Pioneering and issues with hills

Last week I was a pioneer! Myself and another volunteer went well and truly off the beaten track, in fact sometimes we were off the track entirely! Despite my complaints about endless rain and the isolation, something I’ve never lost track of is the beauty of the area I live in. Who could fail to appreciate two island dotted lakes, a back drop of four volcanoes, deep fertile valleys and layers of multi-hued hills? The only problem for me has been getting out into it. Burera district may be stunning but getting round it is hard when public transport amounts to two matatu a day and not much else. This area is totally undeveloped, no tourist infrastructure exists and there is very little information to be found on the area surrounding the lakes on the internet or in the Bradt guide. This was unchartered territory that we were entering. We didn’t know the names of villages, where we might find water or food, what type of paths we would find, what kind of distances we might cover or even where we stay for the night. For me, this just added to the adventure but did make for quite heavy back packs!

 

So on Friday morning, armed with blind optimism, 6 litres of water, a tent, samosas, bread, beans, tea bags (but no cups!) a packet of biscuits and a completely useless map we set off, clean, full of energy and intrepid!

We took motos to the point where the road divided and immediately chose to leave the easy option of the red dirt road that would skirt around the top of the lake, and instead descended into the valley below. We soon picked up some boys who leapt down the dusty tracks through plots of carefully farmed land with an impressive light footedness that completely alluded myself and Abigail with our cumbersome packs and less than nimble progress.

They lead us to the shores of the lake and then cleverly left us when the path disappeared and only a steep scramble up loose scree and through eucalyptus woods would take us to the road again!



 

We must have climbed for about an hour with no top in sight and the road that we could see across the valley remained illusive despite the fact that we could plainly here the rumbles of trucks as they went by. However, the higher we climbed the more impressive the views of the lake became. Fingers of land reached out into the water like the spine of some prehistoric watery creature.We could see an inviting grassy inlet where children were swimming and playing and dreamt on the idea of finding a camping spot as perfect as that.

 

The road suddenly appeared to us and the elation was tangible. There were high fives and grins and after numerous greetings and 'where are you going's from inquisitive locals we set off determined not to leave the road for one second! We were kept company by a man with a bicycle who chatted in English and kindly offered to strap one of the packs to bike. After about 45 minutes we entered a small village, Gahinga we are told, and we decide it's time for a fanta stop. Apparently we can get a pirogue from here for a few hundred francs but we are reluctant to do any descending after the previous energy sapping climb earlier, so we decide to keep walking with the intention of reaching a town called Umugu. We ask various people how long it will take us to get there and we get a range of answers from 30 minutes to three hours. We both observe how strange it is that you can tell someone that they have a 5 minute break and they take half an hour, but a walk that takes 3 hours, they judge to take 30! Time, it seems, is a personal matter, and peoples' perspective on it differs hugely. I guess when you get up when it's light, and go to bed when it's dark, time, time keeping, and time tables suddenly seem quite a Westernised concept. Not wanting to risk walking three more hours we decide that should any viable transport come our way we will take it. Needless to say, nothing but an overloaded matatu passes us and a new plan must be made. The road has been gradually descending again, and as I look down to the shoreline I see a perfect sight - the camping spot we'd fantasized about but didn't think could exist, and not too much of a scramble down at this distance. Road weary, and logistical we realise that we'd be better to stop there for the day, and not even consider tackling the ascent back up to the road in the morning, but getting ourselve a pirogue across the inlet to the next spit of land. Of course, we are wishfully thinking again, but it seems karma is on our side for that evening we meet Osee, the Protector of the Island (what a title!) who just happens to own a pirogue and who will help us out in the morning.

We put up our tent just behind the women washing clothes
 



Murabora volcano creates the perfect backdrop to our idyllic camping spot. We swam off the reed-free beach just behind the fishing boats



Of course we did get ourselves an audience for the first couple of hours and there was some discussion as to where the muzungus would sleep and concern over apparent wild dogs. We sent their minds to rest by putting up our tent in full view of about fifteen impressed and awestruck children. We even got a round of applause when we opened the zip to show them our portable house! We decided that we'd already made so much of a scene that stripping off down to bikini bottoms and t-shirts and jumping into the water couldn't possibley create more of a stir than we already had, so we ducked into our tents for a quick change, emerging to a sea of inquiring faces and an imaginary fanfare. As we plunged into the water, we were followed by at least ten of the children. The peace was shattered by the shrill shouts of excitements as Abigail and I shared e'those' moments; the ones that can happen nowhere else but in that exact place at that exact time, in that exact way, that can never be recreated or repeated and that stay indelibly marked in ones minds as a pretty magical moment.

 

After drying off, I found few moment alone to take in the peace, the view, the incredible moment.

A couple of kids found my spot but only wanted to dig for worms that they tied to home made fishing rods. It was nice not to be watched but to watch instead; to see the concentration on the childrens' faces and the pride when they pulled small sambaza fish from the shallows of the lake. Later that night, after a group effort to find wood (it only took us picking up one of two sticks before we had 15 children running round gathering fire wood for us!) and some silly songs with a hardcore group who refused to go home, Abigail and I lit a fire and heated our beans and hardboiled egges, eating them with teaspoons, and enjoyed the peace around us.

