Thoughts About Goma

 

Just some thoughts about the situation in Goma, DRC.

Strange Rock on Idjwi Island

A few weeks back I did a video about a trip I took to Idjwi Island with my friend Maia. Whilst going through the photos, I discovered one I'd taken of a strange rock. I thought it might be some sort of carving, so sent it to the Trust for African Rock Art. It appears it might be Batwa hieroglyphs. The chair of TARA sent back some photos of Batwa rock art in Gabon, and the similarity with Knowth in Ireland really got me thinking about other rock art connections. 

DRC Take Two

Oh, this is going to be a long catch-up.

Where to begin?

Well, the saddest news. Had a leaving party for Maia the other week. After eight years in Rwanda (and a daughter), she has decided to explore pastures new... in Bristol. She grew up in Spain with several nationalities, but has never lived in the UK. For some reason, she thought this would be a good idea. We tried to warn her about the weather and the politics, but she just wouldn't listen. So, we bought her a huge cake and had a big farewell bash at her restaurant, before adjourning to a house party and crawling home at 4:30 in the morning. It was a decent send-off and wishing her all the best as she meanders her way to Blighty via a yoga retreat in Southeast Asia... yup, maybe Bristol is the right place for her. Next time I see her, she'll have grown a beard and dreadlocks.

Pwo-faced

Victor is in charge of the restaurant now, so it's still a home away from home, and Harris and Chris are back soon. I still occasionally waitress. Even got my own official pinny. Had a birthday party there the other week for some young volunteers. The birthday boy was an incredible guitarist and stayed after hours to play for us and have a sing-along.

Looking up the Words Online

Treated myself to a day working at the best ice-cream shop in town, in Kigali Heights. Really is incredible ice-cream. Got caught there in the rain and, randomly, Maia turned up and gave me a lift home. What will I do without her? 

Also reconnected with Flo, a French friend I haven't seen in over a year, despite living in the same city, and with Maia & Vincent from GYC, so my social life is still afloat.

Went to another book event, too. This time the Caine Prize for African Literature, which was run in conjunction with Huza Press, who published an excellent anthology of adult short stories by Rwandan authors called Versus. Well worth a read. The Cain Prize received its first Rwandan entries last year and held its first workshop here this year, up in Gisenyi. Writers from across Africa, and a few British literary agents. An entertaining night.

The piano project is coming along slowly. Done a lot of restringing on a piano whose strings keep breaking, and took our own action to Chillington to request help with the metal frame. More about that here.

Restringing

Taking the Action for a Ride

Then something a bit crazy happened. When me and Maia were in Bukavu last February, I spotted a grand piano from the hotel balcony.

In a strange turn of events, my favourite priest happened to know whose house it was - the former Mayor of Bukavu - and put me in contact. So, on Friday I took the bus down to Cyangugu, a seven-hour trip which winds through Nyungwe Forest (one of the contested furthest sources of the Nile). It was a wet and foggy day as the rainy season has been very heavy this year, leading to flooding and occasional landslides. News reports say that over forty people have been injured last month and 600 animals killed by the weather.

Nyabugogo Bus Park

Fog and Rain Through Nyungwe Forest

Remnants of a Landslide

Flooding

Rice Paddy

Emerging from Nyungwe, the south is swathed in tea fields, and from the hotel there was a lovely view across Lake Kivu to the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC).

View from Hotel

View from Bar in Town

Rwandan foreign residents can cross the border on a piece of paper called a CEPGL, so the next day I took a moto to the crossing and walked across the bridge between the two countries. The route crosses the river Rusizi, which flows from Kivu (one of the world's three exploding lakes) to Lake Tanganyika.

Things are a little different in Congo. The motos (public motorbikes) don't have passenger helmets, and the roads have huge potholes, which makes for a fun, if slightly hair-raising, journey along muddy streets. I made it to the house in one piece, and was welcomed in to look at the piano. 

  

It's an August Förster from Czechoslovakia (which became the Czech Republic in 1993). From the serial number, it was likely made around 1945, so around 73 years old. Sadly, it was in extremely bad condition. The tuning pins were severely rusted, the strings themselves were gone. Many of the keys, and the entire action, need replacing. You can see more pictures here.

 

 

I put in an offer of $500, but they felt this was too little. I'm not prepared to go higher because of the huge cost of restoration, and we'd also need to get it across the border and up to Kigali, which is no small fete. Still, it was really interesting to see it, and to consider its history of it. There's a journalist who thinks he remembers playing an instrument that looked very similar for warlord Laurent Nkunda,  but we're still not completely sure it's the same one.

