Rwanda is a really small country. In fact, most sites can been seen as a daytrip from the capital. Still, I felt bad coming all the wat to Rwanda only for a few days. I wanted to go chimp tracking but the National Parks aren’t very accomidating to individual tourists. Another attraction is Lake Kivu, the large lake forming Rwanda’s Western border with The Democratic Republic of Congo.

Grace and I decided to head West for a day before stopping at The National Museum in Butare. Only I didn’t look at the map before setting out and realized on the way that Butare is a totally different direction than Kibuye, the town we were visiting on Lake Kivu. After two and a half hours we arrived in a tiny dusty square surrounded by shuttered shops and one twin-pump gas station. The boda-boda motorcycle taxis were typically difficult and it took us fifteen minutes to agree on a price to our hotel.

The hotel was run by a church but had really cute cabins with pretty flowerbeds in front and nice landscaping. The only unfortunate thing was the location, stradling a hill jutting out into the lake. The location provided great views over the wide, still lake but meant walking up and down stairs continuously.

Immediatly Grace ran into a former travel partner from Lamu, Kenya—a very pleasant Italian named Maximo—and we all spent the rest of the afternoon exchanging travel advice. An American on a internship in Kigali whom we met on the bus came by and decided to stay so we finally got a good deal on a room by sharing it between the three of us girls. With all the distractions I didn’t get as much writing as I’d like done. The lake was nice but nothing as spectacular as Lake Bunyonyi in Southern Kenya, where I’d just spent five days.

After our second night we were determinded to be productive and get up early yesterday morning. I woke up at 7:30 and we managed to hitch a ride to town with an USAID car coming from the hotel. We had been told that buses leave toward Kigali every hour. My ambitious plan was to drive toward Kigali, get off at the fork to Butare, get another bus to Butare and see the museum before heading back to Kigali atbefore dark. It was doable.

But then we hit a roadblock. When our USAID driver let us out at the dusty square he turned around and calmly noted that we would have some trouble because there were no buses running—it was a Gacaca day. Gacaca is a community run court that was created in each town or district to handle the enormous amount of genocide cases awaiting trial. Most of the country is on track to finish with the cases by the end of this year but Kibuye was one of the hardest hit areas and still has 3,000 cases pending. In Kibuye the whole village is shut down twice a week until Gacaca finishes for the day.

We sat on some dirty steps for a few minutes feeling sorry for ourselves before another summer Aid worker showed up. She suggested we grab some breakfast and I walked uphill another kilometer with all of my baggage strapped to me. By the time I got my “omlette special” a truck full of pink-uniformed prisoners had passed wo we hurried back to town. Despite our pre-paid numbered tickets, our seats on the first bus had been given away. Grace talked her way into a seat and I waited another 45 minutes on an empty bus until we were sitting with each other’s shoulders in one another’s armpits. By then it was after noon and my masterplan was shattered. Defeated, we headed back to Kigali.

The road from Kibuye winds around the beautiful mountains that makes it so beautiful but not everyone appreciates it. Like many places in the world, locals get very car sick on winding roads and this one was no exception. Within five minutes the woman next to me was dribbling vomit into her spare clothes. I figured it was a one-time ocurance but after she persisted I found an old paper bag for her. That quickly soaked through and I wasn’t sure whatto do. She was taking of her head scarf to use as a recepticle at this point and I decided to flaunt the law and took out a plastic bag.

Plastic bags have been banned in Rwanda, which I totally support. So much garbage in third world countries is plastic bags, it just makes sense. But in this case I felt that it was warranted. Still, the woman hid the bag in her lap during polic checks and put it in her friend’s briefcase just before we arrived in Kigali.

With extra time to spare in Kigali we stopped by the fancy supermarket for cheese rolls and diet coke and took boda-bodas out to a nice place for dinner. I had a salad and chicken with onions, tomatoes and lots of seasoning cooked in tin foil. I haven’t eated anything so flavorful in a long time. We had a bit of trouble flagging down bodas for the ride home and ended up standing under a streetlight holding grocery bags and laughing at ourselves. Finally one empty boda came by and took both of us (big no-no) to the center of town where I hopped on another boda for the rest of the ride.

The streets were empty and as my motorcycle glided around the huge roundabout on top of the hill in the center of town I looked out onto the lights of the surrounding hills and thought “what a life.”

