One of the things that drives me, and most of the other bazungu I know, absolutely crazy, is the fact that here it is not only acceptable to be several hours late for meeting someone, with no obligation to call and let them know that you’ll be late, but also that it’s OK to just not show up. But there is, of course, a flip side, and I wanted to share an incident from my trip to Rwanda; while we were walking along trying to find our hotel, we stopped a young woman and asked for directions. Rather than just pointing us in the right direction and sending us on our way, she walked with us almost the whole way to the hotel, on the way telling us that she had just finished qualifying for a lawyer and was in the interview process with a job with Avocats Sans Frontiers, and that she hoped later in her career to study International Law in The Hague. Figuring that she was probably on her way to meet someone and will have been late because she was showing us the way makes me feel much better whenever someone is hours late to pick me up!

After Bujumbura, Kigali came as a major culture shock. Rwanda’s roads are well known among old East Africa hands (talking about the state of the roads seems to be the expatriate equivalent of British people’s obsession with talking about the weather), but it still comes as a shock every time. Riding the taxi-moto, I kept bracing myself for the potholes that didn’t come. Walking to the restaurant in the evening, I kept noticing new things – like street lights and pavements – that in some ways seem so natural but in others are downright weird. I found the whole thing very disconcerting, but it was good to be in a country where everything works for a change, and good to see Lisa again and meet Bryan.

We spent the first evening in Kigali, where we had a great Chinese meal with some of Lisa’s friends, who were mostly American but some Europeans, then the next morning up early to get a bus to Gisenyi. We got there in the early afternoon, found a hotel recommended by one of Lisa’s friends, and checked in. Then waited hours for lunch. Lisa, Parker (her housemate in Kigali) and I had all ordered pizza – which turned out to be a mistake, as it resembled nothing so much as a hard bread base with pasta sauce on top like a layer of soup. I actually didn’t find it that bad once I scraped off the pasta sauce, replaced the cheese, and ate the pasta sauce separately, but I was in the minority!

After lunch, we headed to the beach to lie in the sun for a few hours – we used ‘muzungu power’ to walk purposefully into the Serena Hotel, to use their private beach, which was stunning and avoided inevitable uncomfortableness on the public beach next door. The beach was stunning, and the lake great to swim in – a little cold at first, and a bit of a rocky floor in a band just off the shore, and a little bit of an undertow, but that was made up for by the lack of salt, and the waves to play in, bringing out my inner three-year-old. We stayed to watch the sunset, and when the most spectacular rays had passed, wandered back into town – and on the way found a performance by the most incredibly talented acrobatics group. Unfortunately none of us had our flip camera with us, but I got one picture and I think Lisa and Bryan took some photos, some of which will hopefully come out. They were amazing though, leaping and tumbling over one another and forming the most amazing pyramids. Embarrassingly, after the performance they came over and shook hands with Lisa and I; but if you’re ever in Gisenyi on a Saturday night it’s worth wandering down to the park by the Serena to see if they’re there.

Lake Kivu

Acrobatic group in Gisenyi

For dinner, we followed our hotel’s recommendation and headed to White Rock, a restaurant by the lake. This turned out to be a Good Decision – one of the best meals I’ve had since I got here, delicious Tilapia in a butter sauce, with potatoes and vegetables, and a crepe with lemon and sugar for desert (the Americans found my pronunciation of ‘crepe’ very amusing) . Then off to bed – slightly challenging as it was a pretty dark night and none of us had a torch – spotting the glowing red of Goma’s volcano on the way. Went to sleep hoping that there wouldn’t be any eruptions or mudslides in the night that might cause Lake Kivu to explode and kill us all, then up in the morning to follow my long-held ambition of going to Congo – on which, a separate post above!

This weekend I went up to Butare in Rwanda to meet up with Lisa, the Survivor Corps fellow in Rwanda. Journey up on Friday went smoothly (very smoothly – the roads are excellent), apart from a slightly weird incident at the Rwandan border – went and got my entry stamp – then they called me back:

Lady at border: You don’t have a visa

Me: I know, I didn’t think I needed one

Lady at border (who, bear in mind, has already looked at my passport, written me in the book, and stamped my passport): Where are you from?

