I left Rwanda suddenly and unexpectedly on November 11, 2019, a day after my grandson was born very prematurely at a whopping 1 lb. 6 oz. and was immediately whisked to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit in an Austin, TX hospital, where he received amazing care and remained until March 24, 2020, when he came home.   He is now doing as well as any baby: smiling, laughing, talking nonstop babytalk, grabbing at every nearby object and even eating baby food.

Despite having been transported to the other side of the world, I continued to follow news in Rwanda. Now, in Rwanda, as here, the big news is the Coronavirus. In mid-March 2020, because of the Coronavirus, the Peace Corps evacuated all volunteers in Rwanda, as they did world-wide, and returned them to their U.S. homes.

Like everywhere in our world that grows smaller and more inter-connected everyday, Rwanda has been hit by the Coronavirus.  However, it has done a remarkable job of keeping its numbers low.  It’s achieved its success using robots and something called “pool testing,” which just means testing pools or groups of people at once.  Its use of robots is no surprise because Rwanda’s government embraces technology.  (You may remember my blog post on Rwanda being the first country in the world to use drones to send medical supplies such as blood to rural hospitals and clinics.)  Its  technique of pool testing combines samples from multiple people in one test to more quickly track new infections. The US FDA only approved pool testing in the US on July 18, 2020, when it gave emergency approval to Quest Diagnotistics to combine test samples of up to four people.

Below is a recent NPR article on Rwanda’s handling of COVID-19.  The article explains how Rwanda has been using pool testing and robots.  Let’s hope Rwanda’s numbers stay down and that our numbers drop soon.  Stay healthy!

A robot introduces itself to patients in Kigali, Rwanda. The robots, used in Rwanda’s treatment centers, can screen people for COVID-19 and deliver food and medication, among other tasks. The robots were donated by the United Nations Development Program and the Rwanda Ministry of ICT and Innovation.

Cyril Ndegeya/Xinhua News Agency/Getty Images

 

 

In some places in the world right now, getting tested for COVID-19 remains difficult or nearly impossible. In Rwanda, you might just get tested randomly as you’re going down the street.

“So whenever someone is driving a vehicle, bicycle, motorcycle or even walking, everyone is asked if you wish to get tested,” says Sabin Nsanzimana, director general of the Rwanda Biomedical Center, which is the arm of the ministry of health that’s in charge of tackling COVID-19. Health officials in personal protective equipment administer the test. Nsanzimana says the testing is voluntary, although some others say refusal is frowned upon.

The sample collection — from a swab up the nose — and filling out the contact information paperwork takes about five minutes.

“All these samples are sent that day to the lab,” Nsanzimana says. “We have a big lab here in Kigali. We have also six other labs in the other provinces.”

Despite being classified by the World Bank as a low-income country, and despite its limited resources, Rwanda has vowed to identify every coronavirus case. Anyone who tests positive is immediately quarantined at a dedicated COVID-19 clinic. Any contacts of that case who are deemed at high risk are also quarantined, either at a clinic or at home, until they can be tested.

Nsanzimana says health workers call or visit every potential contact of someone who tests positive.

“We really believe that doing so is important to make sure we detect and trace where the virus could be,” he says.

Comprehensive contact tracing is a task that has overwhelmed countries with far more resources than Rwanda. Rwanda’s per capita income is roughly $2,000 per year. Yet all testing and treatment for the virus is provided for free.

It costs the government between $50 and $100 to run a single coronavirus test, Nsanzimana says. In order to test thousands a day, Rwanda has started using a process called “pool testing.” Material from 20-25 nasal swabs are all put into one vial and run through the machine. This allows them to test far more samples at once. If they get a positive result, then all the swabs that went into that initial vial are tested individually to pinpoint the person who’s infected.

Nsanzimana says Rwanda’s experience dealing with other infectious disease outbreaks is helping it now during the pandemic.

The country is using systems and equipment it already had in place to address HIV.

“The main machines we are using for COVID testing are the HIV machines that were (already) there,” he says. “We are using the same structure, same people, same infrastructure and laboratory diagnostics, but applying it to COVID testing.”

Since recording its first case in mid-March, the country of 12 million has recorded just over 1,200 cases. Ohio has a similar size population and has recently been reporting roughly 1,200 cases a day.

“Rwanda did a few things that are quite smart,” says Sema Sgaier, the head of the Surgo Foundation, which has just launched a new data tool to analyze trends around COVID-19 across Africa. “One is they responded really early. They put some of the most stringent lockdowns in place compared to every other African country. In fact, we’ve been monitoring physical distancing data across the continent and Rwanda fares, I think, second; they’ve physical distanced the second most across Africa” — a conclusion based on mobile phone movement data. South Africa is No. 1.

Rwanda mobilized community health care workers and police and college students to work as contact tracers. It set up national and regional command posts to track cases. It’s even using human-size robots in the COVID-19 clinics to take patients’ temperatures and deliver supplies.

Tolbert Nyenswah, who ran the Liberian ministry of health’s response to Ebola in 2014, gives Rwanda high marks for how it has been handling COVID-19, even if at times it’s heavy-handed.

“Rwanda, from all indications, is a success story for Africa,” Nyenswah says. The strong leadership from President Paul Kagame, which Nyenswah says can even be authoritarian, has been effective during this crisis. Kagame demands accountability from his health ministry.

Whether the people trust or fear the government, Rwandans listen to their government and have been following the orders regarding masks, washing hands and staying home.

Nyenswah worries that the worst is yet to come in Africa with this pandemic.

“No country is out of the woods yet,” he says. However, he adds that Rwanda is an example to other low-income countries that even with limited resources, this virus can be contained. “So what needs to be done is to follow the (prevention and containment) measures. Political leadership is very, very crucial. Rwanda should continue what it is doing now. And other countries should emulate Rwanda.”

Religion has always existed in Rwanda.  Rwandans are exceptionally spiritual and have been so – well before colonial times. The Ikinyarwanda word for God is “Imana;” that word existed long before the arrival of the Europeans.  The story of humans is, of course, of movement. As people move from one place to another, new ideas are shared. And, that is the story of religion as well.

