Things I’ve learned during my trip so far, especially during my homestay this past weekend:
1. Brochette= goat meat
It’s pretty good. Served on a stick like kabobs, it’s generally preferred here to beef because it’s considered to be more tender.
2. Public Transportation: scariest way to get from point A to point B, or mediocre roller coaster?
So far we’ve taken large buses, van-buses, and cabs. Lanes are more of a suggestion; the shoulders of roads are more like rough guidelines. Earlier this week in Karongi, a group of us took a van-bus to visit Kiziba Refugee Camp. It took about an hour, and the roads wound around the green hills and mountains. Sounds pretty, right? And it was. Pictures can’t even do justice to the landscape. However, from the back row of the van-bus, my friend Jessica and I were clutching the seats in front of us, shielding the tops of our heads from impact with the ceiling, and laughing/shrieking every time we became airborne. I counted 17 people in this van! The large bus that we actually took to get to Karongi was apparently on a deadline. Our driver had to be back to Kigali later on Sunday evening to work, so the three-hour ride was spent gliding around turns, speeding over mountains, and neglecting the brakes — pedestrians walking along the sides of these roads had to jump out of the way! Oh boy.
A mini-bus--the view from the back row!
3. Muzungo = White Person
One of the first words I learned in Kinyarwanda. I hear it EVERYWHERE.
4. Muzungo! Wampaye icupa? = White person! Can you give me your water bottle?
I heard this phrase a lot at Kiziba Refugee Camp. I made the mistake at one point of taking out my water bottle to grab a drink. Children immediately gathered around me, the tops of their heads reaching my hip, and they started shouting, “Muzungo! Wampaye icupa?” Someone told me that they will sell the empty bottles for money. It was actually sort of a tough situation. If you give the children a water bottle, they will fight each other for it. Even following me, they were grabbing, swarming, and tripping over each other. However, holding onto my icupa, I sort of just felt like a greedy muzungo. I’ve seen children throw tantrums, cry, and beg for toys, but I’ve never seen kids with that kind of need before. More on the refugee camp in the next post.
5. Motos = Motorcycle taxis
I took my first moto ride in Karongi! I went from town to the place we were staying, Centre Bethanie. The road my moto driver took followed the perimeter of Lake Kivu, and it was beautiful! And so much fun — I don’t know why I delayed this experience for so long. Having said that…
6. 3,000 FRW is about 6 times too much to pay for a moto ride.
7. Allowing yourself to be charged 3,000 FRW for a moto ride = Muzungo mistake.
Whoops. When we arrived at Centre Bethanie, I handed my driver 3,000 francs. My friend and Rwandese participant, aka moto-cost-expert, Johnas, started yelling from the reception area: “How much are you charging? Why do you accept that money?” My driver shouted something in reply and drove away. Johnas’s effort in trying to save me money was valiant. He later told me that the driver’s reply to him was, “She wants to give me this money, she loves me!” I think I would have rather kept my money! But all in all, not too expensive of a mistake — 3,000 FRW is the equivalent of about $5 USD.
A waterfall on the drive back from Karongi.
