19th and 20th of February, 2018.
Hitchhiking in Rwanda: Kigali
Of course I get lost. I still have no idea how, but I walk a lot more than I suppose to. At least I find the Conventional Centre and the hotel which follow it, both a “mark” of the city development.
When I finally get to the place I am looking for, Imena Arts Centre, I am totally surprised. Outside there are some lovely art made out of recycle materials, which made me wonder how some people can make miracle with garbage! But then once inside, I just could think about all those famous paintings I saw in Prado Museum or Reina Sofia Museum, back in Madrid, Spain. I understand the historical meaning… No, I am lying, I actually do not understand why those few guys, became so famous in the whole world, with paintings that, in my humble opinion, are not that beautiful. Hey! But I already told you about that, right? So OK, what I can say now is: the paintings I saw in Imena Centre are so amazingly beautiful, that I would rather have them in my house then those famous ones. They were really fabulous and I just started to imagine putting them in a house. And I do not even need to talk about the prices, right? A bargain compared to the others.
Imena Arts Centre is more than just a gallery. They have some projects which help the community to become better. They give painting courses to the people and motivate them to be creative, so in the future when the people start painting for themselves, the centre buy some of their works to help them to start; they have big dance projects with the youths; and of course they help also in the education, in some how that now I cannot remember. It is a really nice place, with all local people working there. If you are planning to visit Kigali, do not miss the opportunity to go over there and, like me, be delighted with their talent and commitment with the community. Make a small research before and you might get lucky (in the opposite of me) to be able to see some dance performance or something else.
After there, the Library. It is a new building, all fancy, but with a lot of empty book shelves. I stay around for over one hour, just checking the collection and then taking a look in a National Geographic book, only with winner pictures ,all about countryside houses. My lunch it is four biscuits.
I find the Genocide Memorial with some help. It is kind of far from the centre. Now I will describe to you what I saw while, of course, my opinion about the display is also made.
It starts with a video, which for me would be enough to tell the whole story. That is it. But then the suffering starts. They keep repeating, over and over, the same tragic facts and most of them are not something relevant, something that you need to know to understand what happened. Then they put horrible pictures of it. They have a whole section about what a genocide means, and talk about Hitler and Stalin for example. What? Yeah. There is even a section for the kids who were killed in the genocide, with shocking photos all over and info about it. Outside, they have some open graves and the names of those who were killed. How can you honor all those hundred of thousands, if not millions of people, who were killed putting just a few names in the wall? How can we possible know about everyone who were killed? And finally, how all that painful and sad exhibition will help us to understand or, I do not know, become someone better? It is too much pain and sadness to bring anything good. I left the place devastated. I could not even finish. And I will never get why the project it is like that. I totally understand how horrible the genocide of 1994 (which we know it is just a number, because the actual killings started long before that) it was for Rwanda. It teared the whole country apart. There are barely words to be truth to the horror. But I knew that already before getting to the memorial. I knew from my little research because once you get to the topic, it gets very clear the scale of the disaster. But when you are walking over the memorial, is like you are experiencing the whole nightmare. Who would like to revive something like that? It is too tragic to be turned into something good. There are limits, at least it should be, to make people understand what happened in the past. You can make people understand and care without traumatize them.
Later on I get some more insights from a friend about the subject. This person tells me that is about a brain wash (which I had thought about it once in the memorial because it is exactly how I felt in there) to make people get those facts and those pseudo numbers so deep inside their minds that they will never questioned or go looking for other source of information. Why is that? My friend made some research and read about what could have been two genocides: the Tutsi one, yes, but also the Hutu one. There are a few people who get the numbers of the population before and after the genocide and they totally do not check. Unfortunately, (and of course) all those who talk and research about, ended up in jail if they are locals or expelled of the country if they are tourists. I conclude that does not matter where, when or how, every time that something really bad evolving the government and politicians happen, it will always be a lot of lies and a lot of money.
After the Museum, I decide to buy some fruits what should be my lunch. I get help to find the market but once in there I get completely lost, all because I have my problem in making decisions. In the end, I have some vegetables, fruits, oat flakes, salt and pepper and even another gas. But it takes me more than two hours to finish everything. It is a stupid mistake because when I am on my way back, it starts to rain. It would be enough problem getting wet, but I was even accepting that in a good way when I remembered that I left my towel, socks and panties outside of the tent to get dry. With the strong sun all day, they would be probably dry by now.
In my first night at the hostel, I met one of the guys who worked there and he was really nice. It was him who introduced me to Divine, this beautiful and charming woman who also work over there. She knows a lady in Muhanga, called Arlene, who might need someone to help as a volunteer. At that same night, I talked with Divine and she decided to call her friend in the next morning. So now when I come back to the hostel in my second night, I meet Serj, this other really nice and special guy who work in there. I am eating a mango and a orange when he brings me a whole mug of coffee for free. I already had finish everything I had to do online and I even charged my camera! I order a vegetable pasta and it comes with a lot of cheese. Wonderful! I prepare a spinach salad , so at the end it is a perfect night meal.
Serj illuminates me about where to start my adventure. He tells me about this museum in Nyansa, called The King’s Palace Museum, and I decided to check it out. He also mention this city, Kibuye, so then I could trace my whole trip around the west. The plan is to come back to Muhanga, just near Kigali, after a week and then stay in the project of Divine’s friend for three weeks. The place it was founded by Arlene Brown, an American old lady from Pennsylvania, now in her eighty’s, after the genocide, to help some orphans.
In the morning, I should call Arlene from the hostel, but Divine forgot to leave me the number. I wait for her as much as I could, but near to one o’clock I have to leave otherwise the chances of getting to Nyansa at night would be too high. I suppose to take two buses to reach a good place to hitchhiking. But because I do not have a card (that is a crazy thing about Kigali: you can just take a public bus with your card, you cannot pay with cash, so basically they make all the tourists take a taxi) I could not. Luckily, the people from the bus stop are helpful and stop a taxi for me. I am charged fifty Xelins more than the bus, to get to the first stop. From there, some lovely man, understanding my problem, walks with me to the place where the buses stay and talk with the driver. I am told I need to pay an extra ticket for my backpack. I refuse! I say I am 3 times heavier than my backpack so at maximum, I will pay one third of a ticket for it. After some interference of the nice gentleman accompanying me, the driver accepts.
10 Years Around the World 