My favourite priest was also on his way down to Bukavu. After viewing the piano, I headed back to my hotel in Cyangugu and met up with him and his sister for a drink. They convinced me to go back across the border for a last drink before the crossing closed at 10 p.m.

It was a bit spooky walking back by myself. During the day it's very busy, with people coming and going between Rwanda and DRC, but at night it's completely empty. At least that meant no queueing. I got quite a grilling by the border guards, who were a little surprised to see a mzungu crossing four times in one day.

The next day, I took the bus back up to Kigali. This time, it went via Kibuye, so I had a lovely view of Lake Kivu all the way there.

 

Unfortunately, like a dingbat, I left my internet hotspot behind in the hotel room. This is what I love about Rwanda - it's so small and connected. Within about an hour, a friend reminded me of another friend in Cyangugu, who went to the hotel room, retrieved the router and put it on a bus to Kigali. It arrived today at a grand cost of FRW 1,000 (about £1). So grateful. 

Absolutely knackered after the trip, but even though I didn't get the piano, it was still an interesting exploration. I'm really proud of myself for making the crossing on my own. I don't speak any French, and the difference is immediate. The moment you cross the border, it's French and Swahili, whereas I function in English and enough Kinyarwanda to get by. It's good to test yourself in these situations sometimes, and to step out of your comfort zone. I must admit, I like the feel of Bukavu very much.

Arrived back to a bit of drama. About six months back, my neighbours moved out. I was quite grateful at the time as they had six kids who used to enjoy shouting at each other extremely early in the morning. Someone else bought the plot and added an extra story. As usually happens here, people start building, then run out of money and wait until they have more money before continuing. In the time it's been empty, the rainy season has taken its toll. The daub is cracking and apparently my other neighbour says one of the walls collapsed. Over the weekend, their electricity cable fell into my garden in a thunder storm and my guests (who were taking care of the cats) had to call the electricity company to make it safe. So, it's now coiled over my back wall.

Made a bit of an impulsive decision this morning. I put in a bid for a contract to do the annual report for an NGO back at the beginning of February. They contacted me at the weekend to invite me to an interview. I was supposed to go this morning - first at 11:30, then at 10:40, then they called at 9:30 to tell me to bring a PowerPoint presentation and a breakdown of costs. The last bit was confusing, as the breakdown was included with the bid. I decided to withdraw. It wasn't enough time to put a presentation together, and I hate turning up to these things unprepared. I just kept thinking 'this is how organised the interview is, what would it be like working for them?' I'm still knackered from the DRC trip and had to weigh how much I want the money against how much I want the hassle. One of my New Year's resolutions was to only pursue jobs I really enjoy. I think this would have been a real headache, and I could see myself stressing, desperately trying to get everything ready with no notice, and not getting the job anyway. Or getting it, and the job being even more stressful than the interview.

I texted Maia for her advice, which was: 'Yes, I think you go with your intuition. If it doesn't feel right don't do it. When you are desperate for dosh you will suck it up. When you are not desperate, pick and choose what you wanna do!'

The momentary regret over whether I did the right thing soon wore off with a second cup of coffee. Thankfully got enough editing and ghostwriting to tide me over.

Another thing I've done recently was to book a holiday to the UK. I haven't been back in almost two-and-a-half years, and I would like to remember what my family look like. Going mid-June to the end of July. Looking forward to it.

I've booked to go to an undergrad reunion in Reading. It's sort of ironic that I took Deaf Studies and now I'm a piano tuner. Also a bit worried that I may not remember how to sign, as it's been almost ten years since that was a part of my work and my life. It will be interesting to see how much language you retain when you don't use it.

Looking forward to catching up with a few good friends, including one of my tutors who I haven't seen since graduation back in 2002. Will be a trip down memory lane, if I can manage to purchase a ticket. The online booking system is a mess. Just keeps spewing error messages at me. As one friend said: "Who knew that Reading Uni could make something so simple so complicated..ugh!" - Really? I think we all had our suspicions ;)

Anyway. That's most of what's been happening lately. Sitting here listening to the thunder approaching. I like the rainy season usually, but this year has been serious. Cold, very wet - and you can't plan around it. When you travel by public motorbike, you often find yourself diving for cover halfway home, or unable to make a meeting. My days consist of hanging out washing, bringing it in, hanging it out again. Looking forward to the sunny days ahead. 

