Since Patrick had not been home in a while and since I was new to Rwanda and had not yet made the journey Patrick offered to take me to spend the rest of the long weekend in Rubengera – his hometown – complete with a visit to the nearby tourist destination of Kibuye and Lake Kivu.
After the ATER meeting we went to catch the bus that would be our transport. The bus was of the same style as the one Tina and I took in Kigali and since it runs a route from Kigali to Kibuye and we were getting on part way, in Gitarama, all the good seats were clearly taken. Thus, I spent the ride on one of the fold up seat in the aisle with by bags on my lap. Overall the journey was not bad – the young man sitting next to me did his best to help me when the time came for me to attempt to awkwardly stand up and let people pass me to get off the bus and asked to borrow my book. Thus he spent the time before the sun went down reading slowly through the first chapter of To Kill a Mockingbird. Oh yes, and I’m pretty sure a woman in the front third of the bus got car sickness as there came a point when the guy next to her stood up abruptly and she could be seen trying to wipe something up. Shortly thereafter a distinct putrid smell wafted back to me. I vowed to do my best to sit next to people who look like they have strong stomachs from then on.
We arrived in Rubengera at about 6:30 pm and made our way to Patrick’s mother’s house to stash our things. At the house I was introduced to Patrick’s Grandmother – a very cute thin old lady who I never saw eat over the course of the weekend but who I did see put back a few beers. After that we went to the pub that Patrick’s mom owns in town and had a few drinks. It was here that I met Patrick’s mother – who only speaks Kinyarwanda. We said hello and she asked amakuru? which I understood but quickly realized I did not know the answer to. Throughout the night many people stopped and greeted us and exchanged words with Patrick. One of Patrick’s friends, Jean Marie, also joined us. He was already a few beers in and proceeded to try and woo me with some terrible French but it wasn’t long before we returned to Patrick’s mother’s house for dinner and rest.
The next morning we slept “late” for Rwanda, waking at about 9 am. Patrick showed me a video compilation of photos from a vacation a few years ago with friends and family. This sentimental side of Patrick was unexpected. After bathing and breakfast (bread dipped in egg and fried, kinda like French toast but, sadly, without the cinnamon and syrup) Jean Marie dropped in and continued his efforts from the night before, much to my embarrassment. I did my best to be polite and clearly uninterested. Apparently at least Grandma got the picture as she made a joke in Kinyarwanda at Jean Marie’s expense.
Thankfully it wasn’t long before all of us headed to the pub – Patrick, his mother and Grandmother, Jean Marie and myself – and almost immediately after it started to storm. Loving the heavy rain and wicked winds I took a couple videos on my camera while Patrick laughed at me. Just before the storms had ended we were joined by Patrick’s sister Angelique (I still am not sure if she is his biological sister or just a very close family friend as they tend to use the words sister and brother very liberally here and don’t understand the distinction they convey in Canada), a fascinating and kind male friend of hers who I dubbed “Awesome Guy” in my head since I can’t remember his name for the life of me, and by Patrick’s fiancée, Alida. Once again I was surprised by Patrick, I’d had absolutely no idea he had a fiancée.
Angelique quickly became the life of the party – being a vocal and lively participant in all conversations, telling jokes and drinking Mutzig. We then at lunch and had some drinks in the leisurely African style I am still getting used to. Even though she spoke in Kinyarwanda I could tell Patrick’s mom didn’t think I’d taken enough food and was trying to feed me more though I managed to fend her off more successfully than I have done to everyone else who has tried to overfeed me so far. I was however harassed into having a beer with lunch – Patrick argued that my taking water was clearly a step back in preparation for a leap forward (into beer).
After lunch Angelique, Alida and I piled into the back of Awesome Guy’s car, while he and Patrick took the front seats and we all headed to Kibuye and Lake Kivu. The drive was beautiful, filled with huge green hills and winding roads, as are most drives in this country. The drive ended with a brief tour of Kibuye town, including special note for a church where more than 10 000 people were killed during the genocide, and stops at several of the resorts in the area which cater mostly to European tourists. By this time I learned that Alida was indeed quite quiet, that Awesome Guy spoke English. Also, broken conversations in French with Angelique were increasing, especially as she took me by the hand and we headed down to the lakeshore to dip our toes in the water.
Lake Kivu is so beautiful it stuns you into silence. The water is an extremely tranquil blue-grey with massive hills rising out of it on all sides and in the middle with majestic grace. There are resorts on the lake but not the kind you find in North America. They are nestled into the sides of the hills and make no attempt to impose or dominate the dramatic landscape. The closed comparison I can some up with to anything in Canada is Lake Louise - the water of Lake Kivu has the same peace to it. That’s where the similarities end though. There is no colossus of an overpriced hotel and the small parking lot is hidden on the far side of the resort buildings from the lake rather than next to it. Most distinctly lacking are the throngs of tourists snapping photos and disturbing the hushed silence. Instead you are left with the near illusion of being at your own lake front cottage with a private beach. I never wanted to leave, I could lose myself staring out at that water forever.
