ITCHY FEET TRAVELS

From Kibuye to Gisenyi, Rwanda

July 7, 2024

Arriving at the bus station, I had no need to find the bus. A tout had grabbed my bags from the moto taxi and hared off while I followed in his wake. He would make sure I got on the right bus and likely get a small commission. It’s how bus stations operate in a multitude of countries. Most of the seats were full which was bad but that also meant we would leave soon as the remainder filled which was good.

A local woman wrapped in her colorful chitenge sat down next to me. What she lacked in height, she made up in girth and I was squished into a fraction of the seat. She gave me an assessing look and pronounced

“Muzungu.” It was not a question but a statement. This is what most African call a white person.

“No” I said, adding “from India.”

The “Ay” which is their “Oh” was long drawn out and the information was given to the driver and passed on down the bus. The others nodded and I could see I had fallen from the muzungu pedestal. Not quite one of them, the semi-local status meant they lost all further interest in me.

The mama’s name was Anise and she was from Goma, Congo. Ooh I thought, here could be that elusive letter of invitation. But she spoke no English and I no French. But that had broken the ice and for the rest of the trip she plied me with food. She ate constantly and every time she opened her capacious bag, she would offer a guava or half a boiled corn or a passion fruit or a banana. I reciprocated with fruits bought from the vendors when we stopped at towns. Seeing me tuck the corn cobs and empty peels in a side pocket of my backpack to be thrown in a bin later, she gave me a baffled look. Shaking her head she calmly reached in, took all the peels and cobs and tossed them under the seat. And smiled complacently. But still refused to let me take her photo.

The excellent tarred road headed north, hugging Lake Kivu but playing peekaboo at times. Side roads into the villages are dirt as before. The bus stops are diligently attended by a swarm of moto taxis.

There are farms as before, but it seems that we are in banana country now. Banana plantations climb down slopes and cover fields. An occasional field has maize or sometimes sugarcane.

But as we climb a little, I see vast stretches of tea bushes. Entire slopes right down to the road are tea plantations.

By the side of the road is an endless stream of people, walking and carrying loads. For heavier loads, for those who cannot afford to have goods ferried by bus or truck, there are bicycles.  Loaded to the brim, the men strain as they push the bikes on the uphill stretches.