Rwanda!!!

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A word or two from Rwanda

A short flight landed us in Kigali, Rwanda, where we quickly realized just how far behind Rwanda is from Tanzania. We could not extract money at the airport, and after incessantly questioning our guide, we began to understand that Rwanda had only just recently opened their first ATMs and that foreign cards certainly did not work in them. So, we made our way to the main branch in the city of Kigali, and after sorting out whom we had to speak with, we found ourselves in the office of one of the senior bankers, we were informed that only VISA withdrawals would be possible. We were also advised that not all banks in the country would be able to do the same, so we had to really work out how much money we expected to need, since we were about to leave the main city. Once we had our money worked out; our driver gave us a tour of the city before we left for Ruhengeri… land of the mountain gorillas…

We had to make a conscious effort to lower our expectations and standards, since there weren’t many standards in the local hotels. We managed through broken toilets and credit card machines that did not work (after we had rung up a bill expecting to use VISA…) and began enjoying the new adventure once we had altered our expectations. It wasn’t difficult to fall in love with Rwanda once we were on our way to see the mountain gorillas. These mountain gorillas are all in the same area and some of the groups living there are the same gorillas Dian Fossey studied. They are the largest of all gorillas, and they are a critically endangered species, with only about 700 left in the world. The male gorillas are the biggest and can easily weigh up to 350 lbs., of course, since they are herbivores, they spend most of their day eating as they can consume around 75 lbs. a day!
To reach the gorillas, our guide drove us down some of the most horrendous roads known to man, and followed the instructions of the trackers. You see every afternoon the gorillas make up their nests for the evening. Thus, the trackers will follow their family of Gorillas until they make their nests, radio that information to the research center, and then the next day tourists with permits are distributed to groups of no more than 8 people that will head out to the specific locations of the few gorilla families in the area. Each tourist who has purchased this (rather expensive) permit, will be allocated to a group, escorted by guides and trackers, and then, the minute there is contact, limited to 30 minutes of interaction with these amazing creatures. So, we hiked our way through hills, foliage, rough terrain, and the most giant stinging nettles I have every seen to find our designated small group of gorillas. We found the silverback first, nestled comfortably in the thistles, contently eating away. We stayed there, watching him in wonder and shock until he finally got sick of us and left. We immediately started tracking the others from the group. We found a mama and her babies scrambling in the foliage and then met up with the feisty blackback, who at one point, turned on our group to charge and grab one of the trackers. In what I would describe as the most calm, hysterical voice I have heard to date, our tracker ordered us to put down the cameras and stop moving. We stared as the tracker started grunting and making familiar gorilla sounds. After a few moments, the blackback released him and took off. We all began to breathe again, and continued on our way, looking for others of the group. Before we knew it, it had been 30 minutes and we were hiking out. We went back through the rural villages, and out of the mountains.

Since our hike had not taken so long (the gorillas had slept closer to the bottom of the mountain), our driver took us to see lakes Bulera and Ruhondo. Of course, since I had just come from the Serengeti, I had not been able to get out of the vehicle or go anywhere in the camps on my own, so I was dying to get out of the car and go for a run. I pleaded with the driver to take us somewhere for a hike, and when stopped to get a view of the lakes, I was unable to control myself. We were overlooking a steep hill of terraced land and there was a village down below, by the shore of the lakes. The driver jokingly told me that I could run down to that village in I wanted. I begged him and my mother to let me as he dismissively laughed. He told me he was only joking, but I was set on the idea and my mom was immediately challenging the safety of such an idea… the guide explained that it was actually perfectly safe, and I was free to do so if I really wanted. I went barreling down the hill, filled will the feeling of freedom that I had been missing for so many days…

Little did I know, with the sun beaming down, my red hair caught the light as I bombed down the hill, and it must have been quite a sight to the children below, who immediately started running up the hill to meet me. A few minutes later, we met in the middle, and they all began jumping, laughing, and talking what English and French they knew. I was overwhelmed with the excitement and buzz of the children, and they soon spotted my camera. “Picture.” “Take picture of me.” “Picture.” “Show me, show me.” They were delighted with the camera and I soon handed it off all together. I let them take pictures of me, of themselves, and we all ran about, posing and laughing. They would shriek with delight when I then showed them the image and they wanted “again”, “again”. Then they started singing and dancing, I set the camera to film, and showed them after and they were exasperated. “More. More” “Me now” “Show me”. They loved the camera, and now started to invite me everywhere. “Come meet my father. He speak French. Please. Come meet my father.” “Come my school” “Please, come visit school.” I motioned and explained that my mother was on top of the hill. I said I cannot meet your father - my mother is waiting for me (and I was begging to feel guilty at how long I was spending with the children while she was patiently waiting for me at the top of the lookout). “Come meet my mother!” I said. I raced the children to the top of the hill, and with a shyness I hadn’t seen before, the children hesitantly went back to the chatter, photography, and singing and dancing. I am not sure if it was the presence of the guide, or the fact that they were now on the property of a near-by lodge, but they children were not as natural as they had been on the hill, but they were still singing and dancing, and they were still in love with the camera. We stayed for over an hour, and I could have stayed more. The children were captivating, and filled me with joy. They would touch and stroke my hair every time I leaned down to exchange emails or pose for the camera, one girl constantly pulling it over her shaved head for the pictures. We were touched by the children, and determined to learn more about them. The girls had to shave their heads - it was taught to them in school, for it was the best way to maintain hygiene and reduce the spread of lice. The uniforms some of the children wore were school uniforms, tattered and reused. There were many orphans in the area… the effects of the genocide and aids still present throughout the country. On our way home, our guide asked locals where the school these children attended was, and we decided to visit on our final day in Rwanda, but for the time being, we had to get back to where we were staying, having another gorilla trek the following morning.

