Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
KIGALI, NEW HISTORY AND OLD TERRORS
December 2013
T
he journey from the source of the Nile to Kigali, the capital of Rwanda, lasted more
than a week. From Gisovu Prison the hills had been tough, but we found friends in the vil-
lages along the way and, when we didn't make camp at the banks of the Nile - now more
recognisably a real river - we found places to stay with the local people. It had not always
been easy and, for the first time, Amani's presence on the journey had felt like a real boon;
it was Amani who negotiated the stables for us to sleep in on the final night before we
reached the city, while Boston lurked just out of my field of vision, muttering murderously
that the village chief was a backward, illiterate brute.
Sometimes children from the villages followed us on our walk and, though we knew
they were there, they managed to remain totally unseen, concealed in the banana fields that
often flanked the river's brown torrents. 'Muzungu!' they goaded us. It was colder than I
had anticipated, and the rain, when it came, came in wild, concentrated bursts, flurrying
down from the steep escarpments and mountainsides all around. On the fifth night it stayed
for hours and, in the darkness, Boston, Amani and I had to abandon our camp at the edge
of the river and scramble for higher ground.
On the day we arrived in Kigali we had walked more than 53km - an epic march, and
completed entirely in flip-flops; after ten days of travelling, my feet were so blistered and
swollen they no longer even fitted in my boots. The day had been spent wading through the
stagnant water of the paddy fields, an early reminder of how people across Africa depend
on the Nile for agriculture. Boston, wearied by the day - not to mention his constant bick-
ering with Amani - was arguing vehemently that we should give up and spend the night in
a village, but the thought of an actual bed in a Kigali hotel spurred me on. Finally, limping,
we left the paddy fields behind and entered the western suburb of Nzade just as darkness
was falling.
When we reached it, central Kigali was throbbing; this small, hilly city had an air of the
tropics and, in stark contrast to the rest of Rwanda, it never seemed to sleep. I had flown
