Musanze, Pt. 1 - “A Muzungu!!!”

Last weekend I had the opportunity to visit a friend who is conducting her PhD research in a small village outside Musanze, in the Northern Province.  She is studying Anthropology and working with orphans in a small village on the outskirts of one of the larger towns in Rwanda.  Musanze is about a 2-hour bus ride from Kigali, and besides being set among rolling hills, it lies in the shadows of several volcanoes.  

Volcanoes in the Northern Province.

The highlight of the trip (besides getting out of Kigali and spending about 5 hours with a good book) was a 4-hour walk on Saturday.  We walked through the village, much to the delight of the children, who came running at the sight of us, and met up with a young man who lives in the village.  He will finish secondary school this year, and wants to work in tourism.  He guided us on a lovely walk, which involved hiking up the largest hill in the area.  This was quite an experience.

Our estimate was that hike took us up 500m, reaching a peak at the top of the hill of 2000m.  As we walked at the base of the hill, we went through a small village, and as before, a smattering of children ran to greet us, yelling “A Muzungu! A Muzungu!” (Muzungu meaning “white person”.) Admittedly, it was not surprising, because this is definitely not a tourist destination and very few of us “muzungus” would ever have the occasion to be there. 

The children followed us as we hiked, and about halfway up we walked though another hillside village (or, a smattering of houses on the hillside), and picked up more children in our wake.  We reached the peak to the reward of a wonderful vista, with a lake on one side and volcanoes on the other, and more than a dozen small villages dotting the landscape below.  The children were happy, and took to running along the flat area at the top of the hill, gleefully yelling and screaming, as we continued our walk.

Making our way down the hill, the children returned home, and we continued on our walk (thankfully on level terrain).  We made our way though winding walking paths that carved their way through corn fields, where tucked away all along the path were small houses with women outside drying beans in the sun, washing clothes, and tending to their children.

This was my first real experience of rural Africa, seeing life in the villages in the countryside, and the marvelous and exotic landscape.  It was Africa as I imagined it to be, and without surprise, it was simply beautiful.