Just a little over a week ago we trekked from seemingly calm and peaceful Rwanda to the Democratic Republic of Congo. Now, Goma, the town we visited, is a complete war zone as the rebels have invaded. People of the town have been evacuated and peace workers have been relocated. We left Goma in the nick of time as it is now declared a war zone.
The day trip to Congo was a spontaneous decision. Once we realized we were only 20 minutes from the Rwanda/DRC border, our adventurous sides led us to plan a day trip to Goma. We had no idea what we were about to see. Not only has Goma been a victim to the intense corruption in the DRC but it is also set at the bottom of an active volcano which has destroyed the city on numerous occasions. When we arrived at the border and got in line for our visas we were immediately whisked away by the head immigration officer and taken into the back office. Being a country of francophones, I struggled communicating but luckily my friends spoke French and were able to translate. We quickly received visas, a shiny certificate proving our trip to the Congo, and were told that the Congo was so lucky to have three beautiful ladies visiting. Everyone at the border seemed confused as to why we would possibly want to go to such an undesirable place. But that didn't stop us and we literally walked across the border into Congo where everything was different, including the color of the dirt. The entire city was black and covered in ashes as a result of the erupting volcano. It really felt like walking through death as there were crumbling buildings, non-existent houses, non-existent life. The only color that could be seen were the vibrant textiles for sale and worn by the women, tightly wrapped around the women holding in place everything including their babies on their backs. UN tanks lined the streets with the soldiers holding machine guns pointed at the road. I didn't feel scared, I felt sad and uneasy. The three of us walked straight down the road for about two hours, not uttering a word to each other, simply observing what seemed to us surreal, but was reality to all the Congolese living in this disaster. Eventually, we reached the extensive local market and entered the maze of goods, stepping over chickens, weaving in and out of aisles lined with everything from bowls of flour and sugar, to mountains of second hand shoes to an array of skin lightening creams. We found the textile section which was the largest and had stalls after stalls of beautiful, bright, deep, rich, patterned fabric. After various sessions of bargaining, we left the market all of us having bought some fabric with intentions of making pillows, dresses, etc. We had, had enough and decided it was time to sit down, process, and eat. We pushed our way back out of the market and hopped on three motos (Congo's version of bodas/motorcycle taxis) and went to Le Chalet, a restaurant recommended by a friend. When we reached the restaurant we couldn't believe that a place so luxurious, green, and posh could exist in this city. We ate on a terrace overlooking the lake as UN planes soared over us, vibrating the table. After a nice lunch, we suddenly realized that maybe we should ask what time the border closed. We were informed that at 6pm sharp the border would close. It was 5:15pm and we quickly payed our bill and hopped on three motos and literally sped through the Congo, weaving in and out of traffic praying we would make it in time. At the last minute, I decided I just had to have a Congolese mask. I redirected my moto with 7 minutes to spare, hopped off, grabbed a mask, threw money at the salesman and jumped back on, now zooming full speed to the border. We made it and were so happy to be back in Rwanda.
When returning many people asked, "Did you like the Congo?". Like is not a word I would use to explain my experience in the Congo. It was extremely interesting and quite a bit of a reality check. I still think about how I felt walking down that road in Goma, it didn't make me feel fortunate or lucky to have come from a "better" place but just made me think about how everyone's reality is so different and how important it is to see that in order to understand how the world functions. I do feel lucky though that we left Congo when we did as very easily we could have been in the center of a war zone.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Rwanda, Here we come!
It was nearly three months ago, when a couple friends and I decided to trek to Rwanda for some adventure during our October half-term break. As we sat in a Turkish restaurant drinking wine and turkish coffee, planted in a man-made park right in the center of Kampala, we for some reason thought it would be an excellent idea to drive. No, we didn't wan to fly, despite the low cost, nor take the bus. We wanted to "road trip" and that was it. The decision was not made with intentions of saving money, but with pure intent on creating an unforgettable journey. And let me tell you, the journey was unforgettable, from the second we set out on the African road until the very end when we dreaded getting back in the car for another nine hours return to our home in Kampala.
