Escapade 16-A day in Kigale

One of the most interesting things about traveling in Africa, is the privileges that come along with being a foreigner.  First of all, everyone wants to help me wherever I go.  If I stop for a moment anywhere in Africa on any street, a horde of people will inevitably approach me, asking (begging me almost) if I need directions or if they can help me in some way. And I'm not talkin about the people looking to make money off tourist, I'm talkin about just regular nice people walking along the street.  And if I am in line at a counter somewhere, often I will be pushed to the front of the line, without really wanting to cause a stir.  If I come up to someone and ask for directions, he will call twelve people over to help me.  I feel like VIP everywhere I go.  Do you really think that I need to be scanned before going into a bank or federal building?  Of course not, I'm am usually just waved through.  I am also able to do(and even encouraged do) things that I would never dare try in the States.  For instance, when I am walking down the street eating candy or cookies (pretty much every day), I freely give out candy to adults and kids along my path.  In this way, I can honestly say that I never ate an entire box of cookies or bag of candy.  If I started given candy out to children I didn't know in the States though, I might, and probably would, be arrested.  Here, I am cheered by all.  What a nice American!!!  See, I am trying to create positive relationships between our continents.  Sometimes Americans receive a bad rap because of our country's global policies.  However, my candy sharing policy is starting to slowly negate these bad vibes.

I can also wave to anyone on this continent at any time, and they will smile and wave back.  I spend my days on buses or motorcycles waving at every person I pass by, especially the kids, who all know two phrases in English..."How are you?" and "I am fine."

During my second day in Kigale, I decided to take a tour.  Now, the Tourist Bureau does host a bus tour around the city for $20, and I actually do love taking these tours.  They are perfect when staying only a limited amount of time in a city.  However, one of the luxuries of staying in a third world country is that I can arrange my own private cost efficient tour.  So, I found a happy-go lucky looking motorbike guy and negotiated a tour for1 & 1/2 hours at the price of $20, asking him to just drive me around the entire city. 

Score one for me, because as is usually the case when hiring out taxis to perform such a duty, it turned out to be a wonderful experience.  We drove all over the city, up and down hill after hill, moving through the expensive and less expensive neighborhoods, driving near embassies and federal buildings and stadiums and markets.  He even drove me to a motorcycle cab training area, so we might watch students driving their motorcycles in and around orange cones.  And all the while, he explained what sections of the city had special meaning.  We did stop at two memorial sites as well, including a particularly disturbing one.  During the genocide, thousands of Tutsis retreated to the grounds of the Belgian forces in Kigale, believing that they would be safe within the confines of their gates.  However after ten Belgians were killed by the government, Belgium decided to remove all of its forces from Rwanda, and as the last Belgians were entering the helicopters to leave, the Hutu government forces came in through the gates and massacred everyone.  A very disturbing picture to say the least.

My guide actually seemed to enjoy the tour even more than me, so that when the time came for the tour to end, he wouldn't let me off his bike, explaining that there were still a few more things he needed to show me.  My 1 & 1/2 hour turned out to be over two hours, with no extra charge.  What a guy!!!  As we were finishing up the tour, we happened to drive by a museum I wanted to visit.  So, we entered its gates, and I paid my wonderful guide (plus tip) and thanked him profusely.  As he was leaving, he just happened to ask if I was a Christian, to which I replied, "No."  He then said, "Muslim."  No I answered, "I'm Jewish.....I'm a Hebrew....I'm an Israelite."  And on the word "Israelite" he finally realized from what religion I hailed, and he was......overjoyed.  I mean truly thrilled beyond all reasonable or rationale reasoning.  He couldn't stop praising Israel and Jews in general, explaining over and over again that we are God's people and all who oppose the State of Israel are doomed to failure.  He began to burst at the seems as he jumped up and down in total excitement.  As a Christian he mentioned that he reads the Bible, but he never dared to dream that he would actually meet one of the descendants of the Biblical figures mentioned in the Bible.  He then flipped when I told him I hailed from the tribe of Levy.  I truly believe he would have left his wife and kids, if I had asked him for his hand in marriage.  For over two hours I stood there in shock as he boarded his bike, prepared to leave, and then came off his bike and returned to me to praise me even more.  He even had someone take pictures of us together and had me promise to make copies for him (which I did, leaving them at my hotel).  He actually had the guard at the museum take two pictures, one for him and one for me.  I did however, leave copies of both pictures at the hotel.  I now have realized he probably believes I don't have a copy of either picture, because I left both for him.  He either thinks I am really generous in giving both to him, or he believes I didn't care enough to keep one for myself.  I do hope it's the first one. 