The first missionaries to Rwanda were the Catholics, who arrived in 1900.  However, they were not well received by the King, who lived in Nyanza, the town where I coincidentally am living and working.  The Lutherans followed not long after in 1907.  The Seventh Day Adventists arrived in 1919, the Baptists in 1920, the Anglicans in 1922 and the Methodists and Pentecostals in 1940.  According to Wikipedia, Sunni Muslim traders coming from Zanzibar, which is now part of Tanzania, had contact with Rwandans in 1901 and built the first mosque known as Al-Fatah Mosque, in 1913.  One can only imagine how confusing those years must have been for Rwandans contending with the onslaught of so many different religions and sects touting their belief as the best. As for Judaism, in September of 2019, the orthodox Jewish Hasidic movement Chabad opened the very first synagogue in Rwanda in the capital city of Kigali.  And, in 2008, Agahozo-Shalom Youth Village, a Jewish orphanage modeled after the Israeli youth villages that were built for Jewish orphans after the Holocaust, opened in Rwanda.

Rwandans continue to be extremely religious.  The vast majority are Christian.  After all, we are usually the religion of the conquerors or our ancestors. In Rwanda, the conquerors were Belgian and Catholic. Thus, the Catholic Church was dominant here.  However, I’ve seen numerous Christian churches in Rwanda (Presbyterian, Pentecostal (a/k/a ADEPR), Seventh Day Adventist, Catholic, Anglican and Jehovah’s Witnesses) and many mosques, large and small.  Since the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi, when many of the Christian churches failed to protect the victims, many Rwandans changed where they worship.  According to a Wikipedia article, since the Genocide, the population of Muslims has doubled to 14% for that reason.  It’s hard to say what percentage of the population practice Islam, but I do see a lot of Muslims and mosques.  Muslim women here dress modestly, wearing a head scarf, long sleeves and blouses reaching their necks.  However, otherwise, their dress can be as colorful as any other woman’s.

From my short time here, I haven’t seen any religious prejudice against anyone because of religion.  Rwanda’s Constitution protects “freedom of thought, conscience, religion, worship and public manifestation thereof.”  Rwanda’s official public holidays include both Christian and Muslim holidays.  (In my opinion, the more public holidays, the better.)  So, public institutions are closed on the Christian holidays of Good Friday, Easter Monday, Assumption Day (August 15) and Christmas, as well as the Muslim Holidays of Eid al Fitr, which was June 4^th this year, and Eid al Adha, which was August 12^th this year.

One of the first questions Rwandans ask when they meet you is “Which church do you go to?”  I have always had a hard time lying, so, when I respond that I don’t go to a church, they are visibly upset – because they are genuinely concerned about anyone who might not be saved or go to heaven.

I have gone to official functions at five churches in Rwanda.  The first was at the small but lovely Catholic chapel in Nyanza for my friend Nicole’s wedding.  The second was at a huge Pentecostal church in the village of Save (pronounced Sah-vay and which coincidentally was the location of the first Catholic Church built in Rwanda because the King wanted the church far away from him) for a baby-naming ceremony for the newborn baby of a work colleague.

Pentecostals don’t baptize until the person is older and capable of understanding the significance of baptism, capable of voluntarily choosing to be baptized and able to profess his or her faith.  That idea makes sense to me, because we all inherit the religions of our parents and have no choice at birth.  Instead, they have a welcoming ceremony for new babies.  After the hours-long church service, we went to my colleague’s home for the official baby naming ceremony, which is a very traditional Rwandan custom that existed well before the foreign religions invaded.   That ceremony was followed by a feast of food.

My third Church visit was to an enormous Seventh Day Adventist Church in the capital city of Kigali for the very formal and modern wedding of a work colleague.  Here I am in a traditional Rwandan formal dress with a fellow lecturer from my school.

My fourth church visit was to the huge ornate Catholic Church in Nyanza for the first communion of my friend’s 7-year-old daughter, Michelle.  On my way to the church, I passed a roadside stand where a young man was selling religious paraphernalia.  I purchased a blue and white rosary to add to the gift bag I was carrying.  Later, I saw that Michelle was wearing the exact same rosary around her neck, so I ran back to the stand and, fortunately, the seller was kind enough to let me exchange it for a solid blue rosary.

The little boys all wore dark suits and the girls wore gorgeous fancy, mostly white, dresses of organza-like fabric. Michelle wore an exceptionally fancy pink dress.  I was glad to see that the girls wore no veils, as I had to when I made my first communion, the symbolism of the white dress and veil being that the little girls were brides of Christ.  I always found that idea unsettling.

There was no organ music; instead, the music was provided by the congregation clapping their hands in unison as the well-rehearsed choir sang.  Birds tweeting, singing and and soaring overhead in the rafters provided a pleasant addition.

I was impressed that the church had ushers whose job was to find seats for the elderly among the latecomers, like me.  I was among the throng of those crushed standing in the back of the church, trying to get a glimpse of the action in the front of the church.   I’m not good at estimating crowds, but there were clearly hundreds of people in this church, with an overflowing crowd of standing room only (SRO) attendees, like me, and even more people congregated outside, trying to squeeze in.  I was at the back of the SRO crowd, as I came 45 minutes late because the thought of  sitting through a multiple-hours-long mass was just too much.  That the mass was in Kinyarwanda, a language in which I could only catch one or two words in each sentence, added to my reluctance.

Below is some of the artwork.

The present I gave to Michelle, who made her first communion. It contained some candy, a jump rope and a rosary.

My favorite part of the Catholic mass is the shaking hands part, which was instituted as a result of the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s.  It’s the part where everyone turns and shakes hands with all those around him or her.  Shaking hands is such an intrinsic part of Rwandan culture, that it seemed so natural to do so in church.

And of course there was the passing of the collection basket, which at this mass in Rwanda was a beautiful made-in-Rwanda basket.   Afterwards, there was drumming outside, as families and friends reunited.  And, similar to first communions in the U.S., after church concluded, friends and family members were invited to Michelle’s home for a huge feast to celebrate her first communion.

