The hardest thing for me was being stared at and drawing so much attention, as a European woman traveling by herself.
eatery in the village of Ngororero
A three hour wait in the village of Ngororero remains engrained in my memory! After Paul had dropped me off at the bus station in Gitarama, half way between Lake Kivu and
Kigali, I squeezed into a minibus to Gisenye. At the busy bus station, the usual commotion started over the bike, but afterwards the focus was entirely on me. Everybody on the cramped minibus knew where I was going. The driver had instructions to look after me and eventually to drop me in the village of Ngaruroro.was buzzing through the air. I tried to look confident, aloof and to behave as if being the center of attention was my daily business. For three agonizing hours, I killed time by wandering around, shopping for bananas and eating in a family-home turned restaurant. I watched ladies taking apart recycled clothes from richer people and basically soaked up what was going on around me. The only familiar thing was the music blasting from a shop: “We are going to Ibiza…” When I needed a toilet, I was ushered to a squeaky clean squat toilet at somebody’s house. A young lady heralded my coming by screaming “Mzungo” into every hut we passed.
So relieved, I was ready to face another trip jammed into a minibus. Being squashed in between bodies, I was only able to get some glimpses of the extensive, bright green tea plantations along the way. As always, my fellow passengers went overboard to make me feel comfortable. One lady insisted of putting my backpack onto her lap, which allowed me to move my feet an inch once in a while.
In the dusty streets of Gisenye, I was handed over to a Moto driver. This 6 kilometer ride along the lake on the windy road felt like a sightseeing trip compared to what I had been through. Once I saw the big brewery, I knew I had arrived in the fishing village of Rubana and just hoped the Hotel Malahide Paradis would have a bed for me…
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