Yes, I'm a Muzungu - I must be, I've been called it enough during the last 2 weeks ! Apparently it means "White person", something that the local kids find it important to shout when they see someone who looks like me - lovely !
So, as promised some tales of my 2 weeks in Rwanda. The primary reason for my visit was to go up to the Volcano National Park in the North West to see the gorillas, well, to be precise, a Silverback. Ever since I was a kid and met Jambo in Jersey Zoo I have always loved Silverbacks and to get to see them in the wild so to speak was just an absolute honour. I think there are only about 700 Mountain Gorillas left in the world now. My mum paid for the trip (thanks mum !) and we met up in Nairobi and flew together to Kigali to meet her friends Chris and Bruno. We stayed at Chris' house in Kigali for our stay.
The trip to see the gorillas was an adventure in itself, Bruno drove us up there but not far out of Kigali the jeep decided to have a hissy fit and overheated which resulted in the no water in the radiator. A local kid volunteered to run half way down the mountain to get us some more water, what a star !
We stayed in a lovely guesthouse near Ruhengeri (mum even shared her room with a toilet seat obsessed ghost according to her). The next morning we were up at silly o'clock to get our 4 wheel drive up to the trekking point to see the gorillas. We mistakingly assumed we could arrange the jeep at the offices, apparently not, so what followed was half an hour of desperate searching for someone with a 4 wheel drive. Luckily we managed to share with a German couple.
Our guide, Francois, was brilliant - a complete nutter in fact who actually worked with Dian Fosse and who did all the sounds and actions necessary as per the film "Gorillas in the Mist". We were so lucky, we had heard that the trek could be up to 3 hours of hard, uphill slog - it actually was only about 45 minutes through a bamboo forest and not too much of an incline. One of the guides was ahead with his machete cutting a path through. The organisation employs full time trackers who constantly monitor the location of the gorilla groups and also protect them from poachers. So, after the trek through the bamboo I heard a rustling ahead, I assumed it was the guy with the machete but then I saw it, a quick flash through the undergrowth, the unmistakeable sight of the grey and black colours of a silverback. Oh my God. It was just there, no protection of walls or glass or fences like in a horrible zoo - I'm just standing there within 5 metres of half a ton of a huge male Mountain Gorilla. I was quietly shaking for a bit, Francois and the other guide were making all the gorilla noises to signify we came in peace. At one point the silverback got up and started to slowly approach us - within about 3 metres of us, we all shifted very slowly away, heart in mouths but he just wanted to get to his chill out spot. Gradually more and more of the gorilla group arrived out of nowhere, just stunning.
I feel so priveleged to have experienced it.
So, what about Rwanda ? Really interesting. My first time in Africa (discounting Morocco), sort of as you would expect in a way. But I wasn't expecting daily rain and thunderstorms (even hail up in Ruhengeri) !
I had sort of heard of Rwanda because of the genocide 13 years ago but I am ashamed to say it sort of passed me by - a visit to the genocide museum in Kigali put that right. It is astounding that it happened just 13 years ago and my knowledge of it was so appalling.
Rwanda is very poor, sort of as expected I suppose, women carrying loads of god knows what on their head (Chris told me a story of a friend who heard that a man went to a doctor complaining of back pain. When the doctor asked him how he hurt his back the man replied, "I was lifting a sack of potatoes onto my wife's head" )..., kids running around barefoot, an intermittent water supply (cold of course), internet access that takes 17 bloody minutes to open a page ... all the images that we westerners have of Africa. However, despite all that it still felt richer than many countries in Latin America. Mum and Chris explained to me that Rwanda is the recipient of a fair bit of international aid and volunteers. Many schools there are volunteer organised, we went to see a school that one of Chris's friends had set up which was fantastic when compared to my exeriences in Costa Rica and Ecuador.
Chris's house in Kigali was great and Bruno her friend is a real character - I may return as there are plenty of volunteer opportunities there for someone who can mix concrete and build houses !!
I am actually writing this entry from Dubrovnik in Croatia, I arrived yesterday after a marathon journey that involved me and mum leaving Chris's house at 4am to get to Kigali for a flight to Nairobi.
I said goodbye to mum in Nairobi (hadn't seen her since Ecuador, 9 months ago!) after, what can only be described as the most frustrating luggage system in the world at Nairobi airport. I won't go into all the details but they expect you to check in for your onward flight at some desk stuck in a corner of a corridor without having retrieved your luggage (bear in mind your luggage is not ticketed with your onward flight details) while you trust them to find your luggage from your baggage number and get it on the right flight - never going to happen so I ended up sweet talking the Immigration Boss in his office to let me bypass Immigration Control to claim our luggage and return to departures.