This morning we got off to a late start while Grace went to the bank to get some more money. She had left her remaining $28 US Dollars with the hotel as a deposit on her hotel bill while we were in Kibuye. Back to the bus station again and we squeezed into the last remaining seats on a minibus heading South. It was incredibly slow and we didn’t bother to get lunch, just headed straight into the museum. In fact, we didn’t see the town of Butare at all because we jumped out on the North end of town once we spotted the museum.

The displays were really well done and I enjoyed the full size replica of a traditional straw house. A staff member thought the reason I was drawing the house was because the lighting was too low for photography. So far I haven’t seen anything like this in Africa, the closest being the tiny but interesting tribal museum in Jinka, Ethiopia.

After only a little over an hour we were back in a minibus waiting for it to fill for the ride back to Kigali. This ride was enven worse because the driver stopped at every settlement of houses and for every person standing beside the road, even if they weren’t flagging us down. The two hour trip took three and a half on the way back. I managed a few cute pictures of corn vendors—my only portraits in Rwanda so far.

When the man wedged beside me bought a corn on the cobb I asked to photograph it. He shook his head and when I asked again he hid it under his legs. I had never seen this before—usually a person will say no to photos of themselves but never to corn! I was confused but he seemed to understand me and finally handed me his corn then gestured to my camera. I gave him my camera and he took a photo of me with his corn. I think he was just playing with me.

Just before dark we passed through one of the many police checkpoints onthe road and everyone fell silent. The policeman, in his black button down shirt and beret, asked for form after form and then instruted the driver through a battery of tests. He checked the windshield whipers, horn, lights, brakes and so on. Rwanda is serious about it’s road rules.

Finally I managed to see enough of Rwanda to feel like I wasn’t skipping out but there’s something missing. It’s so quiet and orderly here that it feels devoid of the spirit that overflows from other African towns. I feel like I don’t know Rwanda like I should. I’m usually left with a strong impression of some sort when visiting a country—even after only one week. But here the genocide still looms over everything and taints the spirit of this once proud kingdom.

I must admit, I find it really difficult to update from public computers. I was spoiled with my laptop and now I can’t revise my posts for days until I manage to sound funny or interesting. And now that I’ve crossed into Rwanda I have encountered the dreaded French keyboards that plagued me in Madagascar. The equally dreaded French menus aren’t so bad because I learnt most of the common words. It has been funny to see the other American I’ve been traveling with discover the frustrations of a former French-speaking colony for the first time.

To give Rwanda credit, or at least the capital Kigali, there is a lot of English spoken. It also has nicely paved roads and the boda-bodas carry an extra helmet for passengers. I even had a seatbelt in the front seat of my minibus from the border! The driver must have thought we were crazy, oohing and ahhing about pavenment during the two hour drive.

I have been traveling with another American solo traveler named Grace, whom I met in our hostel in Kampala. We more or less have the same plans in this area so it’s been easy to just tag along together. Rwanda doesn’t get nearly as many tourists as Uganda, but it is quite small, French-speaking and still invokes horrible memories of the genocide that happened here 13 years ago.

Today was overcast and we were woken by a knock at our door by the deskman. He insisted Grace had a visitor, an American. We eventually got dressed and emerged to find the Israeli guy Grace had hung around with in Kampala. I had only changed about $10 at the border so we first stopped by a bank to draw a cash advance on Grace’s ATM card. Despite what everyone says, it is possible to withdraw money with an international card in Kigali, and only for a 3% fee. I had taken enough cash out in Kenya (Kenyan Shillings converted into US Dollars) to exchange my Dollars at a Forex bureau at a slightly better rate. The Dollar is falling against most currencies every day so you never know what rates you will find.

After breakfast, where the waiter transfered a song I heard and liked to my USB flash drive, we hopped on three boda-bodas and zipped over a few hills to the genocide memorial and museum. The interior is filled with exhibits detailing to lead up to the killings, with survivor’s accounts. We had watched the film Hotel Rwanda a few days ago and I was glad to have a general idea about what happened before being hit with it all at once.

Upstairs was an exhibit featuring photos of children killed along with details like favorite food and toys. Some read like:

Name: …
Age: 9 months
Favorite food: milk and rice
Favorite toy: doll
Character: Liked to smile
Means of death: Thrown against a wall

The entire thing is amazing to me… that this happened so recently, that nothing was done to help, that the murderers now still live next to families they terrorized and that I never knew anything about it before I came to Africa. Outside were mass graves covered in cement holding more than 285,000 bodies from Kigali alone.