My fantasies of simple quiet isolated living were destroyed by a fisherman in a wooden boat who paddled by singing loudly and off key at the top of his lungs. Angelique looked at me with big excited eyes and said “Tu veux?” When I nodded she ran off to the lakeshore, yelling after the fisherman in Kinyarwanda. I followed, ignoring Patrick’s protests that “it’s not safe,” and after Angelique finished speaking with the fisherman the two of us put on life jackets and climbed into the boat for a short ride. The boat ride was quite fun – the fisherman continued to sing his song which Angelique translated to be something like “the lake is good, the boat is good, brochette is good, and beer too!” I told Angelique about Sam, Mark and I attempting to canoe in Kenora and she told me about the car accident that killed her parents and sister three months ago. I couldn’t come up with the appropriate French words to say “I’m sorry.”
When we returned to the rest of the group there were some tasty small friend fish waiting for us and a little more conversation before getting back in the car and heading to Kibuye town. In town we stopped at a restaurant owned by Angelique’s aunt where we had another drink while she visited family and Patrick caught up with some of his acquaintances. During this time I got to have wonderful conversation with Awesome Guy about Rwandan culture and weddings, about him seeking to buy some property in Quebec and about his vacation time in Rwanda while he is between contracts with the UN! I also reached the conclusion that this guy is fascinating and I hope I will meet him again.
We left Kibuye for Rubengera just as it was getting dark and shortly after we got on the highway it started to rain again. This was particularly treacherous as night here is incredibly black (the moon and stars are usually obscured by clouds and mist; by comparison nights at home are really more of a midnight blue but certainly not black) and the rain was very strong and coming in the broken drivers window. Angelique held a piece of clothing to cover much of the window to keep the rain out and we drove slowly and with great caution for the duration of the journey to Patick’s mom’s pub.
We found Jean Marie at the pub, and he joined us at a table for the standard drinks and conversation. During this time I tried to tell the story of Aminou’s foreigner moment and the difference between being a regular and being regular however when I got to the end of the story I realized I didn’t know the French word for “poo” and could only say “number 2.” Awesome guy was the only one who understood me and thought this was pretty funny. Since no one else got it I tried again only to come to the same roadblock in my vocabulary and this time “number 2” was so funny that Awesome Guy actually got up and left the table he was laughing so hard. By the time I explained what I meant, through laughter and embarrassment, I’m pretty sure there wasn’t any funny left for the rest of the group.
Shortly thereafter we parted, the two women and Awesome Guy to return to Kigali and Patrick and I to head back to the house for dinner. It wasn’t long before the Kigali party was at the house though, there was to be no more driving tonight, they’d return in the morning. I tried my very best to stay up until everyone else was ready for bead but I was totally beat and it was pretty obvious. I felt like the exhausted child at Christmas dinner who is determined to fight sleep with every bit of strength he can muster for fear of missing the interesting things that will surely happen after he is asleep.
The next morning after breakfast Patrick took me for a walk around his hometown. He showed me the hospital where he was treated for malaria, his primary school and that of a few others, the tree behind which many women have their babies when they can’t make the whole walk to the hospital before giving birth and a women’s cooperative produce market. We then returned to the pub for one last drink and this time I was able to bargain for a small beer instead of a big one. Unfortunately, over the course of the weekend the bartender somehow got in one the joke and brought me a bit Mutzig anyway!
Daily Smiles
- Patrick’s grandma taking off her headscarf and running her hands through her hair before busting out a model pose for Patrick’s camera.
- Still being very unused to the idea of eating dinner after returning home from the pub rather than before you go out.
- Attempting to wait politely for Patrick to start eating breakfast only to be forced to admit that I was also waiting to see how to eat the egg-toast.
- Shoes in the house – if it’s your house you trade your outdoor shoes for flip flops that you wear around the house. If it’s not your house you wear your shoes right in (most of the floors are concrete or tile). When you reach the edge of a carpet you remove your shoes, and if you’re wearing them you also remove your socks. Seeing Jean Marie do this made me think of KO doing the same thing at my front door and me thinking he was mildly crazy before shrugging it off.
- At lunch, Angelique saying she’s going to have to work to remember all her French from school so she can speak to this umuzungu. Patrick’s mom saying she’s going to have to go back to school for the same reason.
- Watching Patrick’s mom add extra food to the plates of the other women without their permission.
- Explaining to Patrick and awesome guy why I wasn’t eating right away. That for me it’s impolite to start eating before everyone has their food. And why I wasn’t eating much. Because in my house you were always allowed to go for seconds but you must finish everything on your plate so it’s better to start small.
- Angelique going everywhere barefoot and her extra emphatic speech noises (there are a lot of noises that are a regular part of speech here, and they have specific meanings. Does that make them words?).
- Angelique always asking “Ça va?” and whispering “Je t’aime” in my ear as we hugged goodbye.
- The continuous challenge between Patrick and I regarding what constitutes flat. People in this country have no idea.
- The random little girl in the street who cowered and cried in fear when she saw me. That's a new reaction for a child seeing a white girl. I tried not to laugh too loudly.
- Actually managing to nap a little on one of the little seats on such a jaunty bus ride back to Gitarama.
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