Transit, Pt. II

(Commuting, Cont.)

Pt. II - Taxis
The vast majority of commuters here, in any main town, use local 'taxis'. These are not taxis as we know them, but are typically small, filthy Indian 12-passenger vans that run set routes with stops. There are hardly ever fewer than 15 or 16 (up to 18) people crammed into each taxi. They zoom along between people, honking and warning them to get out of the way. The 'stops' are the real adventure. There is no such thing as a 'stop' really. When one of the drop-off points comes along, the driver slows down to a roll, you throw the side door open and jump out. You hit the ground running or you fall down. Sometimes, when a person needs off in between points, he just jumps out unannounced - as long as the taxi slows to somewhere below 25(ish) mph... Getting on these things takes a little more practice. Unfortunately you can't afford to mess the first attempt up either. Since they don't stop all the way, you jog alongside the open door and wait for everyone to jump out who needs to, then you grab onto the handle above the door, swing yourself in, and off you go. As a result of my first attempt, my new water bottle is somewhere on a highway in Kenya.

In the cities, they do have taxis as we think of them also.

Pt. III - The Bus
Here is the best part. I've taken a passenger bus twice to other parts of Rwanda. The system of minibuses here is very efficient, and they are much cleaner than the van taxis. Typically, several buses leave each day for the other main destinations in the country. It is easy to get around, and inexpensive. A 2-hr commute to Kigali (the capital) costs about three dollars. As with every other mode of public transport, the buses are very crowded. There are 20 actual seats, but my last ride was with 26 other people. On either side of me, I had a young mother breastfeeding her baby. I just stared straight ahead, content for once not to be able to communicate.

Sidebar - The scenery here is breathtakingly gorgeous; I feel that pictures even cheat the experience. As far as you can see, there are volcanic hills, usually terraced with crops and falling off to jungle valleys. There are more shades of green than I've ever seen. The hills are impossibly steep, as are the roads winding around them. It is truly a testament to the beauty of this place that one even notices, given the chaos of the moment that is ongoing..

Imagine a wide minibus with hesitant brakes hurtling around these mountainous roads (Mikey - think 15-passenger van at Darlington). The roadway that connects Kigali with Musanze District (where I'm working now, and the country's primary gathering place for adventuring tourists) would barely suffice as an average Wabash County road. It is no wider. When two buses or trucks meet, they each swerve off their respective sides, without slowing, to avoid swiping each other. There are innumerable potholes and chunks of asphalt missing, and there are many stretches where the pavement has washed out to gravel and mud after the rainy season. This is a testament to Chinese international aid (in contrast, the German roads in other directions are pristine). Again, forget slowing down. Drivers bear down on these missing patches and simply aim for the spot that looks smoothest. We hit them and hop several inches out of our seats. During my last ride, I had an odd sense of 'Final Destination' and looked up to notice our driver with his eyes shut for about three seconds. I yelled to him 'Wake up!' - or what I think means 'wake up', or possibly just a jumbled expletive - and a few other people snapped to. At the end of the drive, I had to pry both my white hands loose from the 'Oh Shit' handle in front of me. Another routine trip.

peace & love.

As opposed to the jubilation from the last post, losing to Ghana while being in Africa is worse than losing to Auburn.

Futbol

Being here during the World Cup has been a lot of fun. The entire continent seems enraptured with the hosting of South Africa. It is not only the passion for the sport - which an American simply cannot understand until diving into it elsewhere - but Africa's pride on the line. Africans embrace this tournament as a defining moment. The buzz is contagious. In every town, there are people walking in jerseys and flags (although most of the flags are for Barcelona, Chelsea, ect... not a participating country).

During the afternoons and evenings, many of the villagers or townspeople gather around the nearest television to watch, especially if an African nation plays. I pack in to look over shoulders or through arms to watch the matches. We lean forward to see on the small screen, biting nails and watching anxiously. During exciting plays or near-misses, they jump to yell and curse, and then settle back down to quiet anticipation. Goals are met with an eruption of unintelligible yells and dancing.

