If love at first sight is possible then I think Damo and I have fallen head over heels for Rwanda. We have been here for a sum total of 3 and 1/2 days, and the friendless, openness, vibrancy, sense of humour, smiles and laughs of Rwandans have one us over, throw in some incredible scenery filled with rolling green hills covered in a patchwork of tilled fields up and down the hills, some sinuous lakes filling in the gaps, a cordillera of volcanoes poking through the clouds as a backdrop, a small town lulling with activity and an hour with some of the last mountain gorillas left in the world and we are well and truly sold. However, perhaps the most endearing thing about Rwanda is the sense of bizarreness that hangs in the air, where ever we go.
Today we headed out to a small lake near the border with Uganda. We caught a share taxi down to the turn off and then walked six kilometres down a track to the lake. Throughout our walk we came across lots of people, who all seemed at first surprised to see us, then overjoyed, and then very curious, many following along behind us for kilometres.
Damo has developed a multi-lingual hello game for this multi-lingual country. He goes through his lost of greetings to see how many correct responses he an get
"Amakuru?"
"Ni meza"
"Abari gani?"
"Mzuri"
"Ca va ?"
"Ca va bien"
"How are you ?"
"Fine, thank you"
Surprisingly, he hits four out of four almost every time.
On the way down to the lake we pass a school, and I decide to head in and see how things are. It is lunchtime and soon things become very chaotic. I end up in a classroom, with kids piling in, more and more and more, filling the room and surrounding me at the blackboard as I try my best to explain where Australia is in relation to them. Meanwhile outside Damo is putting on his eyebrow show, and is surrounded by probably a hundred kids. I escape the oppression in the classroom, which only attracts more people to surround Damo outside. Eventually we decide it is prudent to leave the school, and on our way out we are followed by a big group of kids. One of them touches Damo's bag, and the whole bizarreness and being surrounded leads to Damo snapping at the kid, who quickly slinks off amid the other kids calling him thief. By the time we make it down to the lake, we are left with only three or four kids, and when they get word that the Principal has returned to the school they all scamper off.
We find a café by the waterside and our delusions about being the only tourists there are rapidly smashed, a group of four or five roll up in a van from Uganda, and we see an older couple taking a boat ride on the lake.
I take a swim which the kids again find as a source of intense bemusement, a big group of them stand on the edge of the shore and watch me undress and splash about in the water. We watch the other tourists head off, after handing out a pencil (strictly one per child) to the kids who have been persistently begging since we got there. It is a strange sight to see this clearly malnourished kids, dressed in no more than rags, some high from sniffing glue and all wagging school, running around with pencils in their hand - probably wondering whether they can ear them. Damo wants to say something to the departing tourists, but the tension is broken when they laugh at him offering them pencils as they drive off.
We are met by the local social services co-coordinator who takes us to be big time tourism investors. He repeatedly tells us that the land is available here to buy, and whilst conceding to our point that the lake is beautiful, goes on at length about how it is undeveloped. Both Damo and I come away at the end of the conversation imagining how ruined the Lake will be in 10 years by inappropriate development right on the shore and gaggles of wealthy Europeans and Americans zapping about on noisy jet skis.
Suddenly the sky turns very grey, and dark thunder clouds march across the lake, lighting cracking across the sky with roaring thunder in tow. We decide to leg it, and just as we reach the outskirts of the first village, the sky opens up, and the initial thick, fat drops of rain, turn in to an almighty downpour, making us seek refuge outside a carpenters workshop under a tin roof. Again we are the main source of entertainment to the group of Rwandans who are trapped with us. Mzungu, mzungu, mzungu.
After about half an hour the rain holds up, the sky clears, and we are on our way again. By this time it is late afternoon, and there are even more people out walking on the road. Damo and I get our timed scare tactics going again, and even the older locals are joining in our laughter at the terrified kids. I develop a new tactic of shaking the kids' hands, and then deciding not to let go. This usually terrifies a kid, and when they can't run away they become even more terrified. Strangely, once I let go, they run off, and then look back and see me, and everyone else laughing, so they join in. One young girl chooses to run off through the gate, and is petrified when I follow. She continues in to the house and waits behind the door, so I follow. She promptly runs into another room and slams the door, crying out Mzungu, Mzungu !!! A couple of minutes later she gingerly reappears to see the mzungu still around.
We finally arrive back in the junction town where we got off the share taxi from Ruhengeri. Even in town we are followed where ever we go. As soon as we become stationary we are immediately surrounded by groups of kids and adults - most just watch but some ask questions. The crowds form tight circles are we are not really ever being able to escape. So I decide to grab one of the bicycle taxi boys' bikes and do a few laps of the town, which only bemuses even more people and makes the surrounding circles even larger. A whole day of being the centre of attention is starting to wear me down, and when a share taxi arrives we quickly jump on board, looking for some respite.
On the way back to Ruhengeri we play the Conductor game, yelling out the destination as we drive through small towns, and trying to identify or perhaps even convince bystanders that they want to go to where the share taxi is headed. We cause plenty of laughs, and manage to find a couple of passengers before the real conductor does, which ends in the driver telling his conductor off because the mizungus were doing a better job. The driver spends the remaining 30 minutes of the ride back explaining to me in French that it is much cheaper to buy left hand drive mini-vans, and that the government taxes everything too much. We again arrive in Ruhengeri on dark and are both worn out and amazed by Rwanda.
And of course the sweetest thing about Rwanda is that whilst everyone told us it is expensive, we keep tripping over cheap options - a nice hotel room, lunch for less than dollar, bus rides for less than a dollar -truly love at first sight.
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