Me: The UK

Lady at Border: No, you don’t need a visa.

All a bit odd. Then got to Butare, met Lisa after about an hour, and worked out how we were going to get to Nyungwe the next day; got a bit confused about why they were telling us there were no buses returning (odd since there are buses going… are they all in Congo?), but eventually worked out we could get a ‘taxi’ back (again confusing till we worked out that taxi = matatu). So found somewhere to stay, went to the very good National Museum, where I learnt lots of new stuff about Rwanda, especially on the manufacture of pots and construction of traditional houses, and had dinner with a friend of Lisa’s who happened to be in Butare, and an American girl who was on her own and who joined us – very nice dinner, and an opportunity to compare the Rwandan Primus with the Burundian version (I prefer the Burundian; it’s light and a little sweet, which is what you want when it’s hot).

Rwanda National Museum

Next day, we headed to Nyungwe – literally crammed into the minbus; I was uncomfortable sitting across two seats, but poor Lisa was next to The Most Selfish Man In The World, sitting with legs wide open and cramming her feet together till they lost the blood. I also had to put up with the classic ‘do you have a boyfriend’ ‘yes, he’s very big and aggressive’, ‘where is he’, ‘England’, ‘that’s a long way’, ‘no it isn’t’, ‘don’t you want to marry a Rwandan’, ‘no’, ‘why not? I’m a basketball player’ ‘that’s nice’ conversation with the guy next to me, but luckily after about 10 minutes he succumbed to car sickness and spent the rest of the journey with his head in his hands, moaning softly. But it was worth it – Nyungwe was stunning – much more open than any of the tropical rainforest I’ve been to before, with jaw-dropping views across the hills. Unfortunately we weren’t able to track monkeys as the Chimpanzees had chased them into a different part of the forest, but we went for an awesome hike with a guide called Robert, who told us that he had grown up in Uganda but had returned, and had studied Agriculture before finding a job in the National Parks Service partly through his elder brother. He was very knowledgeable and told us all sorts of interesting things about the plants in the forest, as well as that the park had had elephants until 1999, but they had all been poached – there are plans to reintroduce them from Cameroon. Great hike, and our worries about the way back evaporated when we met some American girls with space in their car who gave us a ride.

Robert, our Guide

Fellows together

Land of A Thousand Hills

That evening was a little stressful trying to get the key to Lisa’s friend’s room from a guy called David – we’d left some stuff there – but found it in the end and enjoyed a celebratory Primus over an awesome (if unexpected) Chinese meal. Then off home, to sleep… until a ghostly and persistent tapping on the window! We at first assumed it was just a random noise, but when it went on for some time, Lisa suggested it might be someone at the door. I opened the curtain to find someone looming out of the night – luckily it was just someone from the front desk telling us they’d found a spare key, but it was a very scary moment!

Next morning had breakfast, with a very odd waiter deciding to read the menu aloud for us, before bringing me a cup (and no tea) when I asked for a cup of tea, and pointedly tapping the bill on the table in front of us at periodic intervals as we ate. Then the bus home – slight delays, but got the front seat! One last conversation to leave you with, taking place as the bus took the racing line around mountain roads at 100kph, with the driver blaring out deafening rap music:

Guy next to me: Where are you from?

Me: UK, how about you?

Guy next to me: I live in Rwanda but I work in Bujumbura

Me: Cool. What do you do?

Guy next to me: I rent out cars, luxury cars. If you want to rent a car you should call me.

Me (gazing at him in disbelief): Monsieur, if I could afford to rent luxury cars do you really think I’d be on this bus?

All in all an awesome weekend, great to meet Lisa, who I feel as if I’ve known for far longer than 2 days, and a nice break from Burundi!

A: They all live in the shadows of larger, richer, more powerful neighbouring countries, often get confused with those countries, and really hate it!