The last church that I visited was again a Catholic Church – this time sadly for the funeral of a friend’s mother who had been poisoned.  That church, in a rural village outside of the city Muhanga, was a simple church (we sat on wooden benches) but the loveliest church I have ever been in.  Its pastel-colored stained-glass windows were simple shapes, like crescents, triangles, squares, rectangles, diamonds and circles that let in just the right amount of sunlight.

I’m often asked what’s the food like, and the answer is:  Except for the lack of fast food in my town, it’s not much different from European food.  That’s because Rwanda’s food culture was heavily influenced by Belgium and France, and so we eat potatoes, in addition to two to three other starches (plantain, beans, cassava or rice), with every meal.  However, one thing that I have especially enjoyed eating in Rwanda that I’ve never seen anywhere before is ikinyomoro (pronounced ee-cheen-yo-moro), which is known in English as tree tomato.

But it’s nothing like the tomato we know and which are also abundant in Rwanda.  It doesn’t look or taste at all like a tomato.  Rather, tree tomatoes are egg-shaped and about the size of a large egg.

And, they grow on trees that produce the fruits year after year.  Like the tomato we know, tree tomatoes are said to be a member of the nightshade family.   Who knows where they originated?  Some say South America – Peru, Chile or Ecuador.  Others say Africa, perhaps South Africa.  Maybe even Rwanda, as they are prolific here.  Tree tomatoes require a subtropical climate with plenty of rain.  They are popular in India, Malaysia, the Philippines and New Zealand, among other places.  The New Zealand Tree Tomato Promotion Council gave tree tomatoes the new moniker of “tamarillo” to distinguish them from what most of us think of as tomatoes and to increase their exotic appeal.  No one calls them tamarillo in Rwanda, just ibinyomoro (the plural form) in Ikinyarwanda or tree tomatoes.

Regardless of their origin or name, they are a cool fruit.  Rwandans eat them for dessert or as a snack.  They cut them in half and then scoop out the jelly-like, fleshy inside with a spoon and eat it seeds and all.  One can also eat it sans spoon, simply by sucking out the gelatinous inside.  At my school, tree tomatoes are always served with passion fruit, which are eaten the same way.  They are both beautiful colors.  The tree tomatoes with their vivid colors are on the left.  The sweeter passion fruit are on the right.

Today, as I’m suffering from yet another cold (grippe, as colds are called here), I had a craving for a super dose of vitamin C, so I walked to one of my favorite restaurants and ordered a glass of delicious ikinyomoro (tree tomato) juice, which is high in vitamin C.  It was just what the doctor would have ordered.

Once a year for a week at the end of February and beginning of March, the Tour du Rwanda bicycle race takes over the roads throughout the country causing transportation to come to a halt, sometimes for hours, to let the racers pass.

Above are official photographs of this exciting race.  I’ve been lucky (or perhaps unlucky) to get photos of both the 2018 and 2019 Tours du Rwanda because coincidentally each year during the race I’ve been on a bus going from my town to the capital city when the police closed the road for hours so that the Tour du Rwanda cyclists could safely pass.  Below are some of my photos.

But, the rest of the year, bicycling is not a competition, not a sport, not for leisure or exercise. Rather, bicycling is a business, a job for the thousands of Rwandans who ride their bicycles every day to earn a living transporting people or things.

For a a hundred francs (12 1/2 cents) and up, anyone can hop on the back of a bike and get a ride to wherever they need to go in town. (For longer, faster rides, people pay more to ride on the back of a motorcycle-taxi.)  The bicycle taxis are ubiquitous, sharing the road with overloaded trucks, buses, speeding SUVs, cars, motorcycles, pedestrians and occasional goats and chickens. To attract customers, the bicycle drivers often paint their bikes in flashy colors and add a cushioned seat over the back fender as well as a handle for the passenger to hold onto so that the passenger can ride in luxury. 

Sometimes, there are so many bicycle-taxis that I have trouble crossing the street in front of my school.  I often see well-dressed women (some with babies on their backs), sitting casually side-saddle texting on their cell phones as the driver struggles pedaling uphill.

This is my 31-year old friend, Charles, transporting a passenger past some small shops.  In the morning, the streets are busy with the bicycle taxis transporting small children in their smart neatly pressed blue or green school uniforms to school.  I always get nervous when I see those children turn and release their tiny hands from holding onto the bike to smile and wave at me. 

Helmets? Forget it; nobody (not driver or passenger) wears a helmet on these bicycles.

In addition to transporting people, the bicycle taxis haul enormous heavy loads from place to place. The transported freight is often so cumbersome that the bicyclists seem to defy gravity by staying upright. I often see them transporting furniture and mattresses.

And, bicycling in Rwanda is hard work. Rwanda is HILLY.  Unlike Buck’s County, Pennsylvania’s rolling ridges, Rwandan hills are everywhere and in no order.  The uphills are a strenuous workout, and the downhills are exhilarating and even harrowing – especially when there is a speed bump strategically placed at the bottom of a hill. 

Carrying heavy loads or passengers up the hills is a challenge, so often half-way up the hill, the cyclist stops and walks the bike to the top of the hill where he resumes riding. 

Bicycle-taxi-drivers transport foodstuffs and Rwanda’s famous milk in the large dairy cans to the many small shops around Nyanza.  This side road is called the stony road because it’s cobblestone.  It’s so bumpy that the bicycle-taxis ride on the sidewalk instead.  I often have to jump out of the way when a bicycle taxi comes up behind me.

They also carry cases of beer and bottles of soda to the many bars and shops around town.  

And, they ride up and down on steep dirt trails in and around town.    

All of the bicyclists that I have seen in Rwanda are guys.  However, there’s no reason why a cyclist can’t be a “she,” except perhaps culture, as Rwandan women are quite strong and agile from doing farm work and carrying babies on their backs. 