Yesterday I ran into the nearest town to try and see the U.S. play. I was walking around the market place, stopping people to say "football" and kick my foot in gesture, trying to find a place to watch as I was late for the match start. Finally, a man directed me down a long dim alleyway between buildings, barely wide enough to walk through. It turned a corner, and at the end of the corridor a man sat in a folding chair. I paid him about 35 cents, went through another alleyway to a curtained door, and went in. There were about 200 Africans sitting in a dark room, with two projector screens showing the ongoing U.S. and England matches at once. By some coincidence, there was another American seated in back, and I settled in next to him. For the next 90 minutes we jumped, cheered, screamed and agonized after each successive near-miss by the Americans (there were 8 or 10 of those during the match). Everyone in the room knew we only needed one goal at the end to clinch victory and move on. Over the course of the match, several of the Africans turned to cheer the Americans on with us. I think they empathized with us. Finally, in the 90th minute, Landon Donovan put our much needed goal on the board. The room erupted, both screens covered up by hands flying and dancing and high-fiving. In the back, I was hugging or shaking anyone within reach. Before long, I found myself at the bottom of a victory pile, swept up by a throng of Africans who were elated to share in the all-American moment. It was unlike any Alabama touchdown I've ever been a part of, and it was one of the most joyful moments of my life. Peace & Love.

Transit

This subject merits two posts.

As far as I can tell, there's very little rationale applied to any mode of travel on this continent. Whether crossing between countries or going a few kilometers down the road, each journey promises to be an adventure. I'm sure this lends to my fascination with Africa.

Flying
Apparently, I missed the memo that my flight from Kenya had changed gates at the last minute (thank you again Joe Biden; see previous post). There are no departure monitors in Nairobi. There are notices in Swahili, if you're so inclined. So I waltzed right up to an airplane on the tarmac, hopped on, and landed in...Bujumbura, Burundi. Where? Exactly. Burundi's capital (and only) airport is a single airstrip in the middle of the bush. The landscape was striking. Our jet set alone atop an asphalt pad, surrounded by scrubby, desolate hills - just what you might imagine the edge of the Serengeti bush to look like. Rwanda was only a short flight away; I made it after a small delay and found my bag waiting on me. It was worth the detour.

Commuting, Pt. I
When I'm 'in town' I have a driver named Karim to shuttle me when I'm unable to walk. We ride around in an old Datsun truck with rearview mirrors hot-glued to the front corner of the hood, and a column transmission missing the top gear. Typically, at the end of a workday, our commute home includes 6-12 people catching a ride back toward town in the truck bed. Streets here are mostly claimed by the host of people coming and going on bike or on foot. When driving, it is customary to drive down the middle of the road, and pass anywhere. If it's too crowded, you honk several times as fair warning, and people move over. You certainly don't slow down. If you pass within a foot of a person, you've left ample space. Typically the margin runs about six inches. Young children scamper along in lines, content for vehicles to zoom by within inches. It gets most interesting when you meet another oncoming vehicle. I think I'm used to it now; it doesn't bother me much. But during the first few rides, I spent half the trip clinching my ass cheeks, with my face buried in my hands.

Pt. II coming soon.

From Joe to Pro

I've traveled a little bit before, but never to so foreign a place as this. And I've never seen another place where an American is revered so much. Wherever I walk, activity around me stops. People stare and gesture to each other. They show faces of curiosity and admiration. Too much attention really; sometimes I'm uneasy with it. I try my best to stop periodically to talk with people, trying to relate to them with my own questions and interests. Inevitably a crowd gathers. It's humbling, and I try to piece together what they must be thinking about me. In a few rural villages, I learn that I am the first white person (let alone American) that the children have seen before. I walk and they jog alongside, quietly saying 'Muzungu' (their equivalent of 'gringo' I think) to each other. When I stop, they gather around, and a few very young children will always poke through. They creep forward very slowly, staring up at me. Every time, they stop a few steps short, and then walk up to touch my pants or shoes. They hold touch with one finger and look up to see what I do next. I smile every time, and I sit down. Those are some of the best moments in Africa thus far.