The attitude of the Burundians towards their Rwandan neighbours has amused and interested me since I got here. As I blogged in my first post, the two countries have a lot in common, in terms of the same ethnic structure, the same colonial history, and a similar history of ethnic war. However, Burundians are keen to distinguish themselves from Rwanda at every opportunity, drawing favourable comparisons between almost every aspect of Rwandan society and their Burundian equivalents. I find these comparisons very interesting, and hope to blog at more length on this once I’m surer of my ground. But they also amused me, because I couldn’t put my finger on what they reminded me of  - until I was watching South Africa vs. New Zealand with Brian:

Brian: Where’s New Zealand? Is it in Australia

Laura (laughs uproariously) : No! And never say that to a New Zealander!

Brian : They don’t like it?

Laura (in a rare moment of brilliance): It’d be a bit like if you told someone you were from Burundi and they asked if it was in Rwanda!

Brian’s look of horror told me that I’d picked the right comparator!

As anyone who has lived in Uganda will know, they take their religion very seriously indeed, with half the shops and businesses having religiously-oriented names – the ‘God is Great Butcher’ or the ‘Jesus Loves You Hair Salon’. After the improvement in the state of the roads, one of the big shocks of crossing the border from Uganda into Rwanda is the immediate disappearance of these names. The reason is even more distressing; the people of Rwanda turned away from religion en masse after the participation of many priests in the genocide.

Burundi lies between the two; religion is there, but not worn on their sleeves. A few shops have somewhat religious titles, but subtle, as, as I have blogged earlier, they seem keener on ‘peace’. The Catholic Church has historically been the dominant force and retains a powerful position, despite a period of repression under Bagaza (Tutsi military dictator number 2 of 3) between 1976 and 1987. However, there is also a fairly large Greek Orthodox community – the Greeks arrived en masse with the Germans, trading across the lake, and stayed through most of the 20^th Century, building a church even bigger than the Catholic Cathedral in the process. Greeks have also played a part in the country’s history; Prince Louis Rwagasore, the first Prime Minister of independent Burundi, was assassinated by a Greek settler in the pay of his political opponents. According to Pierre Claver, a fairly significant Orthodox population remains, a mixture of Greeks who have stayed throughout, and people converted over the years. His confusion at my fascination with the church also reveals how established the community is, and how it is taken for granted in Burundi – and this makes me keen to investigate whether there are similarly large populations elsewhere that I’ve somehow missed.

Orthodox church

As in Rwanda, there have been changes due to the war; the Catholic Church lost ground to various strains of evangelical Protestantism, as the conversion of Pierre Claver’s family shows. Finally, there is a small Muslim community – estimates range between 5% and 13% of the population – and there are some indications that this is growing as a result of the role played by Muslims during the war, when they showed enormous courage in protecting large numbers of Hutus and Tutsis alike. However, unlike Kigali, Bujumbura remains full of churches, and gospel music is popular. Nearly everyone I speak to tells me that things are good ‘thanks to God’, and that they hope for peace ‘with the Grace of God’ or tell me early in conversation that they are a Christian, and asks what denomination I am*.

I think this moderation is one of the things I like about the country; I found Uganda’s evangelical fervour somewhat disconcerting, and generally used to dread the occasions when it was my turn to lead the prayers at work meetings. Similarly, there is something eerie, if understandable, about Rwanda’s empty churches and mass abandonment of faith. Attributing good fortune to God, discussing religion over beers, going to church every now and then, and good-natured inquiries about others’ faith seem much more normal and healthy. It may also have positive benefits; Uganda’s first lady’s enthusiasm for promoting abstinence may be one reason for the start of a rise in HIV infection rates, while Rwanda – and Burundi in the past – showed the way in which a powerful church can become a tool for marginalisation. It may be hoped that this seeming lack of interest in mixing church and state can help Burundi to avoid either pitfall in future.

* Happily I have yet to meet an Anglican, so have yet to be invited to church. It may also be because Europeans are known for being heathens, and they’d rather not know.