Murakozi!

Murakozi! Amakuru?

Greetings are often the first words we learn when we visit a foreign country. "Murakozi! Amakuru!" means "Good morning. How are you?" in Kinyarwanda, the national language of Rwanda. Jordan and I learned these words and a few others during our week in Rwanda in February. Rwandans also speak Kiswahili, English or French, which because of the Belgian and French influence, was the language children learned in school. Recently, French has fallen out of favor and English is being taught instead. We got by well in English, but there were times when I needed to use my minimal competence in Kiswahili and even my 7th grade French to communicate.


The trip to Rwanda began as an invitation last December from Rotary friends of John's and mine. Tim and Carol, who live in Ashland, Oregon, work with the Ellen Meadows Prosthetic Hand Foundation, a California based organization that produces a prosthetic hand called the LN-4. The LN-4 is given free to recipients, mostly in developing countries. Tim and Carol were planning to visit the Butare Hospital in southern Rwanda in February to conduct a week long hand clinic. They hoped to give 100 hands to Rwandans, who had either lost their hands in accidents, during the war, or who had been born without hands. I immediately accepted the invitation to join them.

Since this was to be my first trip to an Africa country outside of Kenya, I decided to take the bus to Kigali, the capital of Rwanda. It would be much less costly than flying and would provide a great opportunity to see Rwanda and Uganda from the ground. The decision was fortuitous because when Jordan arrived, he was eager to come along and travel by ground suited us both financially and as tourists.

On the morning of February 13th, we boarded the bus in Nakuru and set off on the two-day journey to Kigali. Samuel had booked us on the Royal Akamba Coach, a "premier" bus that cost a few shillings more for extra leg room, fewer passengers, more comfortable seats and maybe a better safety record. It cost about $25 to Kampala, Uganda, where we would spend the first night.

As soon as we were on the road, an almost toothless elderly man in a navy blue suit stood up at the front of the bus and began to pray in Kiswahili. His voice was loud enough to reach the passengers at the rear of the bus and he held a small bible in one hand. My first thought was that this prayer was customary on cross country buses because of their dismal safety record. Perhaps he was praying that we would arrive safely at our destination. I wasn't so sure this was a good omen.

People didn't pay much attention to him, but on the left side of the bus, a woman wearing a red head scarf raised her hand above her head and nodded as he prayed. When we passed through Elburgon 25 minutes later, he was still praying and she was still nodding. I decided that he was probably praying for more than our safety. Finally, his voice became softer, his words came more slowly, and he breathed his final "Amen". Then he started down the aisle, smiling and greeting people. He stopped at the woman with the red scarf, took her hand and prayed with her for a few moments, then moved on to the back of the bus.

The conductor had been working his way down the aisle punching tickets. When he came to us, we gave him ours but instead of punching them and handing them back to us like he had done with everyone else, he studied them for bit, smiled apologetically and told us we were on the wrong bus. This was the Executive Akamba not the Royal Akamba. The Executive was also going to Kampala, but it was the "chicken" bus, not the premier. Both the Executive and the Royal had arrived at the Nakuru station at the same time, and we had simply boarded the wrong bus! But, hakuna matata! It wasn't a problem. The Royal was on the road just ahead of us and we would catch it in Kisumu where we could change buses. At that point, it probably didn't really matter...we obviously hadn't known the difference! But the conductor said we'd be more comfortable on the Royal and he'd help us with the move.

For the next two hours, we drove through Western Kenya towards Kisumu and Lake Victoria. The ride was lovely, through steep hills and valleys covered by what is left of the Mau Forest, through farm land plowed and ready to be planted as soon as the rains come and past hilly fields that appeared as if someone had thrown a giant blanket of light green cabbages over them. In the town of Chepseon, the donkey market was in full swing. In Kericho, the tea capital of Kenya, the brilliant green tea fields were stunning, and along the road men sat with hammers and stones in their hands, making gravel. We traveled through areas inhabited by the Kikuyu, Kalenjin, and Luo communities and as we descended to the lake, the hills gave way to flatlands with extensive fields of sugar cane.

As we pulled into the bus station in Kisumu, we saw the Royal Akamba parked just in front of us. All the passengers were off having lunch, and the conductor said we had 15 minutes to change buses, eat our lunch and use the bathroom if we needed to. He carried our bags to the Royal and helped us find our seats...it really was much nicer! We ate the lunch we had brought with us and then went to look for the bathroom, which required asking for directions from several people and finally having one young man guide us down the street, through a shop next door to the bus office and down an alley to an outdoor one-holer. There was a line...a nun in a brown habit and two other women, and I was afraid the bus would leave before I could get back...but it didn't.

Sometime in the early afternoon, we crossed the border into Uganda at the town of Busia. All passengers got off the bus, which drove on across the border to wait for us on the other side. While we stood in line to have our passports stamped, we filled out forms for departure from Kenya. Then we walked maybe 100 yards to the Ugandan customs office where we stood in another line and filled out a form for a $50 single entry visa into Uganda. The whole process took about an hour, and then we walked to the bus, where a customs official was waiting to check our passports as we boarded.

