The Big Guhonda

Throw together a 4-day Easter weekend, two acquaintances with a car heading from Kampala to Kigali, and two displaced Hopkins lasses with a sense of adventure, and what do you get? A road trip to Rwanda, no doubt.

After a 3:30am wake up call for a planned 4:15am departure…that, in true African fashion, morphed into an actual 5:30am departure, Janani, Sande, Kayitare and I were off. Luganda lessons (ogamba chi?), Ray Charles, The Last King of Scotland, and Sande’s rendition of “Who’s the chicken now?” served as our nine hour soundtrack. On repeat. Our passports were stamped the requisite amount of times at the Uganda and Rwanda immigration points, Ugandan shillings were traded in for Rwandan francs at the ForEx at the border (much to our exchange rate confusion, which lasted the duration of the trip), and in a bizarro world move, we switched from driving on the left side of the road to the right.

Rwanda truly is the Land of 1,000 Hills. Thriving, terraced, lusciously green hills, extending for miles in every direction – and then some. Janani and my exclamations of beauty were met by Sande and Kayitare’s exasperated explanations. “This is torture!” they reminded us, for the people working the land.

It was refreshing to see that Rwanda’s store fronts actually indicate what’s in the shop, rather than being branded roof to earth in logos and colors of cell phone companies. We were struck by the fact that Rwanda’s boda-boda (“moto”) men all wear helmets. Green ones, with a registration number. And they carry a second (green, registered) helmet that they make their passengers don and buckle before heading off. Did I mention their (green, registered) safety vests? The way they obey traffic laws? The lack of traffic jams? Their national cleaning days the last Saturday of every month, where everyone is required to stay home for the morning and tidy up their community? A stark contrast to Kampala’s (endearing) chaos.

Erica, Janani’s Hopkins comrade, hosted us graciously in Kigali. Friday afternoon Janani and I moto’ed around the city, sipped Rwandan coffee, and patronized local craft shops. A bunch of us went out for a swank dinner at Republika, where I made it a priority to sample Primus and Mutzig, Rwanda’s brews. I deem them worthy.

Saturday morning, Janani and I took a deep breath, attempted mental preparation, and went to the Kigali Memorial Centre. It was an eye opening experience, it was an educational experience, it was an emotional experience, it was an embarrassing experience; the number of foreign troops used in the evacuation of diplomats, aid workers, etc. would have been enough to stop the genocide. Kigali’s memorial is just one of I have no idea how many across the country. Every city, town or village we passed on our travels over the next few days paid homage in its own way to the 1 million innocent lives taken, to the 2/3 of the country displaced. The genocide is still a very real, very remembered, and very recent part of Rwanda’s story. April 6th marks the 14th anniversary of the start of the genocide. If you’re unclear on the Hutu and the Tutsi, if Habyarimana makes you say “Haby huh?,” there’s no time like now to take a few minutes, google it, and find out.

As much as Rwanda’s known for the genocide, it’s also known for its mountain gorillas. Saturday afternoon, Janani, David (our non-English speaking, non-French speaking, very sweet but incredibly slow driver) and I headed off to Ruhengeri, home to Parc National des Volcans and some of the world’s last remaining mountain gorillas…at which point any hopes of escaping the realities of the rainy season were dashed. It was cold, it was wet, it was relentless. Luckily, Kinigi Guest House had a fireplace, hot tea, killer mushroom sauce, and good company.

Sunday was, officially, the most untraditional Easter I’ve had in my 25 years. Replace chocolate bunnies, an egg cracking contest, and the unconditional love of family members with stinging nettles, biting ants, and six complete strangers (albeit fascinating complete strangers – a couple from Alaska living in Germany, a pilot from Malaysia living in Hong Kong, a Frenchman living in Zimbabwe, and a gay couple from LA celebrating their anniversary in the way of outdoor African adventures).

There are five habituated gorilla families in the peaks of Virunga volcanoes, and only eight people a day are allowed to see each family, making it an expensive and competitive endeavor. Everyone wants to see the Susa, a family with a whopping 35 members. Yours truly ended up tracking the Sabyinyo family…of 8 :-) There was partial redemption by the fact that the Sabyinyo family has Guhonda, the oldest (36 years) and biggest (220 kilos) silverback.

After a 20 minute drive to the base of the volcano, we traversed fields and mud and forest and mud and bamboo and mud, walking sticks in hand, until we found what we were looking for – fresh gorilla droppings. I’ve never before been so excited by poop. We ditched our backpacks and walking sticks, and began our ascent up, up and up the side of the volcano, a machete-wielding tracker hacking through uncharted territory out in front, a dense tangle of vine and fern underfoot, and a light rain and mist all around. Trackers radioed to one another to establish the whereabouts of the family, extended hands to help us up tough terrain, made low, gutttoral noises in invitation to the Sabyinyo’s, and stopped every once in awhile to switch directions and find a more navigable path.

Some shaking bush, a thwack through some vines, and there she was, less than 10 meters away, one of the adult females, sitting contentedly among the greenery, chomping away on her vegetarian breakfast. Talk about incredible. She remained entirely undisturbed by our hushed exclamations and flashless picture after flashless picture. Her baby came scampering out next, crying, until feeding commenced. Jen, Mom, and nursing baby below.

No expert on gorilla nose prints (their identifying feature) and too entranced to bother remembering names and relationships, I lost track of who was who over our hour, except, of course, for Guhonda. There’s no mistaking 220 kilos of pure silverback. Guhonda provided our biggest adrenaline rush for the day. After several minutes of taking pictures of his (silver)back, the guides had us move around front to get a better view. Apparently fed up with our touristy antics, Guhonda abandoned his feast, rose to full, intimidating height (made more intimidating by the fact that we were physically below him), glared menacingly, and produced noises much less friendly than those of our guides. This elicited no-nonsense “Sit down, sit DOWN!” warnings from our trackers. Already the victim of one primate attack, I wasn’t one to argue. After a few heart pounding moments, Guhonda returned to breakfast. Blood pressure raising, no doubt…but I must admit I was a little disappointed. Someone was knocked over by a charging gorilla the day before. I was at least hoping for a chest thump or two :-)

After the graduation ceremony (yep, I have a gorilla tracking diploma, she says with unmasked pride), Janani, David and I met back up and we headed to Gisenyi, a resort town on Lake Kivu, for an attempt at actual relaxation. Not a Jen Orkis specialty. As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, that leg of the trip was full of its own little quests, including a stroll along the beach, sun downers at the Serena and Bikini Tam Tam, a rushed walk back to the hotel with my wind up flashlight when we realized how dark it was, attempted navigation through a French menu and a candlelight dinner, and a morning walk through “town town” in search of a no longer existing coffee shop and Rwanda’s version of a boulangerie.

After a jam packed and highly memorable trip, we headed back to Kigali Monday afternoon to catch our flight back to Uganda. At which point I may or may not have paid $5 for a bag of peanut M&Ms at the duty free.

More Rwanda pics, for your viewing pleasure: http://picasaweb.google.com/jen.orkis