So, after our goodbyes I settled in, with my backpack in my possession thank god, for my 8 hour wait for my flight to Doha, Qatar. I had to take my backpack to the departure gate with me and hand it off to someone who assured me it would be waiting for me in Croatia - 3 flights later - I wasn't hopeful. In the departure lounge I was adopted by a guy from the Comores (some islands off the coast of Africa) as he was trying to speak French to a Swahili and English speaking official who didn't understand a word of French so I tried to help him with some translation (into English, I should point out - not Swahili). His name was Ibrahim and we stuck together on arrival In Doha, his flight was delayed forever due to the weather in Paris. My fight from Doha to Frankfurt left on time after another 5 hour wait in an airport. By this time I was feeling severely sleep deprived.
Arrival in Frankfurt, Germany felt really strange. I was back in Europe after 16 months away.
I was looking forward to some famous German efficiency, having to check in at the Lufthansa desk for my flight to Dubrovnik. Well, after god knows how many flights in the last 9 months and not one single problem they had no record of my payment, great. There was no way I was giving them any money when I was in possession of a receipt so I basically stood there with a "look" on my face - helped with 24 hours of no sleep - and insisted they sort it out. Eventually the "efficient" German machine accepted that I had paid and I got my boqarding card. I asked whether my backpack would really be there waiting for me in Dubrovnik or should I get it there, they informed me that, "no, it should be waiting for you in Croatia". Not feeling particularly comforted by the use of the word "should" I accepted I would just have to wait and hope .....
Then the incident happened .... I boarded my flight, took my seat by the window, settled in and glanced out the window to see the door still open down below me where they load the baggage, the conveyor belt still in place. Nothing on it but I thought, "wouldn't it be great if I saw my backpack being loaded now, that would really set my mind at rest". 3 guys down the bottom seemed to be talking to a guy in the hold ... then, would you believe it ... I saw my backpack on the belt !! But hang on, what the f... (fill in the blanks) - my bloody backpack is going down the belt - LEAVING THE PLANE !!! It arrives at the bottom and is the subject of a conversation of the 3 loading guys who appear to be confused whether of not is should be on the plane or not, they are checking the labels, seem to be saying it shouldn't be on this flight. At this point I am franticly waving to them but of course they aren't looking into the tiny window to see me having a coronary that I am about to lose all my worldly belongings. One of them gets out a mobile phone and a lot of head scratching is taking place whilst my heart is going 10 to the dozen - inside I am screaming at them "it bloody says Dubrovnik on the bloody label, get that bloody bag up that conveyor belt now !. Then, they decide it's not going and they take it off. So, during the safety announcement when everyone is being instructed how to secure their seatbelts I am flinging mine off, clambering over 2 seats to get to the aisle and accosting a steward franticly explaining that those imbeciles on the ground have just taken my backpack off the plane and can she please get a message to them ... the conversation went something like this ...(in front of a plane load of people)
"Please, they have just taken my bag off the plane, you must stop them"
"I don't think so"
"Yes, it's my bag you must get a message to them and stop them, look, please look"
... she says nothing and just stares at me...
"Please look" I implore leaning with very little dignity over seats to point out the window
"How can you be sure it's your bag ?"
"IT'S MY BAG AND THEY ARE TAKING IT OFF, IT'S MY BAG"
"It probably isn't your bag"
"Look, that is my bloody bag - I have spent every day of the last 16 months with that bag and I am 100 and bloody 20 percent bloody sure that is my bag now PLEASE GET A MESSAGE TO THEM!!"
... with that I was told to sit down and she wandered off, whilst I sat and watched my bag being loaded into a golf jeep and driven away from the plane. As you can imagine, my blood was boiling and I was also painfully aware that I was the subject of a plane full of slightly apprehensive stares from my fellow passengers who probably didn't fully understand what my ranting was about.
However, there seemed to some action with regards to a message being sent to the ground. The door to the cockpit was opened and I could see a conversation with the captain and my steward taking place. After what seemd like an hour she returned and said they were looking into it and could she have my name to confirm it was my bag, telling me to hurry up in the process of my shakingly writing down my name - I muttered that it wasn't my bloody fault they took my bag off.
Off she went again - I had visions of Interpol being informed of my name and a quick check of my name and terrorist status being verified. Then she returned and I was asked to follow her to the cockpit to speak to the captain !! Sleep derived for nearly 40 hours now, in a state of panic about my bag but also in a state of trauma being responsible for the delay of our takeoff and being the recipient of annoyed stares all the way up the aisle I arrived in the cockpit (how cool by the way !) where the captain informed me that it was my bag and that it was now being loaded back on the plane. He said he had no idea why it was taken off and joked that he hopes I didn't have abomb in it ! He showed me on his instrument panel the indicator that showed that the cargo door was being opened again. He apologised for the error, commented how lucky it was that I saw it happen and wished me a pleasant flight, on returning to my seat he even announced to everyone that the delay was due to a passengers luggage not being loaded.
What a bloody trauma ! On arrival in Dubrovnik we disembarked onto the tarmac and I glanced up at the captain who waved and gave me a thumbs up !
I can't really add any more to that so I'll sign off now - just to say, I slept for approximately 18 hours once I was happily booked into my guesthouse here, safe in the company of my backpack !
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