Day Two....
Isn't it amazing that whilst I have a looming tax return deadline I suddenly have a maddening urge to blog. Denial takes so many forms. Hee hee!
Had set my alarm to wake up to watch the sunrise. It soon became apparent to me at 5.30am that I was definitely not a morning person. The struggle to get out of bed and the virtually violent disagreements over leaving the confines of my blankets between my mind and body which were almost violent, finally convinced me of this. I think that if my mind had been a living (or inanimate) object it may have suffered serious injuries. I sleepily walked out of my little cottage, fags in hand, and went to sit just under the little Chinese bridge. People, this place is amazing. The sun slowly teased its way from beneath the bushes on my right and in about 10 mins was making its way over the gigantic trees right infront of me. The birds began their chorus and the world, all of a sudden, seemed wonderful - certain song came to mind but will not deafen you over the cyber waves. At this point, body won the battle and without having opened the cigarette packet, went straight back to bed.
Woke up for breakfast at 9 and having consumed more than a WWF wanna be, mind reconciled with body and the trip to Gisenyi was agreed upon. I had the slight problem of getting out of being "sensitized." This was not too difficult for Bob felt that I should do as I wished. That was easy ;-) So I was given a driver (life can be good to one at times!) and off we went. On the drive up the hill, we were briefly stuck behind a matatu proudly bearing the following banner "Ad Noc Lubes - This is a well oiled machine" as it blurred our visions with black fumes for about an hour. Again I was struck by the number of children under 12. Heartbreaking.
We travelled through more terraced hills and elegant mud houses. One image permanently engraved is a child with a huge bucket of DDT (you could see the writing on the bucket) strapped onto his back spraying crops UP a hill. Another was the very obvious lack of cemeteries. To me, everywhere I have travelled, cemeteries have held a certain fascination. It gives me a certain feel for the town/city, they are also usually very quiet, pretty and a place where one can sit and contemplate life and mortality - something I unfortunately do very often. Must come from living so close to one for too many years in Bristol. So for a country that possessed the kind of history Rwanda had suffered for centuries, it seemed bizarre that there were no cemeteries in sight. Even Belgian ones. And I am sure those must have existed. What happened to the dead, before the genocide and after it? Did these make up the unmarked graves still being unearthed?
My driver was called Bernard and amazed me with his views on marriage and women. Girls - chivalry clearly died a horrible death and female emancipation may not have quite reached certain parts of Rwanda. Bernard felt that finding a young wife was the best way to go. His intended is 16, finishing school (he incidentally is 29). His take on the 'happily after' was that this only occurred when you had a woman you could mould into what you wanted. Older women who had lived in the city were too independent, opinionated and ofcourse not virgins. Why would a man ever want to marry that? It would simply create too many problems. As you can imagine, this was the topic of conversation for the whole trip there and back for I was intrigued to discover the depths of this wisdom.
Gisenyi sits on the most northern part of Lake Kivu, a volcanic lake, it is the largest lake in Rwanda, the highest one in Africa and which divides Congo and Rwanda. Bit more trivia - underneath this lake are vast reserves of methane gas which have not been exploited AND this is where, during the colonial period people came from all over Congo to have their holidays. I can testify that they still do.
Gisenyi town itself was tiny. I am going to repeat myself here and maybe several times in the near future - but my image of many of the towns I have read about in both background reading of the genocide and as part of my work, seemed relatively sizable considering the atrocities that occurred in them. But in reality - they are tiny. Saying that, there was nothing I could not buy in Gisenyi. Made me smile.
First, there were loads of bikes, everywhere you looked, going up and down the hills like either they were out for a sunday leisurely ride OR competing to challenge Armstrong at the next Tour de France! And - Louise, you would have loved this - virtually every one of them hosted a colourful padded seats on the back to carry passengers. I am convinced this must have been a mode of public transport, for I cannot see how one would go to that much effort simply to carry their spouse or 'chick' at their convenience. Particularly considering previous conversation with Bernard. In addition, each bike was in competition with the other as to how many reflectors and stickers one could physically fit on every inch of the metal frame - residents of Arusha may wish to take note ;-) The markets we passed were perfectly ordered and sooooooo clean. Even the fish market - none of the filth we commonly see in markets eg in Zanzibar, where the fish insides are shoved on to the floor or rotting vegetables constantly aquainting themselves with your feet... etc.
