Nairobi to Kigali
Giraffe don’t yawn. This is a new interesting fun fact for us, we’d previously learnt that for a giraffe to drink they need to block their jugular arteries so that too much blood doesn’t run to the head, but this is new. Martina tells me that she learnt from Zack, our previous guide, that giraffe have the biggest hearts of all land mammals and when a baby giraffe is born it needs the two meter drop to start its heart. Our new guide, Mambo, adds that giraffe may seem silent, but they are in fact very vocal but at a very low frequency that we cannot hear, but if we could hear, it would sound like lots of old men snoring loudly.
Nakuru National Park is a days drive from Nairobi and we back in the truck. This new truck is the same layout as our last one, except this time it is full with 22 passengers. We’ve left a bag of stuff in Nairobi, no spare lockers this time round, and every seat is taken. We’re a mix of the usual Australian, Canadian, a couple of Americans and the rest Swiss, German, Austrian, Columbian and Spanish. The three Kenyan crew with us are guide Mambo, chef Sandie and John the driver. It’s a different driver John to our last trip, but he is his brother in law and quite similar in his friendly warm nature. With a full truck it’s a little more difficult to spot animals out of the windows but we move around and make space for each other. The truck drives through the thick growth and every one jumps to escape acacia branches with long spikes sweeping through the open windows. I excitedly point at an animal in the distance, convinced that it is a rhino, for it to turn out to be a buffalo.
The campsite for tonight it’s very basic, just squat toilets, not enough running water for a shower or flush the loo in succession. The Nakuru National Park is one of the best places to spot leopards, I scan the trees, searching eagerly, but no, they have eluded us again. There are more rhino here than we have seen in our entire trip through Africa so far. In Kenya they have chipped rather than removed the rhino horn. It’s great to see their distinctive horns displayed in full. Solitary black rhino forage in the distance and a crash of white rhino relax by the lake shore.
The border crossing from Kenya has a long line of trucks queuing but ours is somehow able to skip the queue along with the other buses, squeezing an extra lane in to the oncoming traffic. John plays chicken with the oncoming traffic, smaller vehicles having to move off the tarmac to dirt on the side and occasionally try and duck back in for an oncoming lorry. The motto of an overlander is that it is not a bus but a truck, I guess that the overlander is a bus when it suits! A motorbike has also been sent on ahead of us with the truck manifest documents to speed up the process.
Kampala, Uganda’s capital city, is loud, busy and vibrant as we arrive late into the day. We have a hotel for the night as we are arriving late and leaving early, there’s no time for Sandie to cook for us all tonight and we have dinner and breakfast included in the hotel. Smog lies heavy as we leave Kampala early Wednesday morning. Kids shout Mzungu, grin and wave, one group show a middle finger and laugh. Climbing the hills out of the city the pollution dissipates leaving traces of mist shimmering in the dawn light in the trees and tops of buildings. The truck climbs breathlessly high in the rift valley mountains, heavily laden it wheezes up the steep road, over 2000 meters above sea level. Stopping near the top there is a view point out towards a lake where children are walking back from school for lunchtime. One tourist offers a pen to one child and the crew have to manage the resulting scrum of children trying to get more pens. It can be hard sometimes to refrain from giving something when some may be dressed in rags, but it is generally discouraged to give anything directly. Children will still shout out “Hello, how are you, give me money“ here in Uganda.
There are three basins, each with a bucket beneath them, lined up ten meters apart along the road. The one in the middle on a line leading to a visitor centre and the owner runs a demonstration. He pours the water in to the first basin, pull the plug, and we observe how the water spins anti-clockwise, the third basin clockwise. He unplugs the basin in the center and the water pours in to the bucket beneath without spinning either direction. The line is of course the equator and we’ve stopped for the obligatory photos. The visitor centre owner gives me a certificate for witnessing the demonstration and tells me that if anyone else in the group would like a certificate they can for only 2000 shillings. The road to Kisoro takes us the full length of Uganda which is a couple of long days drive, we spend the time on the truck playing card games and we have brought Brändi Dog with us much to Rafael’s delight who then beats us convincingly three games in a row.
We have an overnight stop near Mbarara at a hotel with a pool and a grassy area nearby where we can pitch our tents. We cool off in the large pool and enjoy the local Ugandan beer, Nile special, which is very good. As the sun sets a party starts up across the road, playing afro beats in the distance. By 4am everyone is still awake, the DJ must have turned up the music around midnight and doesn’t stop till dawn breaks. As we sleepily pack away our tents and clean up after breakfast, the few people who had decided to upgrade to a lodge tell us how well they slept the previous night.