Accidents? I’m sure there are plenty. However, I’ve never actually seen one, but I did see the aftermath of one. A cyclist carrying a large bag of beans hit a speed bump too fast or at a wrong angle. Bike and cyclist were ok, but the beans were all over the road. Because of a fear of accidents, Peace Corps does not allow volunteers to ride the bicycle-taxis, which has made for many a disappointed bicycle-taxi-driver hoping to get me to take a ride. When I first arrived, they often came up next to me and slowed down, riding next to me and offering me a ride. I always shook my head and said, “Oya, ariko murakoze.” (No, but thanks.)  So eager are some for my business that they have even offered to give me a ride for free.  But, alas, I can’t take them up on their offers and instead say, “Ndkunda kugenda,” meaning “I like to walk.”

The bicycle taxi drivers belong to a guild. They all wear matching green or blue vests. At Umuganda, the mandatory monthly work, they ride their bicycles to the worksite and park them together, then participate in the community physical labor with the rest of us.  Not surprisingly, they are usually the strongest workers.

And, during holiday celebrations, the bicycle taxi guild proudly parades onto the field of the stadium to resounding cheers and clapping by everyone who appreciates their service to the community.

Nyanza, the town I live in, is quite large and includes a number of small villages outside of the main town, where the market, bus station and shops are. I like to walk on the dirt paths leading to small villages. Today, my hike took me to several small villages and to a house with a door with the picture and name of Che Guevara. This was not the first time I’ve seen Che’s name in Rwanda; I’ve seen it a few times on trucks. As I was hiking today in a village about an hour’s walking distance from the town center, I did a double-take as I saw this door.

There were two boys nearby whom I greeted, and one of the boys said that he lived there. They looked to be about 12 or 13. I asked the boys who Che Guevara was. They responded confidently and without hesitation that he was a pop star, a singer. I had to stifle a laugh. I asked if he was alive or dead. Alive, they assured me. I asked if Che was Rwandan. No, they knowingly replied. What country was he from, I asked. They couldn’t answer. When I told them that Che was from Cuba and Argentina, they just stared at me blankly.

In the midst of this curious conversation, the mother of one of the boys came home, and we chatted. She knew that Che was dead and that he wasn’t a pop star. However, my limited Kinyarwanda language skills kept me from getting the answer to the question that had caused me to stop: Why did they have Che painted on their door?

This was my third trip with students to Mpanga (pronounced Mhanga) Prison.  On my first trip, I was eager to visit a prison in another country and compare it to ours.  In the late 1970s, when I was a law student, I worked for an office that provided legal assistance to prisoners and, as a result, regularly visited Illinois prisons. Each prison visit was physically and mentally grueling, the prison conditions were depressing, the inmates were cheerless and desperate to talk to us, and the administration was openly hostile to the prisoners and us.  Mpanga Prison is nothing like that.  So, after my first trip, I happily returned for a second and third trip because Mpanga Prison is an exceptional and most interesting prison.  Its staff are cordial, professional and proud of their work.  The prisoners, despite most being in severely overcrowded conditions, appear to be at ease.  Almost all smiled as they greeted and welcomed us.

Mpanga Prison is a half hour drive from Nyanza, the town I live and work in.  It’s at the end of a hilly and dusty dirt road that winds through stunningly beautiful scenery of endless rolling hills studded with trees. 

In between the hills are green valleys covered with banana plantations and small family farms.  In every direction, the land is dotted with compact stucco and mud-brick homes with tin or terracotta roofs.

Suddenly, our bus of law students is at the main prison gate, where a guard, expecting us, allows our bus into the prison compound. We park near the entrance, in front of a communal area where guests are received. It is across from the infirmary, which we would soon learn is staffed by eight nurses, with at least one nurse on duty at all times.  We were also informed that prisoners with serious health problems are taken to the Nyanza hospital.

It is an easy walk to a room that had been converted into a small auditorium for us to watch a PowerPoint presentation by the serious but congenial Prison Director who speaks with obvious pride about the prison and its prisoners.

Mpanga Prison opened in 2005 and has a population of 7,072 men.  It is a hybrid prison housing domestic and international prisoners. The domestic prisoners are housed in three wings or areas: Golf Wing is the largest with 5,563 men, followed by Juliet Wing with 818 men, and then Romeo Wing with 676 men. Compared to the domestic prisoners, the international prison population housed in Delta Wing is tiny, consisting of only 15 men.

What makes a prisoner an international prisoner and entitled to be placed in the comparatively cushy international wing is not his nationality but the place he was arrested.  Thus, a Rwandan arrested in Rwanda for genocide crimes is housed in the general population, while a Rwandan who escaped across the border to neighboring Congo or elsewhere in the world after the Genocide is housed in the international wing. Where a prisoner is housed makes an enormous difference, as the United Nations requires high standards for international prisoners. For instance, international prisoners are entitled to much better food, much larger and more private living space, much nicer living quarters and conjugal visits.

There are two kinds of international prisoners at Mpanga Prison.  The first are accused or convicted genocidaires.  “Genocidaire” is the French word for those who fomented or participated in the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi.  After the  Genocide, the United Nations created the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR), in Arusha, Tanzania. The ICTR convicted 61 individuals, most of whom were imprisoned in countries other than Rwanda.  The ICTR officially closed in 2015 but, before closing, transferred its remaining (or residual) work to the UN’s International Residual Mechanism for Rwanda, which is also located in Arusha Tanzania.  As a result of judicial reforms in Rwanda, including abolition of the death penalty and establishment of a special high court chamber to try suspected genocidaires, some accused genocidaires have been extradited to Rwanda to stand trial.  However, the process has been slow. Since 2012, although Rwanda has sought to arrest about a thousand suspected genocidaires living aboard, only about 19 suspected genocidaires arrested outside of Rwanda have been extradited to Rwanda for trial.  Twenty-five years after the genocide, many suspected genocidaires remain at liberty abroad, mostly in countries without extradition treaties with Rwanda.

The second kind of international prisoners at Mpanga Prison come from the West African country of Sierra Leone.  In 2009, eight prisoners convicted of war crimes and crimes against humanity by the UN Special Court for Sierra Leone were housed at Mpanga Prison because there were no prisons in Sierra Leone that met the UN’s standards. Those prisoners were convicted of war crimes (including mutilation of civilians, sexual slavery and conscripting children as soldiers) committed during Sierra Leone’s more than decade-long civil war (1991-2002).  Currently, five Sierra Leoneans remain at Mpanga Prison.