Walking down the street you can’t help but look at the people, guess their age and wonder what happened to them and how they survived. For a weekday the town was quiet and most people walking around seemed unusually calm and detached—Kigali is unusually subdued for an African capital.

The country is small and aside from gorilla and primate trekking and the scenery, there isn’t much of interest to tourists. I plan to head to the South of the country (a whopping two hours) to visit the national museum in Butare and then head back to Uganda. Although I would like to trek some chimpanzees in the supposedly amazing Southern national park it sounds as if I would need my own car to find them this time of year. Maybe I can see some chimps in Uganda, where everything is cheaper, in English and more accessable to individual travelers.

A lot has happened since my last post. My seven days in Nairobi were all about getting money, eating food and booking a flight home. I spent the entire time scouring websites and travel agencies to find a cheap flight home. From Africa, I was considering anything under $1,000 cheap.

Trouble is it’s high season in Africa and Europe. When I asked travel agents for a price most looked at me like I was crazy and said “you know it’s high season, right?” Many told me to check the web instead and a few suggested I not go at all. In the end I was torn between flying to London on Kenya Airways or Qater. I figured that it might be worth paying an extra $100 to stop in Qatar for a day or two. But, on the last day, when I was making my final decision the Qatar agent told me I’d have to arrange a hotel through them. I walked out.

I paid, in cash, for my $500-ish one-way flight from Nairobi to London on Kenya Aiways on Monday afternoon. That’s a student fare, folks. I was quoted the fare at $490 but when paying in shillings she figured the price at $1 to 69 shillings when the banks are all charging 66 shillings. That adds up. I’ll stay in London for a few days (I haven’t been back in about seven years) and then fly on American direct to Chicago. My flight lands around 3pm which should land me back home before rush hour on the I90 is in full swing.

My transit visa was ending so on Tuesday I took a direct bus from Nairobi to Kampala, Uganda. I paid extra for the luxory bus with wide seats because many people told me the regular bus often breaks down and takes 20 hours. This bus had three less seats than the seating chart listed which meant I had no seat. I made a fuss and they finally gave me a single seat, which is what I had booked. We were even served breakfast—two pieces of fried bread, a small sausage and passion fruit juice.

The ride was completely uneventful and I surprised myslef by not reading my novel or listening to my novel for the entire 15 hours. I have become a master at passing time. The nun sitting across from me was overly concerned about where I was going and when we got off the bus at 10pm she took me aside to arrange a taxi. I just stood back and let things happen and in the end a Korean missionary from my bus took pity on me and gave me a ride with his Kenyan missionary friend. It took us an hour to find the place and I felt bad for inconviencing them.

My first full day in Uganda I rode a boda-boda (motorcycle taxi) into town with another American girl who’s traveling alone. We were both hunting for spare gorilla permits but didn’t come up with anything. At the moment permits for Uganda are $375, ut they raise to $500 July 1st. Rwanda has already raised it’s fees to $500.

We had a nice lunch at a Western mall and then saw Oceans 13, which just came out here this week. We walked around lookgin for internet and shopping a bit before landing at an Irish pub for the night. She had met a drummer a few nights before and we sat and listened to a Uganda band play mostly American music in an Irish pub. It was probably the least “Ugandan” day I could possibly have.

There are a lot of activitie here including white water rafting on the Nile, gorilla and chimptracking and a few chill-out lakeside spots. I have some plans in the works and will let you all in on what’s going on as soon as I’m back in internet range.

One of the more significant things that has happened to me recently is my iBook screen dying. It’s been a slow death but the Apple dealer in Nairobi proclaimed it “too expensive to fix.” I left it in a locker in Nairoi. What that means for you is that there will be no map, budget, sketchbook, souvenir or gallery updates until I get home in August. I’m as sad about it as you, believe me. My iBook has been my best friend on this trip and I already miss it.

We’re just hearing that there was a suicide bomb at The Hilton downtown in Nairobi. It was at 8am and you know I was sitting here, 3 kilometers away, eating a mango pancake. No worries. I’m heading out to talk to an Apple repairman on the ther side of the city. By taxi. Please don’t worry.

