Return to Rwanda

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Return to Rwanda

Return to Rwanda
Posted on: Thursday, September 26th, 2013 at 9:05am

I’m so very pleased to be back in Kigali, the capital city of the small country of Rwanda. Like my previous visit three months earlier, I’m consistently blown away by how different this country is compared to the other African, and even worldly neighbours. It’s odd being able to hear jets landing again, as opposed to 108% music being blasted from moving ad vehicles, bars, and any store that has a large sound system. It’s even more strange to look on the ground and not find it littered with garbage, I’ve yet to even find a cigarette butt no matter how hard I try. This is where our world should be going.
I spent my last few days cycling out of Tanzania, where the hills became steeper, and the villages seemed to disappear, where 60km of riding would be common before seeing any signs of life. It’s also a huge animal and wildlife sanctuary, which actually makes for some boring riding. The music blasts and I lose myself to thought as the kilometres stack up. Eventually I found myself at the Rusomo Tanzanian/Rwandan border crossing – an exercise in frustration going back and forth to get my entrance stamp, pay the visa fee, deal with customs, etc. Although I am pleased to say that I was able to make it through without printing my entrance visa as they asked for in their email. I decided I’d push the limits and keep it on my phone for the border guard to look at. He commented briefly on why I didn’t have it, and my response of “wanting to save the environment and keep less litter in Rwanda” seemed agreeable to him. 2 hours later, I was riding in remarkably different road conditions, and the people appeared – Do recall Rwandan has the most population density of any African country, so it’s hard to find solace when you need to pull over to the side of the road and take a leak.

I’d been chatting with someone via a hospitality network for a few months, and after a few failed meetups in various cities I made the decision about heading into their town of Kibungo (Chee-Boon-goo). With the border guards explaining it was 45km away, my friend stating the same, yet the GPS telling me that it was 60km, I moved forward anyways, knowing that I had to move the entire time to make it to the destination before dark. Not a problem, until I recalled that Rwanda is made of up hills, and there is rarely any flat sections whatsoever in the entire country. At the 48km mark I had 10 minutes of light left, and I scrambled into action of finding a place to sleep in a small village. The entire community staring at me, not understanding what I was saying, with the drunkards at the bar making assess out of themselves I rode up a rocky hill until I found a gorup of children, explaining crudely that I needed to sleep. No problem! Down the hill we went and I found myself being welcomed into a house of a young family, curious about my travels. Language Barriers are big, but we worked it out, that I could keep my bicycle inside, but use my tent _outside_ for temperature reasons, and I would be gone in the morning. A crowd of 30 stayed nearby as I pitched the tent (and for the first time ever, snapped a tent pole! another problem!), made dinner, and settled off to sleep. In the morning, the family appeared, showing me the problem with the mother’s/wife’s hand. The thumb was the size of a sausage, and looked like it had gangrene on it. They asked if I could help, and the best I could do was clean up any of the ooze, hand over a couple of painkillers and say to go to the doctor. I’m sure there wasn’t a doctor nearby, nor the funds available to be seen, so I hope she didn’t lose her hand in the meantime. I pedalled on waving to my new friends arriving at my intended destination 1.5 hours later after a nasty 400metre climb. It’s too bad, as we only were able to spend a mere 15 minutes before having to say goodbye, as they were off to work and away for the weekend. Thankfully I was given the keys to the house and I spent two days lounging about, dealing with laundry, cooking and eating food through a proper stove, and getting prepped for the final day into Kigali. Kibungo is a small town and I spent one of my afternoons pushing a guy around with no legs in his wheelchair, in exchange for some conversation about life, and everything that goes along side it.

I didn’t think I would make it here however, things went from bad to worse with the broken wheel and I spent the last 100km riding carefully on a wheel that could shatter at any given moment, sending sharp shards of metal into my leg, or worse, sending my bicycles front end grinding into the ground wrecking the frame, fork, and any possibility of future plans of having children. A large piece of the rim seperated and was clicking against the brake pads, so I started to mark the rim where it initially split, and at each 10km mark inspected the rim for further damage, marking it again in an attempt to guess when the rim was going to collapse entirely. I found myself limiting my speeds to 15km when descending from the steep hills, holding onto the rear brake as hard as possible trying to keep the speeds in check from a fully loaded touring bicycle that just wanted to go faster and faster. Eventually the wheel went out of true causing wobbly humps each revolution for the final 30. But it held, as usually things always work out. No stress, just patience and keeping the head clear of dark thoughts likely assisted me throughout the process. What was I to do? Park my bicycle at the side of the road, and start crying, hoping that a rim would come falling from the sky ala ‘The Gods must be crazy’?

Another dark blot on my bicycle touring experience however on that same day. When I had stopped to look at my wheel it seems I caused a bit of commotion and attention. With that came the screeching tires of a Dala Dala/Taxi/Public Transport Van, and the loud thump of impact. An older woman (40?) had been hit quite severely, one of the two involved in the collision not paying attention likely due to distraction. Memories quickly welled up when I saw the young boy get killed in Zambia, and I stuck my mental walls up before approaching the scene. Her two cellphones were in pieces all over the road, and I stopped oncoming traffic to retrieve, by this time a crowd had gathered and they were moving her over to a grassy area. I returned to my bicycle, dug around in my front pannier for my first aid kit, and walked over to see the situation. Not good. Blood and fatty tissue exposed in many other parts, and worse, a broke arm. Her face had obviously been hurt when falling to the ground, chipping a tooth, and causing a huge road rash on the lip. The legs were ripped open athe knees and shins. Shaking, I put on my gloves, asked the crowd to give me some space, and glared at the police offier who came by, looked at the situation and walked away. I suppose if there’s someone helping there is no need for further assistance is there?