Idjwi

Yay me! I'm 37.

Was planning just to have a very quiet night in, but my friend lured me down to her restaurant for a 'quick drink'. Like a trusting lamb, I followed her - all the way across the garden. Then a group of friends jumped out of the cocktail cart shouting 'surprise' and proceeded to feed me cake and caipirinha.

Lovely night. Ended up drunkenly reading tarot cards and dancing to Iron Maiden.

I'm always astonished that I've managed to live this long.

A couple of days later, Maia, myself, and her six-year-old daughter decided to go on a little road trip. We were originally planning a weekend away with a couple of other friends, but they fell by the wayside for one reason or another. Looking back, that's not such a bad thing. Our little road trip turned into a monster expedition.

Originally, we were just planning on hopping a boat over to Idjwi, which is an island between Rwanda and the DRC, technically belonging to DRC. There's all sorts of ancient myths about the place. A colleague once swore she'd met a one-armed pirate from Lake Kivu, and it's traditionally known as the island that Rwandan families would row their unwed pregnant daughters out to. They'd tip them overboard, they'd swim to shore, and the Congolese men living on the island would wander down to the beach to pick up a ready-made family.

Anyway, with stories like that, we really wanted to go and take a look at the place.

As Rwandan residents, we can cross into Eastern DRC on a CEPGL, which is a piece of paper you get for around $10, rather than the $150 for a tourist visa. I think you need a full visa to travel further into DRC, but the border region is fine.

We were a little nervous as there have been a couple of incidents recently. It started with Rwandan soldiers reportedly shooting six Congolese soldiers along the border, then a mass protest over food cuts at Kiziba refugee camp, which saw Rwanda respond by shooting eleven Congolese refugees. All reports indicated that the border was still safe for civilians though, so we decided to go ahead.

The journey began with a three-hour bus ride up to Gisenyi, on the northern border with DRC. We left around mid-day to get there in time for dinner with our friend Jo.

Road Snack

Jo runs Rwandan Adventures, a cycling business along the Congo Nile Trail. She took us to a hotel with an incredible swimming pool overlooking Lake Kivu, then on to a beach bar for Indian. Lake Kivu is a funny place. As well as being one of the world's three exploding lakes, it's so large it appears to have a tide. Waves lap against the sand and it's easy to pretend you're at the seaside.

Jo's Bikes

View from Rwandan Adventures

Nirvana Hotel

Building Sea Defences

We stayed in a hotel in Gisenyi and got up at 5 a.m. the next morning to cross the border into Congo at 6. Our ferry to Idjwi was leaving at 7:30 and we wanted to leave enough time to clear Immigration. It's a good thing we did as there was a long queue on the Rwandan side. Thankfully it was moving, but as we stood in the middle of the queue, a massive commotion kicked off. A line of about twenty men came charging into the hall and physically pushed the people in the first line out of place. It was queue-jumping on a massive scale and there were no security guards to bat an eyelid. It's a good thing we hadn't been standing in that line with a small child.

We made it across the border and took a taxi to our ferry, Kivu Princess. Maia had thankfully booked our tickets in advance, because they were all sold out when we got there. Happily, there was a café on the dock and the waiter came to serve us coffee and sandwiches before we set sail.

.

The no guns sign is to indicate there aren't any
guns on board, in case of attack. The idea is to stop people
who do have guns from using them.

Ferry bound for Bukavu.

Overtaking the Bukavu Ferry

We came in to land in Bugarula Bay in North Idjwi, and booked into Hope Land Hotel, which is right on the waterfront.

There were a couple of local traders selling sambaza and oranges. When the ferry comes in, they row out to greet it and sell food to the passengers.

It was still really early by the time we arrived, so we had a little nap and then set out to find the local market. We had been told it was about ten minutes by moto, but we decided to walk. As one guy explained 'Here on Idjwi, we have very few politicians,' so it's a safe place to wander around.

We even met the local police chief, and a school boy who was willing to show us the shortcut across the hill. Even with the shortcut, it was a long trek, we were probably walking for close to three hours, but we really got to see the island.

 

We eventually made it to the market, which was very busy. We had a little wander around, then found what we thought might be a bar, but the owner swiftly shepherded us away to a secluded section overlooking the lake. I think it might actually have been a brothel. We took Fanta refreshment, then went back to buy sugarcane, pineapple and a bag of sambaza, which are tiny fish that you fry, a bit like Devilled Whitebait. The gas levels in the lake mean that tilapia don't grow big there and are mostly imported from Uganda.