Since I’ve returned back from Madagascar last Wednesday I’ve had a lot going on. Although I haven’t been out on safari or sightseeing at all I’ve been really preoccupied. First of all, the customs officer at the airport gave me only two days on my transit visa. I’ve been buying seven day transit visas in Kenya because I’ve only been in the country for a short time both times. It was impossible for me to get money, settle in and buy a bus ticket in that amount of time so I spent a little while in the immigrations building downtown pleading for an extention. Like usual, the officer told me “we aren’t supposed to do this” but gave me the full seven days I had paid for.

I managed to take out a good chunk of cash (but not as much as I need) from an ATM here and convert it to US Dollars. I’ll need a lot of dollars to pay for a trip to the gorillas (if I can get a spot) and all of the visas I’ll need. Once again I’m getting fraud notices from my bank. I’m still steaming from the unwarned cancelation of my card in Ethiopia. After that I set about town to find a good deal on a flight back home. I’ve discovered that there really aren’t many good deals to be had. It’s peak season and even on the internet, even with student fares, I’m going to pay a minimum of $1200 for a one-way flight to Chicago (probably through London). To add insult to injury there was a sign exclaiming “Nairobi - Chicago: $790″ in one of the offices. Of course, those fares are long sold out, even two months in advance.

To get the cheapest fare available now I’ll have to fly Kenya Airways to London and then Virgin or American on to Chicago. I would prefer not to fly Kenya, not because they just crashed in Cameroon, but because my mom knows they just crashed in Cameroon and will worry more than she should. I’m really more concerned if they have personal screens for the in-flight entertainment.

Even to do that I will have to buy the first leg here in Kenya at the STA representative and then buy the second leg through the UK STA rep over the phone. I could buy a flight through London all the way on British Airways for $1318, but once I add 5% to use a credit card and $30 to stopover the price is right up there with most Airlines. If so, then why not fly Qatar Aiways and take a one day stopover in Doha?

If I wasn’t getting so much pressure from home to return I would just wait until September and continue South to fly out of South Africa. But with each email my mom asks more directly when I’m coming home. Somehow a graduation party for my brother has become a sticking point and everyone’s waiting for me to buy a ticket so the party can be planned and my sister can fly home from Colorado, where she lives.

To make all of this more complicated my iBook just died. If you remember, it’s been having a hard time since Ethiopia and the screen finally went completely black two days ago. I’ve gone as far as to buy the tools to open the bottom case and attempt the suggested fix myself but it didn’t work. The Kenyan hardware stores I visited were well stocked but they still didn’t have a spludger. I think either the logic board connection is totally severed or one of the cables connecting the screen got pinched. The nice people over on the Mac support forums can’t agree on that.

The idea of not having my computer is scary. I’ll have to find more books and other forms of entertainment. I won’t be able to sort my photos or update any of my site besides quick posts like this one. It kills me because I can hear it working and know the drive is still operating, it’s only the screen that’s a problem. Mac has special cables to connect to external monitors so without finding an Apple dealer my computer is unaccessable. I’ve found a “Macintosh Users Group in Nairobi” online and one of the members emailed me back today, saying he forwarded my email to an Apple dealer in Nairobi. I would love to just know where you can buy Apple products here. It probably won’t happen though because not only do I have a bus ticket to Uganda on Tuesday, my new extended visa expires on Tuesday so I have to move on.

After waking up at 3:30 this morning to make my flight from Tana I’ve arrived in Nairobi. Unfortunately, the visa I was given is only for two days. I asked for a 7-day transit visa so this may be some sort of ploy to get more money. Tomorrow I’ll have to go down to the immigration office and sort it out because I can’t get out of the country by tomorrow.

I’m slowly updating things but the connection is quite slow and there’s about five other travelers with laptops here so I am only getting enough of the connection to upload late at night.

I’ve arrived back in Tana and am feeling pretty good to be leaving. I liked Madagascar enough, it is very beautiful but not quite as “exotic” as I thought it would be. I’d be lying if I said all the French (language and tourists) didn’t sour my experience a bit. I do realize it’s totally hypocritical to look down on people speaking only French when I demand that people speak English. Locals are shocked when I use my limited Malagasy vocabulary (about 6 words) with them because the older French tourists don’t bother even learning “salaama,” which means “hello.”

Today I’m shopping for souvenirs and relaxing before my early flight tomorrow. I have to leave my hotel at 4am. I’ve been trying to upload photos here since last night but it’s not working so you’ll have to wait for the twenty or so new galleries until I get settled in Nairobi again.