We were allowed to mingle and talk with the international prisoners who chose to talk to us.  It was hard to reconcile in our minds that the men who graciously invited us into their rooms to look around, who pointed to photos on their walls of their families and whose hands we shook had committed such crimes.  When some of us remarked at the differences between the international wing and the other wings, the men reminded us that it was still prison.

After exploring the international wing, we were taken to Golf Wing, where the largest group of prisoners (5,563) is housed.  Golf Wing is quite crowded with bed after bed after bed after bed with little space in between, but surprisingly neat.  On an earlier trip, we observed prisoners doing group exercises in military fashion in the large prison yard adjacent to their dormitories.  On my latest trip, we saw prisoners playing checkers (an extremely popular pastime in Rwanda) and watching a soccer game on TV.  But most were gathered in huge crowds watching us, waving and smiling at us.  Everyone smiled and responded when we waved or greeted them.  As we left, we shook the hands of so many of the men.

As we walked around the prison grounds, we saw several guards, both male and female. They conversed with us and the prisoners in a friendly and respectful way, as if there was no difference between them and the prisoners.

All prisoners wear simple prison garb (matching boxy cotton shirt and pants).  However, the convicted prisoners are distinguished from those not yet finally convicted by the color of their garments: bright orange for the convicts and pastel pink for those not finally convicted.  I use the phrase “not finally convicted” because Rwanda’s legal system follows Civil Law (think French law, which was inherited by French and Belgian colonies of the world, like Rwanda) as opposed to Common Law (the British system, which was inherited by British colonies, like the USA).  In the Civil Law legal system, a defendant may obtain a second trial on appeal and the court proceedings are not considered final until the time for all appeals has lapsed without further appeal or the last appeal has concluded.  If a case is on appeal, the defendant is not yet considered convicted. Because we were not allowed to take photos of the prisoners, I’ve included this photo of Golf Wing that I found on the internet.

Because Mpanga is an international prison, UN inspectors regularly inspect it to ensure that it continues to meet UN standards.  Also, because it has a certain degree of notoriety as a result of being an international prison, it attracts many visitors, including us.  When a group like us visits the prison, prisoners are permitted to set up a craft fair to sell us items they made. Those prisoners make the most of their time by transforming basic and discarded materials into beautiful handicrafts to sell to visitors.

On my first visit to the prison, some talented prisoners performed Rwanda’s legendary Intore dancing for us.  Traditionally, Intore dancers were the king’s warriors, who were trained both as warriors and dancers – not unlike Native American war dancers.  Mixing dance and war is a clever combination, which unfortunately has not been adopted by modern armies. The Intore dancers wear headgear made from a special tree to resemble a lion’s mane. Their dancing conveys the raw hyper-masculine electric energy of an ancient warrior.  Because we weren’t allowed to take photos in the prison, I’ve included a YouTube video of Intore dancers so that you can see how exciting they are.

At Mpanga Prison, the prisoners perform all of the work. They cook the food. They tend the grounds, which are quite beautiful with lots of blooming flowers.  In the U.S., one would not expect to see flowers and meticulously landscaped grounds in a prison; yet, at Mpanga Prison, they are commonplace and make the prison grounds feel less prison-like and actually park-like.  The prisoners do voluntary work in the many acres of farm fields surrounding the prison to produce food for the prisoners and prison staff.  They have banana and coffee plantations, as well as numerous vegetable gardens.  The prisoners enjoy going outside the prison to work in the gardens and plantations; not only is it nice to go out beyond the prison walls, but they can eat a few extra bananas or avocadoes while working. And, they raise cattle and pigs.  As we walked around the prison compound, a flock of turkeys was always near, with the big tom turkey even displaying his feathers – for either us or one of the female turkeys.

Sometimes, prisoners are taken to work in places far outside the prison.  For instance, they often come to Nyanza to cut down trees for various reasons. The town of Nyanza used prisoners to cut down the trees where the bats had taken up residence, including the trees around my house.  Prisoners also cut down the many tall trees that were in the way of construction of our new school building.  Not only does such work improve the prisoners’ self-esteem and contribute to the running of the prison, it prepares the prisoners for eventual re-entry into the larger society.

On our drive back to the institute, we were treated to the beginning of a beautiful sunset. Because Rwanda is only 138 miles south of the equator, every day of the year is of the same length (give or take a minute or two). So, sunrise is at 6:00 a.m. and sunset is at 6:00 p.m. every day, like clockwork.

Disclaimer: I’ve had more than a few problems with this post due to WordPress’ changes regarding how blogs are written. The WordPress “Happiness Engineers” (Yes, that’s really what they call their support team) have patiently answered my many unhappy questions stemming from my technological backwardness and have kindly overlooked my petulant tone due to my technological frustrations. Oh, for the good old days of pen and paper and typewriters! So, after much ado, here’s my first blog on the new site.

10.Kirida – The word comes from the French word “cure-dent,” which means toothpick. Even though the container says “toothpicks,” nobody here ever calls them that. And, to make things even more international, they are made in China. Kirida are on every table. After every meal, everyone at the table simultaneously and unconsciously cleans their teeth with kirida, as we continue our conversation.

9. Responsiveness – Rwandans always respond to greetings, unlike many Americans who ignore a stranger’s greeting and sometimes even walk past people whom they know as if the other person were invisible. Rwandans are often shy to be the first to greet a foreigner.  But, once I greet anyone I pass on the street, I’m met with a huge smile and an effusive response.

8. The last word – Rwandans love to have the last word in greetings or conversations, and the last word is almost always “Yego,” which rhymes with lego and means yes. “Yego” is such a fun word.  Now, whenever I speak, I can’t help but say “yego” for yes.

7. Buses – They run on time. Most leave every thirty minutes on the half hour and hour, and sometimes even leave a few minutes early. They are generally not overcrowded. There are two competing bus companies in my town: Horizon (pronounced ho-ee-zun) and Volcano (pronounced vol-cah-no). I like them both. However, I wish they didn’t play soccer games on the bus radio so loud.

