“Good Governance is Our Pride”
Before we came to Rwanda, two dear friends from home independently mentioned to me that when they travel to Africa, they feel a spiritual homecoming of sorts. One friend said, upon landing here, her soul is home. Lately I've been reading about prehistory so their observations piqued my interest. For me though, no sense of homecoming manifested. Instead, while I’ve loved our time in Rwanda, I feel very much a foreigner. Frankly, the place confounds me.
Sunset at Kitabi Eco Center, near Nyungwe Forest National Park
Early morning at Kitabi
Tea plantations are visible in all directions from Kitabi
Sam near our tents at Kitabi
Sam enjoys an absurd portion of potatoes
Brian and I joke that we’re so lost in Rwanda, we can’t even figure out, in smaller towns and villages, how to purchase food. Like, we’re not entirely sure how everyone else is eating. Clearly they grow quite a lot of their own food; that much, we can see. We also see people hauling large bags of what looks like commodity foods (grains, tubers) on the backs of bicycles. But where are they buying these bags? Food stores, when we find them, are small, limited, and often seem quite expensive relative to the GDP here (about $800 annually per capita). Restaurants, outside of large cities, tourist areas, and hotels appear not to exist.
Early morning mist over Nyungwe (which means “impenetrable”)
From a hike in Nyungwe
After bird watching in Nyungwe
Joe protects his bananas from the mountain monkey
Lovely waterfall in Nyungwe
Other things about this place are less confusing and more just plain strange. The streets? Spotless. Seriously, spotless. On the (wide, paved) national roads, there is literally no visible debris. Like, actually none. Not one piece. Come to find out, this is due to a national policy of umuganda which translates to “coming together with common purpose” and is a monthly compulsory morning of public chores. On the last Saturday of each month, from 8 AM to 11 AM, everyone in Rwanda turns out to tidy up. But even on other days, we frequently saw women sweeping the side of the road with a homemade broom.
On the canopy walk in Nyungwe
This kid promised not to jump on the canopy. I wasn’t buying it so I stayed behind.
I can’t imagine what would happen if Americans were required to do monthly roadside chores. And we’d really lose our collective bananas if Covid policies at home mirrored those in Rwanda. This country takes Covid prevention seriously and everyone does their part. As travelers, we were required to test before entry, in the airport upon arrival, on day three before being sprung from quarantine, and again on day seven for good measure. Oh, and today, the day before we leave. (Rwanda will not be irresponsibly exporting homegrown Covid to other countries!) We were also required to obtain a rapid antigen test within 24 hours before entering a national park; anyone going primate trekking must do a PCR test within 24 hours of the tour in order to protect the animals. Despite this rather heavy burden of testing, it’s been far simpler to navigate testing here than in the US, in my experience. Beyond testing, masking is required both inside (apart from private residences) and outside. A women walking on the side of the highway, a large bowl of mangoes or a jug of water balanced effortlessly on her head? Mask. Children skipping along dirt roads between remote villages? Masks. Unpassengered bike taxi, puffing up a steep hill? Mask. Later we learned that the punishment for being without a mask is severe but also a little … funny. Apparently, if caught, you have to spend the night in the local stadium, sitting two meters apart from fellow wrongdoers, listening to a lecture about Covid safety. All. Night. Long.
Packing up to leave Kitabi
On a more serious note, children are afforded a confusing degree of both protection and autonomy, in ways that can appear contradictory to my American thinking. On the one hand, children are barred from some public places, to protect them. For example, children younger than 16 aren’t permitted to do primate trekking in any of Rwanda’s national parks. In fact, ten-year-old Joe wasn’t permitted to enter Volcanoes National Park for any reason; Brian and Sam hiked Mt. Bisoke alone while Joe and I stayed behind. Children are allowed at the Kigali Genocide Memorial but several times during our visit, staffers gently asked if we were sure it was appropriate for Joe especially to be there. (And you know, in retrospect, perhaps they were right and I was too cavalier.) On the flip side, tiny children who appear as young as four routinely walk alone or in small groups along the national roads. They travel with even more autonomy in the countryside. When we hiked the Congo Nile Trail, it wasn’t uncommon for groups of young children to follow us, literally for miles. Do your parents know where you are?, we wanted to ask. Do you know how to get home? I recall once I was thinking this very thought when a young boy, perhaps seven or eight, rode by on a bike taxi, holding a machete. At home, kids that age use safety scissors. Here, other than me, no one batted an eye.
Boating around Lake Kivu
Fishermen on the lake
Brian jumps in
Island hopping in Lake Kivu
I wish I could say I took this one; it was snapped by a friend in another boat
But the biggest difference between this place and home? It’s the palpable, undeniable optimism. This place is rising, coming up, moving forward. One day as we walked, Brian and I talked about this. Perhaps it’s all the children, we mused. The average age in Rwanda is just 20 and 20% of the population is below the age of 14. But more than that, Rwanda is buzzing. There are people everywhere and no one is standing still. Everyone is on the move: walking, carrying, tending animals and children, farming, mending, making. This country is a hive of non-stop activity. And everywhere there is a sense of orderliness, organization, logic, fairness. A few times, I tried, shyly, to ask the question, hoping to strike a note that didn’t sound patronizing or tone deaf. This place, it seems to be moving forward, I tried to say. Do people here have hope? Oh yes, came the answer, immediately and without hesitation. Thirty years ago, so many people died. Now, we want to live. Nodding vigorously, my new friends explained that no place is perfect – in particular they rolled their eyes about “politics” so some things really are the same everywhere – but in general, Rwandans trust their government, feel their country is moving in a good direction and look to the future with confidence. To my American ear, it’s jarring to hear people say these things. America, despite our real advantages, is sliding into despair. Rwanda is rising.
Amen.
