in the area was to see the highland gorillas. That was even more money. $700 for a one day outing. So we settled on two side trips outside of town. The first was to a tea plantation. We got off the local bus and walked right into the fields. Locals were hard at work picking  and sorting leaves. They looked at us with mild curiosity, probably wondering why foreigners had come to their place of labor. If they'd spoken English I'd have told them the reason. I wanted to take pictures of the green expanse of plants. The plantation sat flat in a valley that extended out of sight. Several children followed us as we went deeper and deeper into the valley. The female workers had baskets on their head or back. They also wore a colorful wrap called an entege, the traditional women's wear of Rwanda. I wanted to take pictures of them too, but they weren't having it. The whole time I'd traveled in Africa the locals did not like me pointing my camera at them. The exception was if I knew the person well. Then they didn't seem to mind.

Our last day in Musanze we visited the nearby twin lakes. They were also in an area few foreigners went to. We walked from the main road onto a dirt track that lead past village after village. The locals here, like in Musanze, we're very friendly. Though they didn't speak English everyone greeted us and smiled without fail. As for the kids, they of course pointed and said "Muzungu." I tried counting how many times I heard the word but lost track after 20. When we got to the lake it was at the edge of a large village which we had to pass through on an adjacent trail. This was a very rural area. People grew corn and other foodstuff on scraggly earth dotted with volcanic rock, and the houses didn't look like much. Children followed Gati and me. Some of them spoke to us, using random English words. It wasn't much communication-wise, but they were trying and I was happy to humor them with responses. Once they understood what we wanted to see, they guided us to a small port on the lakeshore. The landscape lacked  the impressive look of Lake Kivu, but it was still a joy to gaze out over the water after such a long walk.

Gati and I both agreed that Musanze was our favorite place in Rwanda. The people convinced us of it. When we returned to the village center we wanted to return from there to the main road by motorcycle taxi. Only one bike was available though. So the driver called his friend to come, and we sat and waited. It ended up taking forever. In the meantime a growing group of locals formed a tight circle around us. Most of them were children but some older people stopped too. Being the center of attention I felt I had to do something. I showed them my camera, then took out a map I had of Rwanda. Gati noticed that a little girl was wearing a San Diego Zoo t-shirt. I snapped a picture of her, and she felt so singled out, she almost cried. Thankfully, one of the locals could speak English, and he explained why I'd wanted the photo. The other driver finally arrived and we hopped on the two bikes to return to Musanze. From there we headed back to Kigali, but before leaving I printed a picture I'd taken earlier of Hormisdas and Modeste. You know, it's those little things that show gratitude for a CS host's hospitality.

Modeste

Church and Graves

Out to Pick Tea

Glorious Tea

Volcanoes

Boys Pose

For Sale

Gati on Motorcycle Taxi

Boat on Water

Wrap Up

We only spent a little over two weeks in Rwanda. Perhaps the country warranted more time, but in many respects it was similar to Uganda, and we decided we should continue our travels to another place. We were fortunate to have a friend like Barbara in Kigali. She welcomed us into her home during our long journey, and staying there, even if only for a few days, gave us the opportunity to recharge. I was also lucky to be with Gati while on the road. And from her perspective, she was fulfilling a dream of visiting Africa, something that would have been difficult on her own as a woman.

Walking on Stilts