To the children and townspeople, I am a symbol - to which they attach a certain status. There is a land, somewhere, that is so foreign and wealthy that they have only heard about it in stories. They may know nothing of Burundi or Congo, but they know America. They know immediately that I am visiting from that place, and I may be the only direct connection they ever have to America. There is an odd, sort of untold and mutual understanding that happens there every time. I'm trying to learn how to bridge the gap the best that I can.

Even in more urbanized, networked cities, there is a similar sort of recognition - albeit less pronounced and inevitably mixed with some hostility. Here was a scene from Nairobi: While I was there on the way to Rwanda, Joe Biden was wrapping up a week of diplomatic talks hosted by the Kenyans. I was in the airport waiting for my next flight out, and a man walked into the terminal gate to announce that there would be a delay due to 'unavoidable complications.' The man stood up high on a box and yelled; there are no airport announcement systems there. The people around me groaned and complained, although I couldn't understand their exact words. Two men in front became rather angry and lashed out at the hapless airport attendee. However, in midst of their tirade, a large jet bearing 'United States of America' taxied past the terminal. Thus the delay. Immediately, the angry men turned to watch. The people in the terminal rushed and pressed against the window, pointing, yelling, waving, snapping pictures and fighting to catch the slightest glimpse of the American symbol. I kept my seat. It was remarkable to watch.

There was an odd moment. I don't think I can overestimate the reverence many of these people have for their concept of America. I was confronted there with an image of world domination, generosity and exploitation both, in midst of another world racing to catch up, but still wary of the American presence. It's odd to sit between the two. I don't always know what to do with it.

I started to work this week. I traveled to Uganda and Gisenyi (the Congo border) both, but I've been back to Ruhengeri each evening to sleep. I'm still trying to sort through information and find my bearings. Traveling overland here is chaos, period. That will probably serve up a few stories for the next post. Peace & Love.

First Impressions

So I've arrived. The journey here took me through a few unexpected turns and delays; I ended up in Burundi instead of Rwanda at first. But it all adds to the adventure. Anyways, I've been in Rwanda now for four days, and I think I've settled in a bit. This must be the most beautiful country in Africa. The landscape is stunning. Foggy volcanoes and mountains loom over, clouded and hidden at the top. These mountains are the last place on earth where you can find gorillas. There are colors everywhere. Lush green farms and forest, and brights reds and blues and yellows that go with traditional African dress. The place is captivating; there is an aura of mystery and detachment and struggle and joy, all together. People here are always going, albeit at a much slower pace than the rest of us in America (while managing to be at least as productive, in their own way). They cannot afford to stop and sit. There is water to fetch, crops to carry, food to prepare, football to play. And they take joy in each task. I've never seen so many beautiful people in one place. There is something about their comings-and-goings, mixed with contagious smiles, that leaves me content, as a visitor, to just sit and watch them pass. They are more hospitable than any people I have met. You couldn't possibly sit and watch and imagine the atrocities that have happened here so recently. Perhaps the people are bound by their former sufferings. They are reconciled to rebuild and serve one another, and their humility is remarkable. I know that this is like no other place on earth.

Right now, I am in a town called Ruhengeri, in Northern Rwanda close to the Uganda border. There are several Americans here, working or traveling. So there are people to share with. I think I will make this my base in Rwanda, in between traveling around to work projects. I have been offered a small house (or hut) in the bush outside of town, and I'm going to go check that out today as well. Anyways, there are bikes to ride and things to organize; work starts now. I'll be back to write as soon as I can. peace & love.