Yet again, we beat the sun, and headed out for the gorilla trek, this time we fell in love with our guide as well as the different hike. This trek took much longer than our first, and while we climbed through the mountains, we learned a lot about the local plant life and wildlife. We came across tracks, and crawling critters longer than my foot… we even found forest elephant tracks which was hard to imagine with the bamboo trees pressing in on us from every side. We met local woodcutters, and I asked my guide if he could ask them if I could try their tools. The brace they were using was all of wood they had cut and very unsteady and they used it to climb up on so that they could each saw, with leverage, standing up. It was much more difficult that I anticipated, and I was as delighted as they were to see me give it a try. The guide also took us to some of the overnight huts that were set up in the field - barely enough room to lie down and furnished only with a water jug, mug, and knife. Rudimentary living - and yet almost as comfortable as the bed I had paid for the night before.

Eventually we did come across the second group of gorillas… totally different from the first. This group had a very dominant silverback. In fact, the silverback was so dominant that there wasn’t a single blackback (adolescent male) in the group. In addition, this group was four times the size of the group we had seen the previous day. There were female gorillas and babies in every direction, and there was much more action and interaction. The silverback attacked a female and punished her for eating the “good thistle”, we saw him mate and dominate his group. He also displayed displeasure with us, and led his troops into the forest, where we saw babies climbing and playing on the vines, and even a gorilla tickle-war between siblings. Yet again, our half-hour was up in a flash, and we were soon on our way out, once we were back at our hotel, we went for a swim in the lake just beside us. Of course, it did not take me long to discover we were just a few kilometers from the Congo! I did my best at convincing and persuading my mother to go - I tried to entice her to cross the border, but as expected, I had trouble enlisting my mom when she found Canadian government warnings advised against non-essential travel. It is extremely dangerous at night, and even more so for women. I was convinced that there must still be a way, so I boldly walked over and used my French to inquire if they were indeed locals. I questioned them about the border and if there was any reason to (or not to) cross. I asked about safety and idea of leaving before it got dark… They readily promoted it, the wife of one of the men being Congolese, but cautioned that we would have to leave well before dark, not stray from the city or the main streets at all, and definitely go with a guide. They made some calls and told us a fellow was on his way to be our guide… a brother of one of the men… but we would have to excuse his drunkenness. Well, let me tell you, if I ever had a bad feeling about someone - it was him. He showed up drunk, smooth talking, full of lies, and clearly had no idea about the reality of the situation but rather a keen interest on pleasing and impressing people. After over an hour of convincing him that we had changed our minds and could not go to the Congo for Visa reasons, his girlfriend finally got irritated and pulled him away. Immediately, our kind server came over to us and told us not to trust that man. He then offered his services to go to the border. He told us he would walk us over in the morning, and although he himself could not cross, it was safe for us to venture across as long as we were back before dark. My mother wavered. She sat me down and said “okay”. I could not believe my ears… I questioned her, and she confirmed my disbelief “Trisha, I know if I don’t go with you now, you will go one day on your own… won’t you.” I sat silently for a minute. “Probably.” I said, “not now with you, but… one day….” My mother sighed, “I know, that’s why we will go and ask at the border tomorrow, just ask!” I woke up early and ran to the border - not so far after all. I ran back and my mother and I breakfasted and made our plans. We walked to the border and checked there, on the Rwandan side that it was safe and possible for us to cross for the day, and we were off.

We made it in and out of the Congo, and returned to the lovely lake near our hotel for a relaxing evening. Of course, the lake itself was not uneventful as we drew a crowd as we always seemed to, and I was soon racing the locals to swim out to the middle of the lake. We also found ourselves talking to the only other white people we had seen in Rwanda, who happened to be out for a swim as well. They were a lovely missionary family from surrey! We chatted away, and I made off with the children to build sandcastles on the shore, as a looming crown of locals surrounded us. They stood over us unabashedly, so close we could feel their breath and shins grazing against our backs as we piled the sand higher and higher, crouched low and concentrating on our castle-building...


Our last day in Rwanda was a mix of excitement and disappointment. We had our driver take us back to the school of the children we had met earlier in the week. Unfortunately, our driver’s timing was off, and the children were in class when we arrived, and our gifts (pens, paper, balls, hats, etc) had been stolen. We did however, manage to see some of those sweet faces, and learn more about the local school. There were five classrooms… one missing a good chunk of the roof. 734 students, 11 teachers (of which only half came on any given day due to household responsibilities) and they were in desperate need of supplies and textbooks. Sadly, the current ruler of Rwanda changed the official language (as a progressive move, having gained independence from being a former French colony) from French to English. The glitch in this plan, the educators were not educated in English, nor does the country have any English textbooks… We were touched by the school, and even in our short visit, I managed to teach the class and thrill the children with a few quick sprints to get my camera, and then a short boxing lesson (the children had asked what sport I played). We left the classroom inspired and full of ideas…

The next day we finally flew home, another painfully routed flight that allowed us to think about and try to grasp all of what had happened that month. Our trip to Africa has truly influenced who we are and how we are interacting with the world. This Christmas, I have decided to support a group called kiva, which is an organization that provides micro-loans to change the world one person at a time, and have given my family members gift certificates of $25 each to support a business-hopeful of their choice. In addition, we continue to support FAME, the hospital that took care of me while I was in Tanzania, and I have facilitated a sustainable partnership between Surrey Princess Margaret school (a local Vancouver school that practices a class called social responsibility) and Mwiko Primary School in Burrera District - the school I visited with all the beautiful smiles, minds and hearts that touched me and my mom. This trip inspired me to make more of a difference, and really showed me the true beauty of a country.

Until next time…. May the road rise to meet you…

Trish xx

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