At 3:30pm on Friday we piled all of our luggage and our bodies into a rather large Pajero, or so we thought. An hour later, after budging through the chaotic traffic of Kampala, we were just leaving the city and already had numb bums and were dripping with sweat. The twelve hour drive was, well, very long and painful. The entire road was literally studded with pot holes and we began bracing ourselves, getting into position, and ducking cover each time the drive warned us with "Pot hole, get ready". We were in severe pain upon arrival to Rwanda. Speaking of arrival in Rwanda, as we crossed over the Ugandan border into no man's land (space between the two borders that remains "unclaimed") we successfully got our passports stamped declaring our departure from Uganda. To our ignorance and excitement, we thought we were done and ready to enter Rwanda. My friend, the driver, stepped on the gas and we ever so gracefully sped across the border into Rwanda, passing officials not even thinking twice about it. The next thing we know we are being chased by police and immigrant officials informing us that we illegally entered Rwanda. The wonderful driver jerked the car into reverse and we reversed back across the border, got our official arrival stamp and were on our way to Kigali. As we began our trek through Rwanda, we were all stunned by its beauty and perfectly paved roads. Rwanda is surrounded by lush, green mountains with waterfalls trickling down the center of ranges into the small farming villages. Kigali is nothing like Kampala. It is easy to forget you are in Africa and begin to think you are in a European city with posh coffee shops and restaurants.
We spent the first couple of days in Kigali visiting local sites like the genocide memorial and the craft market where I purchased traditional Rwandan paintings made out of cow poo. It's interesting being in Rwanda as you can definitely still feel the aftermath of the 1994 genocide. People are quiet, reserved, and seemingly fearful, which makes it a safer African city but a little creepy. At restaurants waiters refuse to open your drink unless it's in front of you as people are fearful of having their drinks poisoned. The genocide memorial was heavy and absolutely devastating. The general age of the population in Kigali is under 25 and it is not uncommon to see people walking around with machete scars in their heads and arms. After a couple days in Kigali, we headed up north to Lake Kivu and stayed in a magnificent little bed and breakfast right on the lake. Each morning we ate crepes and drank Rwandan coffee overlooking the lake where the fishermen rowed and chanted in their wooden carved canoes. It was so peaceful and a nice break from the craziness at school. That is until we headed to the Congo....
At 3:30pm on Friday we piled all of our luggage and our bodies into a rather large Pajero, or so we thought. An hour later, after budging through the chaotic traffic of Kampala, we were just leaving the city and already had numb bums and were dripping with sweat. The twelve hour drive was, well, very long and painful. The entire road was literally studded with pot holes and we began bracing ourselves, getting into position, and ducking cover each time the drive warned us with "Pot hole, get ready". We were in severe pain upon arrival to Rwanda. Speaking of arrival in Rwanda, as we crossed over the Ugandan border into no man's land (space between the two borders that remains "unclaimed") we successfully got our passports stamped declaring our departure from Uganda. To our ignorance and excitement, we thought we were done and ready to enter Rwanda. My friend, the driver, stepped on the gas and we ever so gracefully sped across the border into Rwanda, passing officials not even thinking twice about it. The next thing we know we are being chased by police and immigrant officials informing us that we illegally entered Rwanda. The wonderful driver jerked the car into reverse and we reversed back across the border, got our official arrival stamp and were on our way to Kigali. As we began our trek through Rwanda, we were all stunned by its beauty and perfectly paved roads. Rwanda is surrounded by lush, green mountains with waterfalls trickling down the center of ranges into the small farming villages. Kigali is nothing like Kampala. It is easy to forget you are in Africa and begin to think you are in a European city with posh coffee shops and restaurants.
We spent the first couple of days in Kigali visiting local sites like the genocide memorial and the craft market where I purchased traditional Rwandan paintings made out of cow poo. It's interesting being in Rwanda as you can definitely still feel the aftermath of the 1994 genocide. People are quiet, reserved, and seemingly fearful, which makes it a safer African city but a little creepy. At restaurants waiters refuse to open your drink unless it's in front of you as people are fearful of having their drinks poisoned. The genocide memorial was heavy and absolutely devastating. The general age of the population in Kigali is under 25 and it is not uncommon to see people walking around with machete scars in their heads and arms. After a couple days in Kigali, we headed up north to Lake Kivu and stayed in a magnificent little bed and breakfast right on the lake. Each morning we ate crepes and drank Rwandan coffee overlooking the lake where the fishermen rowed and chanted in their wooden carved canoes. It was so peaceful and a nice break from the craziness at school. That is until we headed to the Congo....
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