Our campsite for three nights in Uganda is along a rough track near the border town of Kisoro which will be our base for our main trip to see the Gorillas. Here the rocks are volcanic, sharp and can be slippery underfoot, not far from here are a range of volcanoes on the border with the DRC. I pull on my hiking boots, carry our stuff over the jagged rocky path, and pitch our tent on the soft grass terrace. A group of 4x4 land cruisers and people carriers turn up and we drive out to a local village in the hills nearby.
There are three guides with us to show us around the village, the bring us into a central location, past goats tethered to a small courtyard where the villagers have placed chairs and benches in a circle for us. Our guide tells us the traditional skills of the village, on how they prepare grain, and weave using recycled materials. The women in the group are shown how to balance baskets on their heads and are to walk to market. He explains how the traditional marriage process works in this village, like many African tribes it is an arranged marriage, with a dowry paid to the wife’s family in the value of cows. The newly wedded couple are provided with a quiet place to live together for three months with few visitors so they can get to know each other and bond. He asks for a volunteer couple, Sam and Jess agree to be our newly weds, and the village prepare for a party. Sam and Jess don clothing for a wedding and sisters are selected to carry gifts. “The helicopter is ready” our guide says, the African helicopter turns out to be a seat carried on posts by four people. Jess is hoisted high and carried down the road to the village center accompanied by dancers, singing and drums.
Sam waits for his wife in the center as the party loudly arrives, united they are ushered into a house and seated together, Jess on the floor next to Sam on a seat. The village continues to dance and sing as we are all brought into the house and served hot potatoes and beans. Meat is rarely eaten, only for Christmas, it’s good and I hungrily eat it all. One of the drivers comes back to offer assistance, telling us about the beans, but I think he really is just trying to get some food for himself. There’s a tip jar for the community on the table we are invited to use, the villagers bid us farewell and we return down the rough road to our campsite where Sandie has prepared dinner for us.
We’re pretty experienced with border crossings in southern Africa and we dutifully line up for the Uganda exit process. First to show the yellow fever vaccination stamp, then fill in forms for the queue to exit Uganda, before walking to the Rwanda border post. We queue up at the only window, filling in the immigration form in the line, when a bus disgorges its passengers who all try to push past us. The queue turns into a throng and we all form a protective semi circle to keep our place, this is the only time we’ve needed to do this. Normally there may be a truck driver who just needs a stamp but otherwise the queues are generally respected or policed. Passports stamped, we board the two people carriers which then cross from the left to the right hand side of the road to drive onwards.
In many African countries plastic bags are banned, Kenya and Tanzania are kept fairly clean of plastic litter. Rwanda takes this a step further, banning almost all disposable plastic there is almost no litter anywhere, there are strict penalties for littering and the last day of the month is a community clean up day. Rwanda has the highest population density of all the African nations and its hilly fertile land is extensively farmed. The main road from the Ugandan border to Kigali winds its way up and down hills through forest and farmland, there is little traffic but modern speed cameras the entire length. I heard that a fine will be administered automatically on exiting the country for any vehicles caught speeding. The coffee in Rwanda is very good and we stop at a friendly cafe on the outskirts of Kigali for samosas and coffee.
As we enter the city, we travel past groups of motorcycle taxis, modern buildings and carefully planted flower borders. We here to visit the Rwanda’s legacy, the genocide museum and as we arrive there is a rainbow in form of a halo around the sun above us. Rwandans are no longer divided into Hutu and Tutsi, the artificial races defined first by the German colonisers and maintained by the Belgiums after the First World War. The museum takes the visitor through a moving description of the history leading up to and including the genocide that occurred here thirty years ago. Newspaper stories, photographs, clothing and human skulls are displayed in carefully designed rooms, leading to gallery of the lost generation. Here are simple stories of toddlers of what they liked and who they were and how they were murdered. It’s a moving experience, our hour and a half visit passes quickly yet slowly.
The Hôtel des Mille Collines where over a thousand people took refuge during the genocide, the event that took place there made famous by the film Hotel Rwanda. This is our final stop in Rwanda, the planned city trip is cut short in order to get us back over the border before dark.
The drivers take us back along the road, often stuck behind heavy lorries struggling up the hills, across the country back to the border. A coach passes us just as we approach the border post and we rush to get to the Rwanda exit queue before the big group on the coach. Once we clear the border process we clamber back into our people carriers, the driver turns the key but nothing happens, he shouts for his friend in the other car to stop. The jump leads fail but swapping batteries while the other car is running he manages to start the car and get us back.
We both felt like we would like to know more about Rwanda, to explore further, possibly by bike. I think we will be back one day.