Sugarcane.

I'm somewhere in this crowd, trying to buy sugarcane.

Stopping for a Fanta.

Our Dinner

We took a moto back to the hotel and hung out playing with their adorable puppies.

 

Pineapple and Sugarcane

As the sun set, we headed down to the restaurant, where the cook had prepared our sambaza with sweet potato chips.

 

 

The next day, we decided to take a two-hour moto ride from the north of the island to the south.

 

(panoramic, click to enlarge)

Where we came from.

Where we're going.

 

A sunken ship which marks the border between North Idjwi and South Idjwi.

Stopping to stretch our legs.

(panoramic, click to enlarge)

We booked into Congomani, which our friend Manu recommended. Hotels on Idjwi are fairly basic. Electricity is often only on at certain times, when the generator is working, running water is a luxury and hot water comes in a bucket, which you get outside your door in the morning for washing. this is when I realised that buying a battery pack for my phone is only useful if you remember to charge that battery pack before leaving home.

TV for decoration.

They fed us incredibly well at Congomani: pineapple, avocado, omelette, oranges, rice, potatoes - we were stuffed by the time we left.

We had just planned to go and have a look at Idjwi, but neither of us had ever seen Bukavu, and we decided we were curious enough to go. As we were headed to mainland DRC anyway, Maia suggested we might as well stop off at Lwiro Chimpanzee Sanctuary on the way, as it's run by a friend of hers.

Crossing to the mainland was another moment for consideration as we're talking about the Kivu region, and North and South Kivu are pretty much a rebel-held war zone. But the advice was that the chimp sanctuary is along a safe corridor and tourists can go in confidence. So, we did.

We hired a private pirogue with the very last of out money (there's absolutely nowhere to withdraw cash on the island) and headed over to Katana. We spent about twenty minutes floating round in circles on the lake when the boat developed a fuel problem, but our captain sucked out the line and fixed it. When we arrived, Maia's friend had sent a taxi to take us up to Institut Conglais de Conservation de Nature.

We had a wander around the institute, guided by a very lovely dog, whilst we waited for Lorena to introduce us to the chimps. This is about the time the battery on my phone died, so we don't have many pictures. It's an incredibly old school Belgian colonial building.

Looking at tadpoles in the fountain.

We saw all kinds of incredible monkeys, rescued from all over Congo and further afield. You have to wear masks to prevent catching or spreading diseases between species. I had a moment of mild panic as we passed an enclosure for adult chimps, which can grow to over a meter in height. One was quite aggressive, throwing sticks at the wire - they were giant lumps of muscle. Fully-grown chimps are absolutely terrifying. Much prefer the babies.

From Lwiro, we headed by taxi an hour south to Bukavu and booked into Kivu Best. The roads in Congo are serious. Cars fall into potholes on one side and have to crawl out the other. Even a short journey feels long, and it's quite possible to get seasick on dry land. The contrast between Rwanda, where everything's tarmaced and clean, and eastern DRC, where nothing is, immediately strikes you.

There's a curfew in Bukavu, but we ventured out before dark to look for a place to eat. After sitting in the depressing side room of a supermarket with plastic chairs and no waiters, we noticed a sign on the busy street saying L'acacia Restaurant. It was pointing down a steep set of narrow steps, and we decided to follow it. Turned out to be the best restaurant ever. It opened out onto a stunning view of the lake, with an extremely attentive waiter. We stuffed ourselves on pork and chicken, washed down with beer. Exactly what was needed after a marathon adventure.

Entering Bukavu

Something else that's really striking about the DRC is the two-story houses. Most houses in Rwanda are bungalows, but in the DRC you get a lot of residential houses with more than one story, and lots of unique details like carved window casings, even on Idjwi. Everything is much less uniform, and artistic in a ramshackle sort of way.

the next morning we woke up leisurely in big, soft beds, had a hot shower and a yummy breakfast, then crossed the border to Cyangugu and boarded a seven-hour bus back to Kigali. I'd done that journey once before, back in 2008, and hoped never to do it again. The road turns serpent and it's hard for even hardened travellers to keep their food down. But the road straightens out at Butare, after Nyungwe Forest. We made it back around 8 p.m., fell into a taxi and then bed.

View from our hotel room.