Burundi: Fear of the Unknown

The sad reality about the world is that much of it is not really safe to travel. Choose your poison, civil unrest, wars, repressive governments, etc. any of these can make it so that a trip through a country can be unwise, if not downright unsafe.A good example would be Burundi. Burundi has had a troubled history since Independence from Belgium in the early sixties. Most recently, the country is coming off a 15 year civil war with ethnic violence claiming more than 200,000 lives, and displacing hundreds of thousands of more. While peace accords have recently been signed, and many refugees have returned, the country still faces many challenges. Burundi is one of the ten poorest countries in the world, it has the lowest per capita GDP of any nation in the world, and Although elections were held recently, political violence is still a problem and the main rebel group has not completely disarmed.

Burundi's Flag

As it (selfishly) concerns our travel plans however, Burundi is notable only as the place you have to go through to get from Kigoma to Kigali (our next destination). Look it up on a map. Straight shot from Kigoma to Bujumbura, overnight in Bujumbura, then a straight shot to Kigali the next morning. We just weren't sure if it was safe, and it was difficult to get reliable information about the current security situation in Burundi. We had met a couple in Tanzania who lived in Bujumbura, who said it wasn't that bad, and all the African people we talked to (hotel managers, the first mate on the Liemba, representative at the Burundian consulate, etc.) all insisted that Bujumbura was totally safe now. On the other hand the US State Department and Canadian Department of Foreign Affairs travel advisories were pretty dire, as were any news reports out of Burundi (the few that exist). We wouldn't have even considered going through Burundi, except that the alternatives were not very attractive. We could take a series of one way flights to back to Dar es Salaam, then on to Kigali, which was too expensive to ever be really feasible, or a take a rough series of overland bus rides through Tanzania parallel to Burundi on terrible roads in tiny, dangerous minivans with overnight stops in little villages that we knew nothing about, and uncertain means of transportation over the Rwandan border at Rusomo and on to Kigali. We discussed it a lot, and finally decided to trust the advice we were getting on the ground and go through Burundi. As with pretty much everything else we do in Africa, the trip ended up being a bit of an adventure. 



The journey started with the bus from Kigoma. We were assured by an agent at the bus station (less of a bus station than an open area in the market behind the gas station on the outskirts of town), that a bus would depart the next morning and would travel directly to Bujumbura stopping only at the border. This suited us perfectly, and we thought we were all set. Unfortunately, we did not account for swahili time. as we came to find out, Swahili speakers have a different way of telling time. Their day starts at sun up, so to them, 6am is 0, 7am is 1, 8am is 2, and so on. So between the agent's lack of english, our lack of swahili, and swahili time, something must have got mixed up, because when we showed up the next morning, no bus. There was however a stationwagon. Its driver assured us he could get us to the border where we could then easily arrange onward travel to Bujumbura. Sure, why not? So we packed in our bags, and crammed ourselves into the back seat for the one hour ride to the border. We were joined by a a Kenyan who had studied in Boston, and a Rwandan woman and her child. Actually, we ended up staying with them all the way through to Bujumbura, and I have to say that they really helped us out, and we were very thankful for their company.

The first sign that we would be in for an interesting day came about 20 minutes into the ride when two guys with machine guns flagged us down for a ride. One was wearing a military uniform and the other jeans and a soccer jersey. Not that big a deal, there are guys with guns all over Africa, and these guys just wanted a ride down the road. It definitely dampened the mood in the stationwagon while they were there though, and kind of set a tone for the rest of the day.


Our driver would only go as far as the Tanzanian side of the border, so we had to get out, get stamped out of Tanzania at the customs post, and arrange onward passage with one of the drivers waiting at the border. With the help of our fellow passengers, we were able to secure another driver with a stationwagon that would take the 5 of us through the Burundian border post and on to a town where we could arrange for a ride on a local minivan bus on to Bujumbura. Aside from raised eyebrows from the Burundian immigration authorities (I don't think a lot of whiteys pass through their post), everything went off without a hitch, I even got to use my French with the customs people and the army guards (Burundi's second language is French). That is until one of our tires blew. Small wonder really, the roads were atrocious. Of course our driver had no spare, so he had to call a colleague to bring him one. So we waited on the side of the road (more of a dirt path) for around an hour for the spare to arrive, a rather loud disagreement break out (there was some bad blood between the two drivers), and the tire change to be effected before we got back underway.  