6. Plastic bag ban – As a result of Rwanda’s plastic bag ban, one never sees discarded plastic bags on sidewalks, sides of the road or snagged by bushes or trees.  In fact, one never sees them anywhere. Instead, we are given a brown paper bag or we use  our own cloth bags or a backpack when we buy things. Following Rwanda’s lead on banning plastic bags, the nearby East African countries of Kenya and Tanzania, have also banned plastic bags.  I’ve read that the Rwandan legislature is considering also banning single use plastic, which would include plastic water and juice bottles and plastic straws, which are everywhere here.  I am hoping they do so soon.  Soda (Fanta or coke) is very popular here.  However, no one drinks soda directly from a bottle; instead, everyone uses a single-use plastic straw to drink the soda.  In the meantime, I’ve been feeling guilty about using plastic water bottles.  However, since finding a way to reuse them,  I feel a bit less guilty.  Now, when finished with plastic bottles, I thoroughly wash them and once a week bring my small collection of plastic bottles to the market to give to the women who sell vegetable oil in such recycled bottles.   And, the market women are pleased to get my bottles.

5. School uniforms – All children from nursery school through secondary (high) school wear school uniforms identifying them as students, providing pride in their schools and eliminating the jealousy and competition about clothing, not to mention problems with inappropriate clothing, so common in American schools. Every morning, throngs of kids of all ages look so smart and proud in their school uniforms.  On my way to work, I greet them by saying “Amasoma meza,” which means “Read (or study) well.”

4. Government scholarships – I just read in the newspaper about a new government program to provide free university education and partial payment of secondary school tuition fees for future teachers.

3. Bicycles reign – Bikes are ubiquitous and used for everything except recreation. They are used as taxis to ferry people from one part of town to another.  The passenger sits on a padded seat over the back tire. It’s not uncommon to see a woman with a baby on her back talking on her cell phone as she sits calmly on the back of a bike while the driver grimaces as he pedals the bike uphill.  Bikes are also used to transport everything – mattresses, furniture, construction materials, sacks of cement, sky-high bags filled with charcoal, huge milk cans, chickens and goats, and gargantuan bags of oranges, corn, cassava, etc. going to the market.  Of course, no one wears a helmet.  The bicycle drivers wear green vests that identify them as belonging to the bicyclists’ guild. At official functions, like the National Heroes Day ceremonies, they proudly ride their bikes together onto the field of the stadium.

2. Landscaping – Rwandans have an eye for beauty and a knack for landscaping. Thanks to our school’s landscaping crew, our grounds always look neat and trim.  And, the town is very beautiful. There aren’t any lawn mowers anywhere, but the groundskeepers use cutlasses, edge-trimmers and electric hedge cutters to keep our tall hedges looking sharp.  The groundskeepers also continuously weed by hand in between the paving bricks of the school’s parking lots to keep the grass that constantly erupts between the bricks at bay.  With Rwanda’s heavy rainfall, everything grows like, you guessed it, weeds, so the landscaping work is never ending.

†1.Morning Tea –  Work begins at 7:00 a.m.  Ugh.  But, about 8:00 a.m., Laurence, who is a member of the school’s catering staff, brings me a thermos and ceramic cup for my morning tea.   And, not just me.   She does so for every staff member.   It’s such a treat that I so look forward to that, if she’s late, I begin to feel like I might have an anxiety attack coming on and, when she arrives, I’m so thankful.  In contrast, the rest of the staff just takes it for granted.

I know I said 10, but I can’t not include the last thing I love.

0. Casual Fridays – Lots of Americans get to go to work in casual clothes, but I was never one of those lucky ones. So, I am literally tickled pink every Friday when we get to dress down by wearing our matching school polo shirts. Our matching shirts with our school logo unite us and make us happy.

Lots of things are produced in Rwanda, including bottled water, many bottled juices (mango, pineapple and passionfruit being the most popular), liquid yogurt (kefir), coffee and black and green tea, as well as several brands of beer.  However, I thought you’d be most interested in reading about some of the more personal and common items made in Rwanda that one can purchase.

Below are examples of Rwanda’s famous Imigongo wall art, traditionally (and sometimes still) made of cow dung (Cows have a revered status in Rwanda) applied in distinctive geometric shapes directly to the walls of huts and painted with natural pigments of red, black, white and gray.  Today, however, other colors have been added and the designs are more often painted onto carved wood panels, usually by women. I love the simple, vibrant, geometric designs and have several of these adorning the walls of my house.

These stylish and very popular beaded sandals are a favorite of mine and my female law students. Because they are available throughout Rwanda, I had mistakenly thought that they were made in Rwanda.  I was wrong.  I was recently told that they are made by the Masai peoples from Kenya and Tanzania. It goes to show what a market there is for shoes made in Africa, instead of importing shoes and sandals from outside the continent.  My American size 8 (European size 42) foot is relatively large compared to Rwandans’ and so limits my shoe selections.

Below is a beeswax candle of one of Rwanda’s famous gorillas.

Speaking of bees, Rwanda is also known for its honey (ubuki in Kinyarwanda). Below is a jar of Rwandan honey next to Rwandan peanuts (ubunyobwa in Kinyarwanda), one of mine and my co-workers’ favorite snack foods.  The container of peanuts costs 500 francs or about 62 cents.

Below is a small wall hanging made of pieces of wood pasted onto fabric-covered cardboard.  It depicts the traditional cozy Rwandan huts protected by an enclosure at the time the first Europeans arrived in Rwanda in 1894.  Like most Africans, Rwandans have amazing posture and are adept at carrying many things on their heads.

The below baskets remind me of the traditional round Rwandan homes that had conical, pointed roofs made of straw, like in the above picture.  These baskets are very popular with Rwandans.  A very large basket in this shape is used to collect money from guests at weddings, graduations, etc.  The below baskets are a set of nesting baskets, which like the Russian matryoshka nesting dolls, can all fit into the biggest basket.