So, the good news is that there are people out there who like Jews and support the State of Israel, I am happy to confirm. 

I finally walked over to enter the museum and realized that I didn't want to spend $10 on the country's geological museum, so I left and grabbed another motorcycle cab as my guide had already left.  I was able to successfully grab a brochure labeling the four national museums in the country though, something the Tourist Bureau had failed to mention to me, even after I specifically asked if there were any nice museums to visit.  The one that looked most interesting happened to be in Kigali, the home of the president who had planned the genocide and whose death in a plane crash set the plans in motion. 

Rwanda is a small country with Kigali in the center, so day trips around the country happens to be pretty easy.  The next day, I visited two memorial sites, one in the city of Nyamata (30 km away) and one in the city of Ntrama (25 km away).  For the first one, I squished into a minibus, was dropped off in the town then hitched a ride on the back of a bicycle, actually a taxi bicycle.  The church in Nyamata had been another disastrous attempt at finding a place of refuge during the genocide.  Bullet holes riddled the ceiling and the entire church was filled with the clothing of the people who had died inside and around the church (also more bones and skulls).  I was led around by a woman who had been working there for a year and had experienced the trauma first hand (not at the church).  I asked if she had difficulties working there.  She said she had at first but had now become accustomed to the site.  And she realized how important it was to keep the memory going, for both visitors and locals....sound familiar.

The church in Ntrama has not been reorganized for visitors as the one in Nymata, and I just walked around as a French speaking woman motioned to me where I could go and where I was allowed to take pictures.  The site of the clothes in the church here again causing my skin to crawl.

I returned to town in time to visit the president's home museum for an alarming look into the mindset of Habyarimana, the man who planned the genocide.

The tour guide, a woman just finishing her university studies, guided me around the spacious house, including the chapel, where the Pope visited him and led a group of supporters in prayer and the secret rooms strewn throughout the home.  These included: escape hatches, an armory, a panic room, stairs with motion sensors, and a disco.  The whole house seemed to be constructed with attempted assassinations in mind.  There was even a drawer open at all times in his bedroom, filled with cash, so in case an assassin entered the room, he might decide to take the cash and just leave.  The room that proved most interesting was the room the tour guide refused to enter.  I thought perhaps a room of torture, but it was instead the room where he practiced an African religion akin to some kind of witchcraft I gathered.  So while he sat entertaining the Pope, somewhere above them stood a separate room dedicated to certain African gods.  Oh, he also built a private room, where he visited with officials who had displeased him.  Next door to the room stood a bathroom, so that after an official had been slapped or beaten, he could freshen up before leaving.

Finally, we came to the most intriguing section of the museum.  I knew that he had died in a plane crash initiating the start of the genocide.  What I didn't realize was that his plane crashed right next to his house.  Yes, as his kids were swimming in the pool the plane crashed almost on top of them.  There are still parts of the wrecked plane lying on the grounds of the home.  As to what happened to set off the crash, no one knows, except the family who were at home.  You may ask, well didn't the other people in or near the house see who shot down the plane, and the answer is probably "yes.".  However, the president's wife had everyone who was there at the time of the crash killed (save for the family).  She lives abroad in Europe somewhere I think and has never shared what happened.

While at the museum, I also learned that the other two national museums, which I had not intended to visit, were in towns reasonably close (only a couple of hours away), so I hopped a bus and visited both of them the next day.  Very nice...a little history, a little culture.  Nothing wrong with checking out museums now and then.  I even took a nature walk on the grounds of one of them, before returning home in preparation for my trek to Musanze.  That's right boys and girls, my much anticipated visit with Gorillas in the Mist was fast approaching, and I couldn't wait.