The next morning, having slept very little due to the hard ground, we rose to see mists rising from the lake and the women slowly coming down to the shores to wash clothes. Fondly, we waved goodbye to the children and set off in our pirogue with Osee.

Crossing from our camping spot near Gahinga to Musangabo

We had intended on heading to the finger of land that the map said was the location of a fishing village called Musangabo. Although there was no village to speak of, with a short sharp climb we were back on the main road. Osee accompanied us to make sure we safely found our way. Many times throughout our three day adventure we seemed to be meeting with all the right people at all the right times. We repeatedly experienced countless displays of warmth and welcome and always at the exact point that we needed it. Osee told us that we would reach Gitare town shortly where we could stock up, he also mentioned a hotel on the shores of the lake. Abigail began to suggest that we might shortly be sitting sipping tea lakeside, I reminded her that this was Rwanda and to perhaps expect the term 'hotel' to be a little loose! But, through a strip of eucalyptus trees and across a shallow cover where children were swimming and women were clothes washing I spied quite a fantatic sight! White plastic chairs and tables no less! On a flat grassy bank right ont he shores of the lake! Well, where there are chairs and table there is food, and where there is food we are happy! We stumbled slightly deliriously through humps of newly cultivated earth interspersed with piles of black volcanic rock right to the very doors of the 'hotel'. A big Primus sign welcomed us, and when we discovered that they did indeed have food, we thought we'd died and gone to heaven! We're not entirely sure what we ordered, but with mention of eggs and potatoes and chips we thought we couldnt go wrong, and sure enough, an hour later we were dining on the freshest tilapia fish pulled straight from the lake that very morning, and a thick chip omletee with copious cups of tea.

 

 

 We decide to explore the area and spend the night if the people at the restaurant are ok with it. Once again, luck is on our side.They are happy to keep our bags locked somewhere safe, we can go off for a walk without the weight of the packs, it's 5000rwf (£5) to put up the tent and they even have two mattresses!  We practically hug the girl, Tenthia, when she says yes to our pitiful question! During our wanders inland to Gitare centre we get invited to someones home. The front room is decorated with cut out christmas snowflakes made from the pages of an exercise book. Smiling faces pop out from everywhere, the sun is shining, there are no hills to be climbed and we know when we get back to the restaurant there will be a bilhaerzia free, hippo free swim.

We swim, watch the children skipping stones, take photos of a kite having a quick wash, read, and start negotiating the last leg of our journey. We meet a man who is building a discrete hotel just set back from the a lake. He tells us he will focus on low price, good quality service and will provide camping space and tents. It's exciting to think that this beautiful part of Rwanda might actual get a bit of attention in the future. It's quite sad to think that because there is no infrastructure (guest houses, public transport) few people will actually venture out and find this stunning part of the country.

Burera Beach near Gitare

That night we play cards snug in our tent as a storm brews and the sweet african tea goes to our head. Thunder keeps me awake most of the night, but we are warm and safe inside our tent and keep our fingers crossed that the rain will have cleared by the morning in time for our last wish to come true - a pirogue across the lake back to a spit of land that I once walked to many months ago and is a pleasant two and half hour walk from my village. Sure enough, our fairy godmother is looking over us, and despite waking up to heavy grey skies, thick milky mist and more rain, the clouds suddenly part, the sun comes out, our boat arrives and we are able to set off into the swirls of mist that make the horizon appear half erased, like a pencil drawing that someone doesn't know how to complete it.



We are lucky to negotiate a pirogue with a motor and even life jackets! We barter the price down from 25 000rwf to 15 000rwf. Given that the motos back to the village alone would have cost about 7000rwf each we felt we'd got ourselves a good deal!

Ndago

 Within half an hour we have crossed the milky white expanse and arrive at the tip of Ndago sector. We are on the homeward stretch. The landscape changes again and now we are surrounded by vivid green banana trees and bundles of mud brick houses. That's something that fascinates me about this small country, the ever changing countryside, from deep fertile valleys to steep cultivated terraces, from vast expanses of glassy lake to the dark silhouettes of the volcanoes and from the silvery green and fragrant eucalyptus forests to the flat farmed plots strewn with piles of black volcanic rock at the foothills of the Virungas. The landscape is anything but forgettable and as we turn our backs to the lake for one last time we both quietly revisit all that we have seen and experienced along our random meandering path. From no plan came a pretty magical adventure. Aching feet were matched by aching cheek muscles from all the smiling. We reached my home with a true sense of satisfaction and a lovely warm feeling of having done something special. Three days, two sleepless nights, two pirogues, one moto, one killer hill, some tent-related hysteria, a night of thunder and lightening, three lake swims, one home invitation, copious cups of african tea, 6 litres of water and one crumpled useless map and we can safely say that we know a lot more about Lake Burera and the surrounding areas than the Bradt Guide! To make an adventure all it takes are some spur of the moment decisions, a few random acts of kindness, some surreal experiences, general good karma and an open mind and the road and all the people on it seem to welcome you with open arms.

Soapy hot water and a box of guylian chocolate shells end the journey perfectly!