And for both sexes - this was a town with a healthy percentage of beautiful people. Someone once said to me that Rwanda was full of soulful people - they were right. Vibrant kitenges flow on the women, young men cruise around dressed in the latest 'gangsta' fashions straight out of a hip hop video (was actually quite funny to watch!), girls swinging everything they got - I could see why this considered a fun town! However, I think it was obvious that I was not indigenous to the local population - the white 4x4 with UN emblazoned the side did not help. So I was subjected to stares which although on the whole were not too bad, there were some, especially from men, that were so piercing, it made me feel slightly uncomfortable - as if I was invading their personal space. Then it began to rain which instantly turned the town into a valley of mud. Not pleasant. So we decided the rest of the tour would be thus conducted from inside the car.
I learnt three words that day - Amakuro, meza and a third that still escapes my mind unless I am reminded of it (despite writing it down thousands of times) I noted to myself that writing lines in school must have instilled some sort of obsessive need to write things down hundreds of times. I do not know if that is a good thing or not. One thing was apparent though. Apart from the arch that you drive through in almost every major town/village, the genocide seems practically invisible. This is understandable I suppose 10 years on. A country must attempt to move on. It just struck me how different this is from the holocaust and yet the same to certain degree. I could not quite vocalise it (then or now) but I mulled over it all day and that night - once I explain it to you, I will. This has been on my mind this week as well considering tomorrow is Holocaust Memorial Day. And I am quite conflicted. Another discussion for another time.
We drove around trying to find our way to the lake front - actually to the Primus Brewery which according to my guide book was also the home of an infamous port. No mention as to the reason for this fame - so I needed to go find out. We could not travel the route suggested by the guide book for the President had apparently chosen that particular part of lake front property to act as his Gisenyi holiday home and that of other members of his family. So the armed guards at the top of the hill, politely asked us to take the longer route (read one hour) down to the brewery. I tried the whole, "I am foreign" angle, 'promise I am not going to come and blow you all up" but the car did not help matters ;-)
So we took the long way round which was not a bad idea for just round the corner was more stunning mountainous views. What is about this country? How can it be blessed with the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen and yet also cursed with some of the worst atrocities known to man? It makes me wonder what kind of sense of humour the man upstairs has.
We made it, finally after several wrong turns (do not ask how considering the small surface area we had to cover!) to the so called ' infamous port'. Now this was amusing. It was literally a deck - with a towering brewery behind it. On the deck was a boat unloading coca cola bottles. I frantically searched my book for any mention as to why this is considered a must see for all visitors to this town and came up with NOTHING. Bernard looked at me as if I was some very weird individual wishing to see a port. I do not blame him at all. Trivia: the brewery makes the widely available local beer 'Primus'. Not much to look at and as if on cue, hunger pangs set in and we decided to go get some lunch.
We picked our little way up from the brewery. Thankfully it had stopped raining and we stopped at the cutest little hotel, all open plan - not built with rain in mind - with a cute little garden overlooking Lake Kivu and the hills in Congo. There was an ethereal mist over the Congolese hills making it the most perfect romantic spot as one watched kamikaze kingfisher birds battling it out with the fishermen, catching their dinner in traditional fashion. Lunch was barbecued tilapia. Heaven.
On the drive back, after an hour of discussing different marital options, I fell asleep. I think I had just about overdosed on green beauty and the contradictions thrown at me all day.
Upon arrival back at the Gorilla's Nest, the first day of sensitization was over and I sat down to drinks with Bob outside his cottage. As 'el boss' he was priviliged to have a cottage with a mini bar and living room. Several hours later huddled over too many g&ts, I realised tht whilst he may have a seriously dysfunctional background and seem very lonely, he is very funny AND sensitive. Well either that or this course was working miracles. We talked about a lot of very personal issues in his life which I do not feel would be appropriate to share here - maybe as part of his eulogy one day - but the public school antidotes were hilarious and yet quite poignant too. I know he can be manipulative, often have no sense of self preservation and should not very posisbly be trusted, but I have a soft spot for him.
Final thought, as I mulled over what we had talked about that evening - the loss of a father affects us all in the same way - it is how we choose to react that differs.