Driving through Burundi



Before we got to the town where our driver was going to drop us off, our travel companions suggested that we pay our driver to take us all the way to Bujumbura. It would only cost us a couple of extra dollars, small price to pay for not having to deal with local buses. Our driver wouldn't do it, but he would hand us of to a friend of his in the next town that would. The only problem with the plan was that the new driver wanted to be paid in Burundian francs, not Tanzanian schillings. I only had schillings, and an ATM was at least three hours away, so, we would have to change our money with a local money changer. Anyone who has travelled in a southern country is familiar with money changers, young hustlers with wads of currency and rates that are usually better than banks or hotels walking up and down the main roads, especially near borders, trying to hawk their services. Usually they are fine, but you definitely have to be on guard. This situation required a little more attention than usual as the sudden appearance of two whiteys in a car with four Africans caused a bit of a stir in the small town. Our car was quickly surrounded by curious onlookers, not exactly ideal conditions for a financial transaction. So the money changer squeezed into the car with us and we all made our transactions as the driver drove around town away from prying eyes.  



Francs in hand, we were off to Bujumbura, and I have to say that hiring that car all the way through to Bujumbura was the best decision I have ever made. Not twenty minutes into the drive, we passed the smashed and twisted shell of a minivan bus that had recently crashed. Very recently, blood was everywhere. Our driver asked and was told by some local children that only 4 people had survived. We've seen these buses all over Africa, and they are usually very crowded, fifteen to twenty people typically. Burundi and Rwanda are very hilly countries, and the roads are steep and curvy. Add to that the fact that the minivan buses are usually on the verge of falling apart and the drivers are maniacal, you get a recipe for disaster. This was borne out when we saw another crash site half an hour later. There were fatalities our driver said, I did not ask how many.

  

Bujumbura

Aside from that, the drive was beautiful. Green rolling hills, with palm trees, acacias and even some bamboo. Terraced farm plots on impossibly steep hills surrounding small mud brick homes that seemed to be shoved into the mountainside. All the while Lake Tanganyika and the mountains of the Congo looming in the distance. We hadn't really seen anything green in a couple of months, so this was almost like a relief to us, and we were glued to the window drinking it all in. The only thing that interrupted our sightseeing was the frequent army and police checkpoints. They were a little intimidating at first. There is something unnerving about having a bunch of guys with machine guns rifle through your stuff. Not to mention the fact that every time we would stop, a large group of onlookers would surround our car. I don't think non-africans have used this road in ages, and we must have made quite a sight. Our travel companions gave us the scoop on what was really going on though. It was Saturday, and the policemen and soldiers were just looking for bribes so they could go drinking after they got off their shift. Actually, you could see it in our driver's face, a sort of "aw come on guys" look as he watched his profits disappear at each checkpoint. Also, we were told that they were probably just curious to see what might be in a white person's bag. 



We reached Bujumbura around one thirty and had the driver drop us off at a hotel we had looked up previously. Bujumbura was great. Because of the trouble they've had here, the city has had no real development in decades, and seems to be stuck in a time warp. It is an up and comer though. coffee / tea houses (Burundi grows some first rate coffees and teas), trendy bars and restaurants, new construction etc. all point to a revival, and we felt completely safe there, to the point that we even walked around a bit at night. We loved it. As a matter of fact, I would say that to date, Bujumbura is my favourite African city.  



In writing all of the above, I've tried to sound clever and try to be a little entertaining in telling the story. I can do that now because it is over and we are safe. In fact, while it was all happening, I was quite anxious, even downright afraid. I think that it has to do with not knowing. For example, Philadelphia is a dangerous city, probably more dangerous in parts than anywhere in Burundi, and we lived there for years with no problems. The difference is that I know where the problems are in Philadelphia and can easily avoid them. This is obviously not the case in places you visit for only a short time and know nothing about. While I think that we made the right decision to rely on the information we obtained from local people, the information could have been incomplete or flat out wrong, and it may have been dumb luck that we made it through unscathed. Having said that, I'm glad we chose to go through Burundi. I know that we were only there for a day, but my definite impression is that the country is on the right path, and it's just that the world doesn't know it yet. I also feel like we were lucky to be able to see Burundi at this stage in their history. I would bet that if we were to go back in ten years, we wouldn't recognize the place.



welcome to Rwanda



Anyway, the next day we boarded a bus for Kigali. The border crossing went off without a hitch and three hours later, we were in Rwanda's capitol. Rwanda is stunning. The hills go on forever dotted with small towns and terraced fields climbing up the hillsides. The drive from the border to Kigali had some of the most stunning scenery I've ever seen. However,. I have to say that I felt a little uneasy about being in Rwanda. The Genocide there was not so long ago, and I'm not sure exactly how to feel about being surrounded by victims, perpetrators and collaborators of such a heinous thing. The next few days would chrystalize some of those feelings, but you'll have to wait for Colleen's next posting for that

Michael

Ruhengeri (Musanze), Rwanda