Getting around - revised version

Composed late on Tues 5 October, posted Weds 6th, revised Friday 8th

Today has been quite a day. I've had six bus rides, two moto rides and two longish walks.

Planning the Twa workshops, it soon became apparent that we should go up to the villages, so the sack gardens would be in the right place. I knew the Batwa live separately from others, at a distance from amenities. I also knew it had taken them two hours to arrive at the workshop in a church in town. I don't much like bumpy moto rides but apart from setting off at 6am there is no alternative.

We set off at 8 this morning on the first, uneventful bus ride into the centre of Ruhengeri (now more properly called Musanze). The second bus, after filling up with fuel, took us from there to Kinigi, the nearest village to the Gorilla Centre in the Volcanoes National Park. Our fellow passengers had already been to market and were heavily laden, making the frequent changes of seat to allow people on and off quite complicated. (The mini-buses have seats for 15 plus the driver, but carry an extra person per row, not counting babies, bundles etc.) From Kinigi we were expecting a third bus ride but the wait would be two hours, which we couldn't afford. So we took motos for further than expected, once pinkish fuel had been poured out of 500 ml water bottles into the bike tanks. However, most of the ride was on a tarmacked road, courtesy of gorilla tourism. The final ten minutes was seriously uncomfortable, probably more so for me because I tense against the bumps, hanging on grimly to the passenger grip at the back of the seat and finding my knees clamped to the driver's haunches from time to time. I'd be happier putting my hands on his waist but that isn't done.

The scenery is as fascinating as the first time I saw it, three years ago - rich black soil heaped into ridges for potatoes or beans or maize; an occasional eucalyptus copse with a conical earth-covered charcoal stack (Is there a technical name?); drifts of white pyrethrum (to be sent to Kenya for processing into insecticide); simple houses with split eucalyptus wattle filled with mud and/or leaves. I was sorry not to be able to use my camera, but the only movements I could manage were to get my hankie out of my trouser pocket without dislodging the hotel room key or to hitch the rucksack straps on my shoulders after they's slid down my waterproof.

We arrived at a small village with good new primary and secondary schools, built to UNESCO standard with glazed windows, a pitched roof and gutters draining into an enclosed water tank. Solange paid the moto drivers and the usual 5 minutes was spent writing out the usual 3 pre-stamped receipts. Two class members met us, to lead us on foot to their village. 'How long will we be walking?' I asked. '15 minutes.' Not bad for the children to get to school, I thought. I found the walk a pleasant relief after the bike. It was sometimes rocky, sometimes grassy, never steep. It took at least 40 minutes.

There was time for some chat on the way. First our guides pointed to the forest, off to our right. 'We go there to collect water,' they said, 'And this morning we saw some gorillas.' They smile. As a white person who has done the gorilla trek I feel embarrassed that the gorillas are so well looked after and not the other previous forest inhabitants. But I can't put it in those terms. The conversation moves on. 'Our grandfathers were given land here but they sold it', they say. 'Now we have none.' That's a layer of complexity I hadn't seen before. 'Our people didn't use money. We exchanged things like meat.' 'Did your grandfathers get money for the land they gave up?' 'No. They got sheep.' The old, sad tale, then.

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Three hours later, day's work done, we were led down a different path to the highest point the bikes could reach. We bumped and skidded for ever, it seemed. I imagined white water rafting, which I've never done. Eventually we emerged as few yards from Kinigi again. I asked why we'd come by a different route: because it was less of a walk.

Two buses back to our Karisimbi Lodging, and just time for Rachel to pick up her luggage and turn round to catch the 3pm bus to Kigali. An hour's rest and I set off again into town to do email and blog. There was room for me on the third bus that passed, after I'd declined the offer of a bicycle taxi. Again it refuelled en route. I wonder whether it's a regular pattern of small toppings up - using the cash collected at the end of the previous ride and a few before.

Internet hour spent, I crossed the road to find tbe bus back. It was nearly full so shouldn't be long setting off. Oops! Just change the battery, displacing two passengers but not letting others off, lest they desert this bus and take an earlier, fitter one. It seems that filling that last place, for an extra 20p, makes a real difference.

Rachel says that getting the network of these taxi-buses into all parts of the country to link with larger 'express' buses is one of President Kagame's successes, together with making passports easily available so Rwandans can visit neighbouring countries and get new ideas. Sometimes I imagine how full the roads would be if each passenger had their own car. Surely no country would want to let that happen?