Had set my alarm to wake up to watch the sunrise. It soon became apparent to me at 5.30am that I was definitely not a morning person. The struggle to get out of bed and the virtually violent disagreements over leaving the confines of my blankets between my mind and body which were almost violent, finally convinced me of this. I think that if my mind had been a living (or inanimate) object it may have suffered serious injuries. I sleepily walked out of my little cottage, fags in hand, and went to sit just under the little Chinese bridge. People, this place is amazing. The sun slowly teased its way from beneath the bushes on my right and in about 10 mins was making its way over the gigantic trees right infront of me. The birds began their chorus and the world, all of a sudden, seemed wonderful - certain song came to mind but will not deafen you over the cyber waves. At this point, body won the battle and without having opened the cigarette packet, went straight back to bed.
Woke up for breakfast at 9 and having consumed more than a WWF wanna be, mind reconciled with body and the trip to Gisenyi was agreed upon. I had the slight problem of getting out of being "sensitized." This was not too difficult for Bob felt that I should do as I wished. That was easy ;-) So I was given a driver (life can be good to one at times!) and off we went. On the drive up the hill, we were briefly stuck behind a matatu proudly bearing the following banner "Ad Noc Lubes - This is a well oiled machine" as it blurred our visions with black fumes for about an hour. Again I was struck by the number of children under 12. Heartbreaking.
We travelled through more terraced hills and elegant mud houses. One image permanently engraved is a child with a huge bucket of DDT (you could see the writing on the bucket) strapped onto his back spraying crops UP a hill. Another was the very obvious lack of cemeteries. To me, everywhere I have travelled, cemeteries have held a certain fascination. It gives me a certain feel for the town/city, they are also usually very quiet, pretty and a place where one can sit and contemplate life and mortality - something I unfortunately do very often. Must come from living so close to one for too many years in Bristol. So for a country that possessed the kind of history Rwanda had suffered for centuries, it seemed bizarre that there were no cemeteries in sight. Even Belgian ones. And I am sure those must have existed. What happened to the dead, before the genocide and after it? Did these make up the unmarked graves still being unearthed?
My driver was called Bernard and amazed me with his views on marriage and women. Girls - chivalry clearly died a horrible death and female emancipation may not have quite reached certain parts of Rwanda. Bernard felt that finding a young wife was the best way to go. His intended is 16, finishing school (he incidentally is 29). His take on the 'happily after' was that this only occurred when you had a woman you could mould into what you wanted. Older women who had lived in the city were too independent, opinionated and ofcourse not virgins. Why would a man ever want to marry that? It would simply create too many problems. As you can imagine, this was the topic of conversation for the whole trip there and back for I was intrigued to discover the depths of this wisdom.
Gisenyi sits on the most northern part of Lake Kivu, a volcanic lake, it is the largest lake in Rwanda, the highest one in Africa and which divides Congo and Rwanda. Bit more trivia - underneath this lake are vast reserves of methane gas which have not been exploited AND this is where, during the colonial period people came from all over Congo to have their holidays. I can testify that they still do.
Gisenyi town itself was tiny. I am going to repeat myself here and maybe several times in the near future - but my image of many of the towns I have read about in both background reading of the genocide and as part of my work, seemed relatively sizable considering the atrocities that occurred in them. But in reality - they are tiny. Saying that, there was nothing I could not buy in Gisenyi. Made me smile.
First, there were loads of bikes, everywhere you looked, going up and down the hills like either they were out for a sunday leisurely ride OR competing to challenge Armstrong at the next Tour de France! And - Louise, you would have loved this - virtually every one of them hosted a colourful padded seats on the back to carry passengers. I am convinced this must have been a mode of public transport, for I cannot see how one would go to that much effort simply to carry their spouse or 'chick' at their convenience. Particularly considering previous conversation with Bernard. In addition, each bike was in competition with the other as to how many reflectors and stickers one could physically fit on every inch of the metal frame - residents of Arusha may wish to take note ;-) The markets we passed were perfectly ordered and sooooooo clean. Even the fish market - none of the filth we commonly see in markets eg in Zanzibar, where the fish insides are shoved on to the floor or rotting vegetables constantly aquainting themselves with your feet... etc.