These traditional containers were once used for beer (inzoga) or liquid yogurt (ikivuguto).  Now, I often see them as decorations, as these which I saw in a roadside food shop:

Amavuta y’inka (cow fat cream) is a very popular cream, which is used as a hand or body lotion.  I use it daily.  This one has aloe vera has an added ingredient, making its color green.

Inkoko (below) are Rwanda’s ubiquitous flat baskets, mostly used as a platter for fruit, but can be used as a wall hanging.  I use inkoko both ways.

These colorful wall hangings that can double as trivets.  I have these three on the wall above my bed:

Colorful coasters with a matching holder.

This looks like a casserole dish, but in fact is simply a colorful basket with a lid on it:

Rwandans make lots of things from fabric, including shoulder purses, coin purses and backpacks.  They also make stuffed animals from bright and colorful fabric.

Here is a colorful purse/bag that a co-worker gave me for my birthday:

Below is another birthday present from my friend Nicole, a fun wooden sculpture of giraffes:

The below cups are made by potters of the Gatagara Pottery Works in a village not far from my town.   They go nicely with my Rwandan fabric tablecloth.

Rwandan markets are loaded with a wide variety of colorful fabric.  Most of it is imported, but some fabrics, like my tablecloth (above) and the below drum fabric that I couldn’t resist, are made in Rwanda.

Rwandans do fun and crafty things with fabric, like how they transformed a plain T-shirt into this classy top by adding a few strips of leftover fabric:

And, finally, while most of the below colorful fabrics are NOT made in Rwanda, they are a staple of Rwandan markets.  Because all women wear dresses made by local seamstresses (abadozi) from such fabrics and some adventurous men have pants or shirts made from them, they are synonymous with Rwanda for me.

This morning, we still had not made any decisions about where to go next, so Béné again tried calling Benoit of the Rwanda Development Board (Rwanda’s tourist agency).  Again, no response, so Béné called Mary to complain and Mary finally got Benoit to call us about an hour later.   Béné explained that we were looking for information on the main trail and the Tyazo-Kigaga Trail.  Specifically, we wanted to know where the trail went, the towns the trail passed through.  Benoit did not know the towns, but told us that there is no lodging between Tyazo and Kigaga, as it’s a mountain bike trail, not a hiking trail.  (So, it turned out to be good that we did not take the dirt trails, as they were long distances for mountain bikers, not hikers, and we would have found no places to stay.) Benoit explained that the hiking portion of the Trail is on the paved road.  When we told him that we did not want to hike on the busy road, he suggested that we take a bus to the large Gishawa Genocide Memorial, where there were two lodges and we could do a day hike there.

Benoit also explained that RDB has published a new trail map, but that it won’t be available to the public for some months.  When we complained about the paved road hiking trail portion of the Congo Nile Trail, he said that RDB is designing another trail for hikers with distances that won’t be so far between lodging availability.  Of course, that didn’t help us today, and he could not tell us when the trail would be started or completed.

So, today, based on Benoit’s advice, we took a bus to the Gishawa Genocide Memorial.  Our goal was to take a bus on the road to move us further south and then to do a day hike after  we got off the bus and found a place to stay.

However, when we got off the bus at the Gishawa Genocide Memorial, there was nothing but the large memorial.  No village, no shops, no inn, no other buildings of any sort and no people.  Perplexed, we walked up to the genocide memorial, which was closed.  There, we talked to the two guards using a mix of English and Kinyarwanda, but they were unaware of any place to stay.  So, Béné, undaunted, called Benoit to tell him that there was nothing here, other than the closed memorial.  Apparently, he didn’t believe us, so Béné put one of the guards on the line to explain that to him in Kinyarwanda.

Out of nowhere, a police officer arrived in a car, and the guard, Béné and I told him our plight.  Fortunately, he said that he knew of a very good place to stay in Busenge, a town not far from here, and he insisted on driving us the 3 kilometers to the inn.  He was extremely nice.  When he let us off at the inn, which was named something like the Hotel Twigama, I took a quick look around and had a creepy feeling, but I said it was fine because we had no other choice.  The room that the manager, Martin, showed me was very large with a private bath for 10,000 francs (less than $12).

On closer examination, after we checked in, our creepy feelings intensified.  We found the rooms to be quite dirty.  When I looked at the guest register, it appeared that no guests had checked in for months, which seemed eerily strange.  We were the only guests.  Béné and I each got our own large rooms, since I was still coughing at night.  Each room had a king-sized bed, which also seemed weird, as nowhere else had we seen a king-sized bed in Rwanda.  Neither room was clean.  The bathrooms appeared not to have been cleaned after the last several careless guests had departed.  There were no toilet seats, no towels.  The floors were dirty.  The sheets looked slept in, and Béné’s bed had no mosquito net.  Not to worry, Martin said, as he would add a mosquito net to her room, as well as bring towels and clean our rooms and bathrooms. Still feeling queasy about our rooms, but confident that they would be cleaned and properly outfitted, we left the quiet grounds and went out to explore the town and enjoy a day hike for a few hours.

Our first stop was at a very tiny shop for our daily cup of mukara.  However, bees were flying everywhere, including one that landed in Béné’s cup.  The proprietress promptly gave her another cup.  There were so many bees that the proprietress escorted us to a second shop to sit.  However, the bees followed us, surrounding us there, too.  So, we stood outside gulping our tea and, when finished, continued our walk through town.

The focal point of Busenge (pronounced Boo-sen-jay) is the large sprawling district hospital, which takes up most of the left side of the main street of the town.  The outer walls of the buildings are very dirty.  There were many people all over the grounds of the hospital.  We looked for a pharmacy in town so I could buy cough drops, but there was none. We continued our hike past the hospital and through town and then chose a road that looked like it would be fun to hike, and it was.

We walked past small houses and farms.  The scenery was beautiful.  We came upon a tea plantation, where the harvesting and collection of the tea leaves was in process.  Rwanda is known for its black and green tea. The workers invited us to have a look at their harvest.

