Even before we had entered the country, it did not feel good, especially noticeable after the friendliness of Tanzania. The Immigration Officer was so cold that he could be more productively employed with the task of single-handedly reversing global warming. Travellers do not have the option to be “processed” at a counter, but have to enter his grimy office one by one, to be inspected and questioned. He made a great concession by allowing Pat and I to enter simultaneously. The office was so incredibly dirty that my first instinct was to grab a cloth and start cleaning everything around me – his table, the walls and, especially, the light switch. There was no electricity, but that did not stop the light switch from being a vector for every known disease on the planet, obviously a vestige from a more glorious past.

Contemplating the Universe

He asked, incredulously, in French, whether “We didn't speak French?” I replied, in my best Portuguese “Nao comprehendo”. I felt like replying in English, Afrikaans, Setswana, German and Swahili as well, just to emphasise that just because I don't speak French does not necessarily mean that I am not a multilingual polyglot ... but my rational self told me that this might not be a sensible way forward. He stamped us into the country despite our apparent linguistic disabilities, giving us thirty days. I noticed, uneasily, that the stamp read “State Security Service”.

The customs lady demanded our passports, paged through them and said something. We didn't understand. She switched to English. “Sixty”. At least she spoke English. “Sixty what?” I queried. “Sixty Dollars – each” she responded. “And why do we have to pay Sixty Dollars each?” I asked suspiciously. “Visas” was the reply. “But madam, you are Customs, not Immigration and we already have visas which we have already obtained and paid for at your Embassy in Dar es Salaam – see, here they are in the passports, with the pretty Gorilla Holograms”. End of conversation. It took her about half an hour to complete the Carnet de Passage for our vehicle, a process which had taken no more than 5 minutes at previous borders.

Drive right ...

We were eventually in Rwanda. I kept on reminding myself “Drive right, drive right, drive right ...” – the first time we have had to switch over in Africa. There were pedestrians everywhere – this is the most densely populated country in Africa after all. Pedestrians to the left, to the right, ahead of us, behind us and in the road – everywhere. No chance of a road-side comfort stop anywhere in this country! At the entrance and exit from each village were police roadblocks. Many more Nao comprehendo's and pedestrians later we arrived in the outskirts of Kigali. In the three hour trip, apart from one road construction supervisor, we were the only Mzungus (white people) to be seen.

Pedestrians Everywhere

Self-made Camp-site

Kigali, we knew from our guidebooks, has no camping facilities whatsoever – in fact the only camp-sites in the country are in the three National Parks! We like to camp, because that way we know exactly what we are getting in terms of accommodation – our comfortable roof tent – and we are able to sleep on our vehicle, which means that it and the contents are secure, at least in theory. The hotels in Kigali range from the ultra-expensive Inter-Continental to grotty affairs with little option for safe off-street parking for the vehicle. Then we spotted the “La Palisse” restaurant on the outskirts of the city, which appeared to have large gardens – perhaps we could persuade them to allow us to camp there? It was worth a try. Pat negotiated with Christina, a very helpful member of staff who had a smattering of English. After she grasped the concept of the roof-tent, she phoned “The Boss”, who agreed to let us camp there for a fairly hefty US$ 10 per night. Accommodation problem solved!

Into Kigali

We headed into Kigali to find a place to change money and to locate the local Toyota agent to try to get our air conditioner fixed (it had exploded spectacularly ten days earlier in Tanzania). I was still trying to adapt to driving on the right hand side of the road. The traffic was heavy. Kigali is blessed with many traffic lights. Unfortunately the city is less fortunate when it comes to electricity, so those traffic lights function only sporadically. They were definitely not working at the time. Navigation was a problem: there are no road signs; the city is spread out over dozens of hills, so the roads do not necessarily follow a direct route. Even if you can see your destination it is almost impossible to work out how to get there! The best strategy is just to follow instincts. It's no good trying to ask directions, since nobody will understand you anyway. I got to a traffic roundabout and took the exit which headed towards what looked like the centre city. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a pedestrian waving his finger at me as if to say “Naughty, naughty, you're going to get into trouble”. I was too preoccupied with keeping on the right hand side of the road and avoiding all he other traffic to give it more than a split-second's thought. The road narrowed and then we came to a big gate. The sign read “Ministry of Defence” (in French, of course). We made a rather hasty u-turn, waving and smiling as much as we could to the guards and headed back into the “traffic roulette” of the roundabout. This time I chose a different exit. Success – located the Toyota Dealer and changed money. The minute we stopped in the centre city, we were literally overwhelmed by people wanting to change money, but we insisted on using a more formal Bureau de Change. We also visited the local tourism and wildlife information centre to enquire about Gorilla Permits. We were intrigued by the brochures on the Genocide Memorial and were given (very vague) directions to it.

Kigali, as seen from the Genocide Memorial

Genocide Memorial

The next day, after about 2 hours we eventually located the unmarked Genocide Memorial. It is, necessarily, a stark, no-holds barred sort of place. A lot of the mass graves in the city were moved here, where the genocide victims at least have the dignity of a spiritual burial place. The exhibits, multimedia and still, were a real eye-opener. We cannot even begin to describe the awful ways that people invented to kill each other, but here's an example: Hack the victims' tendons, so that they cannot run away. Then throw them down a pit latrine, preferably ten or more and then watch them trample each other to death as they struggle to get out. Not even babies and children were spared. The exhibits of the mass skulls and bones will stay with us forever. We left the Memorial tearful and silent, mindful that we are all potentially capable of such cruelty, given suitable circumstances. (Does anyone still remember Apartheid? Strangely, I have only ever met two people who nowadays would admit to having supported that system). Only a tiny percentage of the survivors have received post-traumatic stress counselling. As one of the survivors testified on video, those women who were raped and thereby infected with HIV – a deliberate part of the genocide – have no access to anti-retrovirals, whilst their rapists have the privilege of treatment in their awaiting-trial prison cells. The county is therefore still a sociological time-bomb waiting to explode ...