The border crossing was a crazy scene. This is one of the main highways from Mombasa on the coast of Kenya to Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi,and Sudan and the road is packed with huge cross country trucks, buses, matatus and cars going in both directions. At the border, long lines of vehicles waited side by side as papers were processed and drivers purchased food and stretched their legs. We were surrounded by an overwhelming presence of noise, dust, heat, garbage and people...money changers sold Uganda shillings to those entering Uganda and Kenya shillings to those entering Kenya. Hawkers carried colorful plastic buckets out of which they sold bananas, peanuts, candy, chapatis, hard boiled eggs and bottled water. Small shops sold fruit, sausages, yogurt and cakes to customers. Disabled people on crutches, in wheel chairs and riding special bikes competed with the dirty, ragged street children for handouts. It was a relief to get back on the bus and be on our way.

For the next many miles, the road was under construction and we endured the bumps, delays and dust for several hours. We were traveling around the northern end of Lake Victoria, and the landscape was flat and swampy. We passed rice fields, marshes and thousands, maybe millions of banana trees. Where Kenya's staple food is maize, Uganda's is the banana. The Ugandans roast bananas or cook and mash them to make "matoke". They also make banana wine which has an extremely high alcohol content and has the consistency of a very thick, pulpy fruit juice and a taste I can't describe. Two sips were enough.

The presence of so many banana trees colors the landscape a dark green. As we drove into small villages, the green would give way to bursts of color from shop signs, the bright clothing of the women, and things drying on large plastic sheets spread out on the ground in the sun...red beans, white maize, brown coffee beans. Leaving the villages, it was green again...bananas trees, patches of forest, bananas trees, swamps, banana trees, forested hills, banana trees, garden plots, banana trees, coconut trees, banana trees...

Everywhere, bananas! Huge green bunches for sale by the side of the road or in the backs of trucks going to market, small yellow bunches hanging in shops, and green bunches still hanging from trees. There were bananas on the roofs of cars and buses, bananas on matatus, bananas fastened to the tops of the tanks of petrol trucks, bananas on the backs of bicycles and motorbikes and donkeys and bananas on the heads of people walking along the road. Bananas everywhere!

Another thing we saw in great abundance was bricks. The clay soil, at least in this part of Uganda, is ideal for brick making and so most of the houses and other buildings are made of brick. The structures are covered with a layer of plaster, making the walls smooth and neat looking. The brick makers worked in outdoor "factories", putting the clay in wooden forms, then removing the wet bricks and stacking them to be baked. They leave holes in the bottom of the stacks for firewood and cover the whole pile with soil. These factories, with stacks of freshly baked bricks for sale were all along the road.

By late afternoon we entered Jinja, the Uganda town which straddles the source of the Nile River, where water coming from beneath the ground flows out into Lake Victoria. The sun was setting as we crossed the long bridge that spans the water. It was difficult to see much but it looked beautiful in the diminishing light.

When we reached Kampala, we were to be met by Peter Lusembo, a friend of Samuel's who would take us to a hotel and then pick us up in the morning to deliver us to the station for the bus to Rwanda. Peter asked us to get off the bus at Mukono Town before we reached Kampala saying that it would be easier to collect us in the small town than at the city station. He would watch for our bus to pull into town, and would pick us up where we got off by the side of the road.

These buses travel very fast and make very few stops...usually only ones that are scheduled. If you ask the conductor to let you off somewhere along the way, he and the driver are usually happy to oblige. But you have to be quick and be ready at the door with all your belongings when the bus stops. The stairs are very steep and high, and the top steps are so tiny that you can't fit an adult foot straight..you have to turn your foot sideways. So getting off quickly with your belongings is a real challenge. Especially in the dark. I asked the conductor if the bus could stop at Mukono Town. He agreed and said he'd let us know when we were getting close.

As dusk fell, the bus slowed to let a woman from the back of the bus with a small baby get off. She made her way down the aisle with several large bags and stood at the top of the stairs...but without the baby. When the bus stopped, the conductor helped her down the stairs with her belongings, then he ran back to her seat, picked up the baby and ran back down the aisle with the child cradled in his arms. He descended the stairs, handed the baby to the woman and jumped back on the bus as it took off.

A few minutes later, the conductor motioned Jordan and me to come forward, so we grabbed our bags and made our way to the door. The bus would be letting us off in pitch dark in a strange town and we hoped that Peter had seen us come into Mukono Town. The bus pulled off the road, the conductor opened the door and motioned us out (hurry! hurry!) and we got off in front of a row of buildings. As the bus pulled away, a white SUV pulled up and it was Peter.

The traffic was terrible driving into Kampala. One lane in each direction served the many, many vehicles trying to get in and out of the city. From Mukono Town, a suburb, it took us an hour to reach the city. Kampala is built on seven hills, and though we couldn't see much, we were aware of going up and down a few times before we reached the hotel Peter had chosen for us.

