Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
the same, and we are all Rwandans. It includes Kazungu and his village here. That is why
they came out of the forest.'
'So they were forced out?'
Boston felt it was time to interject. 'In Rwanda, you cannot even
remember
. You cannot
say my father came from here, or my grandfather came from here. Talking about those
kind of things - it is not allowed.'
It sounded draconian to me, but when I asked Kazungu - through Amani - if he and his
people missed the forest, he just shrugged. 'In the village,' he said, 'we can grow bana-
nas, eat potatoes, eat beans. We can even own a cow, or a mobile phone - if we are rich
enough.'
'There are Batwa in Uganda also,' said Boston. 'They lived in the Bwindi Impenetrable
Forest. But the government forced them to leave. Do you know why?'
'Why?'
'Because the forest was needed for gorillas. Can you believe?'
'It makes all Rwandans feel like Rwandans,' said Amani. We had reached the middle of
the village, and one of Kazungu's headmen was approaching with a plastic bucket. When
he set it down, I saw that it was filled with honey and pieces of comb.
Kazungu said something to Amani. 'It is for us,' he began, 'to give us strength for our
walk. It is wild honey. They sell it on the roadside for fifteen dollars a kilogram.'
Reaching into the bucket, I took a spoonful of the hard yellow substance. No sooner was
it in my lips than I regretted it.
Picking bits from my teeth, I looked round to find Kazungu's face open with laughter.
'Lev,' began Amani, not unkindly. 'You have to get rid of the wax first . . .'
The stream grew wider as, renewed by our taste of wild honey, we walked into the after-
noon. Downstream, the valley broadened and the perfectly clear water ran between mani-
cured fields of sweet potato and maize, small tea plantations and - higher up - pine forests
that disappeared into high cloud. Amani was keen to point out how almost all of Rwanda's
land was put to use to feed its people. Agriculture was one of the ways society held itself
together since the dark days of the genocide. 'Rwanda,' he kept saying, much to Boston's
chagrin, 'is about co-operation and setting differences aside. This above all else.'
The constant reminders of how the disparate peoples of Rwanda were compelled to
unite were beginning to grate. Boston's silence was telling. Yet, as evening approached
and thoughts turned to making the expedition's very first camp, another stark reminder of
the past was about to appear.
We had come fifteen kilometres out of the forest and, by the time dusk drew near, we'd
reached the plantations outside the village of Gisovu. On the hillside above, overlook-
ing the vibrant greens of the riverside, stood a high-walled compound, with crumbling