On our way back to our inn from our satisfying hike, we again passed through town and stopped in a small shop that had gargantuan amandazi (Rwanda’s round dense donuts), and I bought two, not knowing when I might need them.

When we returned to our inn, it seemed as sleepy as when we had left.  Since I had left my backpack in Béné’s room, I stood next to her as she used her key to unlock the door, but the key did not work and she became frustrated.  I tried my door key, which worked fine in the door of my room.  I also tried unsuccessfully to get Béné’s key to work in her door.  Then, Béné said, “Someone’s in my room.  There’s a man in my room.”  I didn’t want to believe her, but there clearly was someone in her room.  She pounded on the door.  After a few minutes, the door squeezed slightly open and a man’s face appeared, visibly upset with us, and yelling that it was his room before he slammed the door in our faces. I can’t remember what language we were speaking (likely a mix of English and Kinyarwanda), but the gist was clear.  It was hard for me not to laugh because it was so unexpected.  But, Béné, rightfully so, was hopping mad. “Calm down,” I said, “We’ll get this straightened out.  Let’s find Martin.”

As we turned to find him, we saw a young woman hanging around.  She worked there and spoke only Kinyarwanda.  We had seen her earlier in the day when we checked in so she knew who we were.  She stood watching during our clash with the man in Béné’s room but seemed nonplussed by what was happening.  In Kinyarwanda, I asked her where Martin was and she pointed.  When we found Martin and explained that there was a man in Béné’s room, he said that was impossible.

I convinced Martin to return with us to the room, where we knocked on the door and again stirred movement in the room.  After a few minutes, the same man opened the door a crack, again angry at being disturbed.  Martin and he spoke heatedly in rapid-fire Kinyarwanda for a few minutes, before the man fully opened the door and Martin told us to go in and get our backpacks.  When we did, we saw that the bed was in disarray and a woman was sitting sheepishly on a chair in a corner.  As we departed the room leaving the man and woman to their previous activity, Martin explained that, while we were out hiking, the young woman worker had mistakenly given Béné’s room to the man without Martin’s knowledge.

“Okay,” we said, “What do we do now?” Meanwhile, I had entered my room only to find that it hadn’t been cleaned and was as filthy as before we had left.  When I mentioned that to Martin, he said not to worry, that they would get around to cleaning it.  As for a new room for Béné, he showed us two rooms adjacent to ours.  However, both rooms looked like storage rooms, as they were dusty, dirty and piled with junk.  Again, Martin said not to worry, that they would fix one of the rooms for Béné.  By this time, however, Béné had had enough and announced that we couldn’t stay there.  We asked for a refund and, thankfully, Martin readily agreed.

But what to do and where to go?  I was still a Peace Corps volunteer and bound by Peace Corps rules, but Béné had completed her service and wasn’t bound by those rules.  Peace Corps required that I not travel after dark.  So, we had to get to our next destination by dark.  With our refunded money in hand, we high-tailed it out of that inn and began walking the three kilometers back to the main road.  Béné, no longer being a Peace Corps volunteer and still agitated by the squabble, opted to take a motorcycle taxi to the main road, while I hiked it and met her sometime later.

While we waited for our bus, Béné called Mary of RDB to complain about Benoit’s bad advice and the “Hotel California-ish” experience we had had in Busenge.  Béné believed that the inn was a house of prostitution, while I thought that perhaps it was simply a convenient place for a quick afternoon tryst.  Mary assured us that it was not RDB’s intent to direct hikers to such a place.

We caught a small local crowded bus to take us to the city of Kamembe, the official end of the Congo Nile Trail.  Just before dusk, our bus arrived in Kamembe, and, as darkness was descending, we walked the few miles downhill from town to the Peace Guesthouse, which was starkly different from the inn that we had fled from. Not only were the rooms spotlessly clean and neat and the grounds perfectly manicured, it was situated on a cliff overlooking Lake Kivu with fabulous views of the lake and the Democratic Republic of Congo on the far side of the lake.  We were treated to an exquisite sunset over the Congo side of the lake.

We ate dinner in the guesthouse’s large restaurant.  I had a wrap made out of chapatis. The next morning, our scrumptious buffet breakfast of mushroom soup, waffles, hard boiled eggs, bread, margarine, jam honey and an array of fruit (mango, papaya, pineapple), as well as coffee, tea, African tea or hot milk to drink was included in our 15,000 franc (less than $17) room rate.

So, today, the best-laid plans of these mice and women went awry.  Our day began with RDB’s Benoit’s suggested itinerary, which turned out to be impossible, and then morphed into an interesting visit to, and hike in, Busenge and a mildly unpleasant encounter at our Hotel California-like inn, but ended sweetly and peacefully in Kamembe at the aptly named Peace Guesthouse.

The next day, we found the Congo Nile Trail sign for the beginning (or end, depending on one’s direction) of the Trail, giving us more information that RDB ever had.  Had we known how to get to Kigaga from the north  (maybe there is a bus from Kibogora) and if we knew there was a place to stay in Kigaga, we could have taken a bus there and then hiked the final 20 kilometers (just over 12 miles) to the end.

Although we literally completed the Congo-Nile Trail, it was not all by foot. After Mushubati, we traveled by boat, foot and buses. We were greatly disappointed that the way we “hiked” most of the southern half of the Congo-Nile Trail was by sitting on buses.  So, when we finally got to the end, it seemed anti-climatic.

Still, on those buses and in the unplanned places that we fortuitously stopped, we met lots of interesting, kind and hard working people that we probably would not have met on a trail.  We hoped that we would be able to return one day if, and when, the southern portion of the Trail is constructed for hikers.

So, our advice for now to those wanting to hike the entire Congo-Nile Trail is to skip the southern portion and just hike the northern portion from Gisenyi (a/k/a Rubavu) to Mushubati, then take a bus to Kibuye (a/k/a Karongi) for your overnight stay.  If you want more distance, hike the northern route backwards, too.  If you really want to get to Kamembe (which is the southern tip of the Trail), take a bus, a boat or a combination of the two from Kibuye. And, don’t miss stopping at the sweet Esperance Guesthouse in Mugongero on the way.