From the outside, the hotel was attractive with Indian decor, an outdoor patio with lights strung between the trees and several tables of guests enjoying the lovely evening air as they ate their meals. Peter asked us if $20 for a room for each of us was okay. Since we didn't have Ugandan shillings, he paid for the accommodations and food and we gave him dollars...$25 each for a room, a meal of chicken and chips and a warm beer. The inside of the hotel was non-descript bordering on shabby, and we walked up 5 flights of stairs in semi-darkness to our rooms. The shower (hot water!)was welcome and washed away the dust and grime from the day and my room had a balcony with a view of the city. Not bad for $20!

February 14th, Valentines Day. The view from my balcony in the morning was lovely. The hotel sat on top of one of the seven hills, and the valley below was filled with mist. People walked by on their way to work and it reminded me a bit of the hill towns in Italy. As I walked down the many stairs to breakfast, I saw from above a group of shirtless young men in the lot next door, marching in about 8 rows, 3 abreast, with long sticks over their shoulders. Peter told us later that that was the local defense militia practicing their maneuvers.

We ate a quick breakfast and I didn't notice until I had my first sip of chewy coffee that instead of putting out the usual can of instant coffee the staff had set a can of ground coffee on the table for guests. They had run out of instant. As we left for the bus with Peter, I noticed the large sign at the front of the building with the name of the hotel... Le Grande Chez Johnson Hotel.

Peter drove us to the Jaguar bus station a few hills away, and we were able to see a little of Kampala. We had no Ugandan money and weren't able even to buy a bottle of water for the trip, so I asked a young man at a phone kiosk if he would take some Kenya shillings in exchange for Ugandan shillings. He would, so I gave him 200 ksh for which I received 4000 Uganda shillings. With this, we were able to buy water and a lunch of chapatis and peanuts at the gas station where we stopped at midday.

Leaving Kampala and all of its traffic took us quite awhile and I enjoyed looking at the shops as we made our slow way out of the city. The most interesting were the tailoring shops for handmade women's clothing. Each shop displayed its specialty fashions on mannequins lined up on the front porch...usually from 3 - 8 of them wearing different styles of dresses. All the mannequins were white. In front of one shop, four Ugandan women sat in chairs drinking tea in their traditional outfits with a row of white mannequins behind them posing in their finery.

As we moved toward the Rwandan border, the hills grew in size and became more numerous. Farms reached from the lowlands to the tops of the hills every inch terraced so that each hill was sectioned by parallel lines from top to bottom with crops planted at each level. We also saw herds of "ankole", the Ugandan cattle with the longest horns I've ever seen on an animal.

We passed several very long market buildings made of concrete with individual stalls. From one end to the other, different products were grouped. At one end, bags of charcoal had been stacked, followed by mangoes, tomatoes, oranges, kale, cabbages, onions and ending with huge green bunches of bananas just cut from the trees. Bags of dried beans nd coffee also had their places. Behind the produce, men in white coats stood at long concrete charcoal barbecues, grilling goat and lamb meat on long skewers.

By mid-afternoon, we reached the Uganda-Rwanda border. The process was the same as before, only it was a lot less chaotic. After having our passports stamped, we went back to the bus, where we found our luggage spread out in a line on the ground. A Rwandan customs official waited for each passenger to open his or her luggage so that he could look for...plastic bags! Rwanda has outlawed plastic bags, and it's illegal to bring them into the country. Out came my green plastic laundry bag, the black plastic bag with a pair of shoes, and the orange plastic bag with a pair of sandals. We were happy to comply! After being in Rwanda for a few days, we became used to seeing people carrying brown paper bags instead of plastic.

From the border, we had another 2 hours before we would reach Kigali. After becoming accustomed to driving on the left side of the road in Kenya and Uganda, it felt strange to switch to the right side as we entered Rwanda. I wondered what it would feel like to be sitting on the right side of a vehicle and driving on the right side of the road. It didn't seem to bother the driver as we curved around hills through a lovely river valley.

Rwanda is called the "Land of 1000 Hills". Since leaving Kampala, the hills had steadily increased in size and number until in Rwanda, they were very tall and close together.It seemed as though we were always going either up or down and turning to the right or the left as we navigated up and over and around the hills. Tall eucalyptus trees lined the roads, which were smooth and in very good repair. Sometimes, it felt a bit like a roller coaster ride...crawling up a hill and shooting down the other side, sometimes careening around curves at the same time. With no guard rails and a sheer drop off at the edge of the road I found myself holding my breath on several occasions.

Ninety five percent of Rwandans are farmers and every inch of arable land is under cultivation. Tea fields on the valley floor continued for miles and then suddenly gave way to rice paddies. Each of the hills was terraced from bottom to top, with crops growing on the terraces.

We arrived in Kigali at 6 pm. The city sprawls across a narrow valley, from the top of a hill on one side of the river, down to the valley floor and up to the top of the hill on the other side. Brick houses were stacked on terraces on the hillsides and again, I was reminded a bit of the hill towns in Italy. As we waited at the bus station for our friends to collect us, we watched the traffic swirl around us and the dusk begin to deepen.