I’ve gotta get rid of this first aid kit. It’s filled to the brim of bandages, splints, sutures, drugs, wraps, and some other goodies. I’ve yet to use it onmyself other than a small gauze pad, and find myself stopping frequently to help others. I want to help, but I don’t think I’m built to deal with blood and flesh. Regardless, I worked with the woman for 45 minutes cleaning up her wounds, wrapping them with bandages, and using hand signals and forcing her to look directly at my eyes when I knew what I was doing was going to cause her pain. Setting her arm in a sling, cleaning her face, and again offering a handful of high powered pain medications along with the last of my uneaten breakfast, all I could do was hope she understood my dosage instructions for the pills, and off I went. I know she’ll be taken care of my the community and people, sometimes you have to just walk/ride away. I’m going to let this kit run out and I won’t refill.

The good news, I’ve lined up someone to bring over a new rim, new spokes, 2 new Schwalbe Marathon Extreme tires (26×2.25 however, a bit wide for my liking, but the price was too good to pass up and I know I only get 9000km out of them regardless, and I’ve got some nasty dirt roads ahead), and I even went ahead and bought a new light for my Dyno Hub, as I’ve been unable to ride at night properly even to go and zip out and get groceries/head over to a friends place if I find myself staying in one location for a period of time. Tired of wanting to rely on public transportation, or taking my life into someone elses hands on the back of a motorcycle. The problem is, these parts arrive in Zambia October 24, I’m unlikely to take receipt until November 5th – so I have a ways away using a temporary wheel that I sourced here in Kigali. Finding bicycle parts for ‘European’ bikes as they call it is a frustrating, time consuming process. I went ahead and emailed a contact I had for the Rwandan National Cycling Team, who quickly responded telling me she had just left to South Africa, and was returning that very day with 71kg of parts of the team – too bad as I could have dealt with my laptop and received a suitable rim if I had only been a day earlier. A couple friends of mine in town pointed me to an area 13km from where I was staying that sold used bicycles. Leery, I hopped on my bike with its trashed wheel, rode over to the place where they had mentioned, only seeing a parking lot. Disappointed I continued ahead looking for a place to turn around, when I spied a small shop selling shoes, and low and behold, a stack of old mountain bikes. Speaking to them in combined English, French, and Kiswahili we were able to sort out a new rim, and a new hub for $20. They wouldn’t let me leave without putting front brakes back on (My old rim used special pads, that would disintegrate on first applications on a non CSS/Ceramic rim). I happened to have a copy of my book with me and we spent an hour conversing about different aspects of cycling, while they introduced me to Rwanda’s one legged cycling champion (Believe it or not, there are over 20 who compete regularly). I sniped the spokes off the old wheel to be used for art projects, put the (heavy) old Dyno Hub in my Pannier, and gave the rim to a child who was more than happy to receive this new gift that he could now spend countless hours with running down streets with trying to keep it balanced. The metal shard I pulled off the rim , put it in my handlebar bag and will hold onto it as a souveneir.

Don’t think it’s all easy here. This is a Red Cross Refugee Camp housing refugees from the Congolese crisis occurring next door.

So this means I’m now rolling properly again, and there is no reason for me to head in the direction here I had hoped to go – which is Northwest, about 10 kilometres from the Ugandan border, while passing by the politically/military active border of D.R.Congo, where in recent weeks fire between M23 Rebels and UN n the city has Goma has seen shells come over the border and injure Rwandans. Things seem to have quieted down a bit and I’m not concerned about anything happening. The road however is known to be excessively hilly, rough with patches of rocks and dirt – paired with the fact that it’s rainy season here. It’s 180km which is sure to drive me crazy, but I’d really like to cycle alongside Lake Kivu, before spending my last few days in tihs country, only to race through Burundi using a similar route as my last visit. I’m hoping to meet the Rwandan Cycling team and go for a ride with them somewhere along the way.

So far, Rwanda has been fantastic. It’s been different this time around, not riding with Peter as before and using different routes. This time I’ve had a chance to see more rural Rwanda, and see that it’s not all glamour and glitz – and the villages are quite impoverished. They do have a different feeling to them though – I can’t get over how nice the bricks are on the buildings, and even the fact that the people here have taken it a step further and are using Cob Houses for their residences. The hills are extreme, the prices are expensive, but no matter what, you can always see a smile coming from each and every one of them. If it’s the kids screaming “Nice Time!”, the schoolgirls laughing to each other when you pass, the young men stopping with jaws dropped followed promptly by a thumbs up, or the adults always giving some sort of wave or greeting – this really is a special place.

A typical Rwandese Household, Cob house style.

Lodging in Rwanda is more expensive than other places in Africa, and even if you are going to the “low” end one can expect to pay $12 for a small room with no water, loud noises, and uncomfortable bed. I did that for one night in Kigali and figured that if I was going to stay for 10 days as planned, to suck it up, pay extra, and enjoy myself. I think I have one of the best views of the entire city, along with massage services, sauna, a huge bed, private patio, free internet, television, and hot water. Yeah, it’s expensive, but I decided to splurge. It’s money, but money was made to be spent, and can be made again. Sure beats living inside a tent that has no working zippers. I know that time is coming in the coming days, so I’m trying to make the most out of it.

Elevation Chart

A Final note – The Black and White (222 page) copy of the Book has been discontinued. In its place is a new 240 page copy (albeit at a higher price) which has also been setup for international distribution in bookstores. I had to jump through a lot of hoops and come up with a new solution to get it listed in the stores, and this was the way it happened. The Colour copies still remain the same, but are now in limited supply, moving to only being sold during public speaking engagements. That being said, many people from Canada have queried me as to availability of a copy – In Canada there are 30 copies that can be shipped to you courtesy of a friend. If you want one, contact me privately and we can work out payment for cheaper than what they are going for retail.

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