Nyungwe Forest Reserve

After the Genocide Memorial, we decided it was time to recharge our souls in the Nyungwe Forest Reserve, one of the few remaining unspoilt areas of Rwanda (remember, this is the most densely populated country in Africa). The roads were, once again, under construction, but promise to be excellent once completed. An interesting stopover was the National Museum in Butare.

The beautiful Nyungwe Forest was teeming with soldiers

Roadside Colobus Monkey

Mountain track to Kibuye

After missing the turn to Kibuye (it was just a dirt track leading off the main road), we went almost all the way to Cyangugu (sometimes called Cycangugu) on the DR Congo border. This was also the last time that I shall neglect to refuel when the opportunity presents itself – the rest of the trip was a nightmare – wondering if our fuel would be sufficient to reach our destination. We back-tracked to an extremely poor mountain road. The going was slow and the locals rude to the point of being aggressive. Children screamed and hissed at us. Sometimes they asked for a lift and when we declined, they would simply run after the vehicle and jump on the back, hanging on there for kilometres. It was with great relief that we eventually reached Kibuye without any vehicle problems or fuel crises. I cannot imagine how horrible it would have been to break down on that remote, unfriendly track. Back on real roads again, I had to remind myself once again to “Drive right, drive right, drive right ...”. The next fuel pump was still about a 100 km detour, but the hotel at Kibuye knew a source of diesel, which they use for their generator. After two hours and decanting some reasonable-looking diesel from a plastic jerry can, we were able to proceed. Our camp-site at the hotel overlooked a rubbish tip in addition to Lake Kivu, so we had the dubious pleasure of watching Marabou Storks and children competing with each other in the scavenging game.

Lake Kivu - the scenery could be from Switzerland

Onward to Gisenyi

The road to Gisenyi was even worse than that of the previous day, though the people were slightly more friendly – or perhaps we had just got used to the aggression? After about 30 km, I lost my nerve. We were still travelling with only one spare tyre, having lost a tyre in the Serengeti Game Reserve two weeks earlier. Once again, the thought of breaking own on a remote track where the only means of communication lay in broken French, was not my idea of fun. Besides it was just more of the same. We decided, sensibly to backtrack and travel to our destination via the capital, Kigali. All the roads radiating from the very central capital are reasonably good tar. Despite this detour, we arrived at Gisenyi well before we would have done if we had followed the more direct mountain track.

Gisenyi and Goma

Our visit to Gisenyi coincided with a visit by the President of Rwanda and the opening of the new Kivu Sun Hotel. Security was extremely tight and we were not allowed to park anywhere remotely near our preferred hotel. We were therefore obliged to select a more salubrious hotel, which at least had secure parking for our vehicle – an important consideration, since we were planning to visit the DR Congo on foot the next day. We decided to dine at the Kivu Sun, which was interesting, since we shared the dining room with the President's family and entourage. The food was predictably expensive and poncy, but we felt we deserved a treat in congenial surroundings after the demanding travels of the past few days. Given the then tensions between DR Congo and Rwanda, I was just hoping that the President would not be assassinated, since last time that happened ... see the Genocide Memorial.

Our border crossing to the DR Congo was blissfully uneventful. We felt quite safe walking in the neighbouring city of Goma, which had been partially covered by lava when the nearby Nyirangogo volcano erupted in 2002. The volcano, which was shrouded by cloud when we visited, is still quite active. It was interesting to see buildings with their ground floors covered in lava and only the upper stories visible. In a show of possibly naïve optimism, new buildings are being erected on top of the lava.

Lava-affected builings in Goma, DR Congo

Gorillas in the Mist

The area around Gisenyi / Goma is graced by a chain of five (or is it six?) volcanic mountains, a reminder that we were still within our favourite region, the Great Rift Valley.

The eerily-beautiful Parc National des Volcans

Pat's allotted time of one hour was all too soon over

Rwanda would be well-advised to do everything in their power to protect these endangered friends, since, in my opinion, they represent the only reason one would want to visit the country, other than to study a country on the brink of sociological and ecological disaster. To their credit, the area around the Gorillas and the National Park was literally teeming with soldiers – ostensibly to protect tourists from Buffalo (is this a new species of volcano-climbing Buffalo?).

Onward on out ...

We returned to Kigali to make our exit to Uganda via the safer and more direct border post. We wasted a few hours trying to find the Uganda Embassy, which had moved twice, and to get our visas in advance. We need not have bothered, since Uganda issued them free of charge at the border, with a minimum of hassle. Exiting Rwanda, once again I noticed, uneasily, that the stamp read “State Security Service”. Arriving in Uganda – remember “Drive left again, drive left again, ...” – was a real pleasure. Maybe it was just that we could understand the language again, but no, there was a definite difference ... Uganda felt good. We had a wonderful month in Uganda, where the people were really friendly and confident, without being over-friendly, and the countryside absolutely beautiful and less-devastated by population pressure.

Rwanda had not been a feel-good country, and in my opinion, seemed extremely unstable. I would not have been at all surprised if, two weeks later, we were to hear the news that the country had erupted into chaos. If it's bleeding-edge tourism or travel that you're after, then Rwanda may well be your destination – there certainly were only a handful of other travellers around. We sincerely wish the people of Rwanda every strength in rebuilding their ravaged country and overcoming their troubled history – and protecting their priceless Mountain Gorillas.