Transportation Rwandan Style

Shuttle bus from Kigali to Kibungo

There are many modes of transportation available in the little town where I live in the southeast corner of Rwanda.  For long distance travel – for example the 100 km to the capital city of Kigali – there are several companies that operate a mini-school-bus-sized shuttle that travel this –  and various other short routes – for an affordable Rwandan equivalent of about  $2. They run on a very loose schedule departing from the center of town about every half an hour.  However, if the bus is full, it’s likely to leave ahead of schedule, or vice versa if there are open seats, the driver is known to hang out a bit.

When the bus pulls into a bona fide bus station, people selling everything from fruit or soft drinks to newspapers or loaves of bread quickly approach the vehicle.

Sellers at the Rwamagana bus station. 

It’s not clear where the stops are, but if you’re on the bus and you want to get off, you just bang on the window and hope the driver can hear you through the loud music that’s playing on the badly tuned radio station.  It takes about three hours to travel the 97 km to the capital and requires a willingness to pile in with the locals who – during all of the three rides I’ve done so far – have been very nice and accepting of the “muzungo” riding among them.

Taxi-Motos sitting on the edge of town waiting for a fare

The next step down in price and comfort is the motorcycle taxis, or – as they are known here – the  “taxi motos.” These drivers are all unionized, wear color-coded vests according to their company, have I.D. numbers, and carry an extra helmet for their customers. They tend to hang out near bus stations or popular restaurants waiting for a fare. Peace Corp strictly forbids riding on them because of their perilous potential.

The mode of transportation that intrigues me the most –and is considered by many to be the most dangerous of them all – is the bicycle taxi, or “bodas-bodas.”

Having been a cyclist for most of my adult life, I am rather partial to the eco-friendly mode of

transportation. Along with recreational cycling, I subscribed to the bike share program in Paris the year of its inception and use it almost daily when I’m there.  Many large cities in "first-world" nations host a bike share program that has helped alleviate traffic congestion by a significant degree. (In addition to the recreational cycling Charlie and I have done, we both subscribed to the bike share program in Paris the year of its inception, and use it regularly whenever we are in Paris.)

Boda-boda or bicycle taxi

In March 2008, Rwandan police banned all bicycle taxis from roads across the country – a decision they said would reduce bike-related accidents.[1] However, Rwandan President Kagame had a different view, and in a public address in 2014, he challenged the police by saying banning bicycles from roads was not the solution to ending traffic accidents. [2]

While the ban remains in effect in Kigali, bicycle taxis are a thriving business outside of the capital. It keeps young men employed – I have yet to see a female bicycle taxi operator – and out of trouble, and all the while earning a wage.

It’s been hard for me to get a clear photo image of the bicycle-taxi with a customer in tow and I now wonder if that might be because of their precarious position in the Rwandan transportation system.

For those of us volunteers in the more rural locations, (like me) the Peace Corps provides a very nice mountain bike as an added mode of transportation. Of course, they didn't need to ask me twice, and consequently, I have a vehicle for exercise, as well as the means for a quick trip to the market, should I so desire. 

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[1] The New Times http://www.newtimes.co.rw/section/read/3057/

[2] KT Press, http://ktpress.rw/2016/08/after-kagame-intervention-bicycle-taxis-generate-rwf3-6billion/

Adjusting... little by little

My front gate

Slowly but surely I’m getting adjusted to the rhythm of Rwandan life here in Kibungo. The call to prayer comes every morning, usually a few minutes before 5 am. I’m often up reading at that hour so it’s easy to mark the time. The sound of the call is haunting and melodic with certain syllables drawn out in soulful supplication. It really is quite beautiful and I now find myself anticipating its arrival each morning.

Just inside the front gate, my house (not seen) located at the back

The calls to prayer – of which there are five throughout the day – are based on light, and, in ancient times, the first call came as soon as the muezzin could differentiate a white thread from a black one in the ambient light (i.e. just before dawn, as one is meant to say their first prayer before the sun comes up).  In fact, Islamic prayer times were originally not based on a clock, but rather on the movement of the sun. *  Since Rwanda is pretty close to the equator, the daylight times are fairly constant throughout the year…. but enough about that.

The house the University has provided me is humble by American standards but certainly adequate for most Rwandans. My house is situated at the back of a gated compound with its own version of a white picket fence – in this case a stone wall with an orange rod-iron gate – directly in front of my little place. In the center of the compound is “the faucet.”

The faucet

My life has come to revolve around this faucet. Don’t let its simplicity fool you. It is the giver of life and without it, my immediate neighbors and I would be schlepping down the road about a half a kilometer to the communal well.

The water comes to our faucet about every three days. When the water is flowing, everyone gathers around the faucet to fill his or her various receptacles for saving this precious commodity.  
I personally have five Gerry cans that are quite heavy when full, and a large plastic storage container in the bathroom.

My house and its proximity to "the faucet"

My life here has been challenging to say the least, with obstacles ranging from no running water at the house to the unpredictable Internet access and overall low bandwidth both at school and at home. The one challenge I had not anticipated is that I seem to be the only white person in this town of some 40,000 people.  Consequently, my comings-and-goings draw attention from all my neighbors as well as the surrounding community.  It’s impossible to walk around and blend in. Everywhere I go, I’m noticed. Some of the children are not afraid to rush over to say hello or exclaim in elation “Mzungo, mzungo!” the Kinyarwandan word for a person with white skin, but most people just watch cautiously as I go by.  This can complicate even the simplest of things such as  going to the market, where I become a spectacle who attracts a crowd with everyone wondering what the mzungo is going to buy and how much will she end up paying. I can now see how the life of a celebrity could be a bit stifling.

However, underlying all the challenges – and there are many – is my complete and total sense of loss without Charlie here sharing all these experiences. Even though we speak every day on Skype, his absence is felt in everything I do here.

* Information regarding the Islamic call to prayer came from bluemosque.com

For those of you interested, here's the Link to the school where I'll be teaching