And for both sexes - this was a town with a healthy percentage of beautiful people. Someone once said to me that Rwanda was full of soulful people - they were right. Vibrant kitenges flow on the women, young men cruise around dressed in the latest 'gangsta' fashions straight out of a hip hop video (was actually quite funny to watch!), girls swinging everything they got - I could see why this considered a fun town! However, I think it was obvious that I was not indigenous to the local population - the white 4x4 with UN emblazoned the side did not help. So I was subjected to stares which although on the whole were not too bad, there were some, especially from men, that were so piercing, it made me feel slightly uncomfortable - as if I was invading their personal space. Then it began to rain which instantly turned the town into a valley of mud. Not pleasant. So we decided the rest of the tour would be thus conducted from inside the car.
I learnt three words that day - Amakuro, meza and a third that still escapes my mind unless I am reminded of it (despite writing it down thousands of times) I noted to myself that writing lines in school must have instilled some sort of obsessive need to write things down hundreds of times. I do not know if that is a good thing or not. One thing was apparent though. Apart from the arch that you drive through in almost every major town/village, the genocide seems practically invisible. This is understandable I suppose 10 years on. A country must attempt to move on. It just struck me how different this is from the holocaust and yet the same to certain degree. I could not quite vocalise it (then or now) but I mulled over it all day and that night - once I explain it to you, I will. This has been on my mind this week as well considering tomorrow is Holocaust Memorial Day. And I am quite conflicted. Another discussion for another time.
We drove around trying to find our way to the lake front - actually to the Primus Brewery which according to my guide book was also the home of an infamous port. No mention as to the reason for this fame - so I needed to go find out. We could not travel the route suggested by the guide book for the President had apparently chosen that particular part of lake front property to act as his Gisenyi holiday home and that of other members of his family. So the armed guards at the top of the hill, politely asked us to take the longer route (read one hour) down to the brewery. I tried the whole, "I am foreign" angle, 'promise I am not going to come and blow you all up" but the car did not help matters ;-)
So we took the long way round which was not a bad idea for just round the corner was more stunning mountainous views. What is about this country? How can it be blessed with the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen and yet also cursed with some of the worst atrocities known to man? It makes me wonder what kind of sense of humour the man upstairs has.
We made it, finally after several wrong turns (do not ask how considering the small surface area we had to cover!) to the so called ' infamous port'. Now this was amusing. It was literally a deck - with a towering brewery behind it. On the deck was a boat unloading coca cola bottles. I frantically searched my book for any mention as to why this is considered a must see for all visitors to this town and came up with NOTHING. Bernard looked at me as if I was some very weird individual wishing to see a port. I do not blame him at all. Trivia: the brewery makes the widely available local beer 'Primus'. Not much to look at and as if on cue, hunger pangs set in and we decided to go get some lunch.
We picked our little way up from the brewery. Thankfully it had stopped raining and we stopped at the cutest little hotel, all open plan - not built with rain in mind - with a cute little garden overlooking Lake Kivu and the hills in Congo. There was an ethereal mist over the Congolese hills making it the most perfect romantic spot as one watched kamikaze kingfisher birds battling it out with the fishermen, catching their dinner in traditional fashion. Lunch was barbecued tilapia. Heaven.
On the drive back, after an hour of discussing different marital options, I fell asleep. I think I had just about overdosed on green beauty and the contradictions thrown at me all day.
Upon arrival back at the Gorilla's Nest, the first day of sensitization was over and I sat down to drinks with Bob outside his cottage. As 'el boss' he was priviliged to have a cottage with a mini bar and living room. Several hours later huddled over too many g&ts, I realised tht whilst he may have a seriously dysfunctional background and seem very lonely, he is very funny AND sensitive. Well either that or this course was working miracles. We talked about a lot of very personal issues in his life which I do not feel would be appropriate to share here - maybe as part of his eulogy one day - but the public school antidotes were hilarious and yet quite poignant too. I know he can be manipulative, often have no sense of self preservation and should not very posisbly be trusted, but I have a soft spot for him.
Final thought, as I mulled over what we had talked about that evening - the loss of a father affects us all in the same way - it is how we choose to react that differs.
posted by Snapshots of ... at 10:58 PM
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