The Rwandan Episodes: 4

Subject: In which I find myself alive

Captain's log, day 32:

Lots of activity this week and I'll jump right into it. 

Country Comparisons and Security Concerns

Mt Nyiragongo is one of five active volcanos in the world and contains the largest lava lake. The last eruptions, which displaced close to half a million people in both the DRC and Rawanda was in 2011 and 2002, before then. To reach the base where you begin to climb you must cross the border into the Congo and through the border town of Goma. 

The trip began eventfully as a work issue for both myself and my temporarily missing travel partner led to us having to catch the 7:30PM bus (the last one, a fact of which I was unaware). My travel partner, Jessie, surfaced about half an hour before to let me know he was at the bus station and that our bus was filling up fast and that was including the extra space created with people hanging out the windows and stuffing themselves like sardines. I asked Jessie to bribe a guy and that worked for about 15 minutes before the crowd got increasingly pissed off and menacing. To make a long stressful story short, my arrival was preceded by me jumping out of cab in the middle of 4 lanes of standstill traffic with a huge ~50lb backpacker's bag and a day pack, running through crowds and markets (people shouting "muzungo" the entire way), desperately begging every person in the station to show me where to go and nearly puking once I sat down from the sheer exertion. The bus drivers are known for being bat shit crazy and there are a lot of accidents on these country roads. I didn't give a shit-- my flu came back and I stupidly went out the night before and got 3 hours of sleep.

Nonetheless, I arrived at Gisyenyi, the Rwandan border town and stayed with a fellow Fullbright friend of Jesse's. Read: I am VERY spoiled in Kigali. What the hell, no SafeMoto's?!? You mean I have to WALK to find my motos?? The kitchen looked like an outhouse and I won't even go into what the shower looked like. Absence makes the heart grow fonder for Kigali. 

Congo was quite worse. Rwanda is either much more wealthy than Congo, or its more stable government and the absence of war makes it seem so. The people were ruder and scammy. Makes sense considering the conditions they live under. We heard gunshots while on our trek. Rebels do occasionally come upon Virunga park and we were accompanied by two guards with AK-47's. 

Heart of Glowy-ness 

To give some context, the extent of my hiking experience is that one camping trip (glamp-ing, really) in 5th grade and the leisurely hikes my parents force me to go on in Tennessee. They last about an hour and I complain the whole time. I've come to realize that there is something wrong with my fear receptor. Not the rebels, the dying in a bus accident, possible volcano eruption, or the difficulty of the hike -- shit, all I cared about was the cold. I didn't move to Rwanda to be cold like the rest of you fools. 

This 3,600 meter hike was the HARDEST THING I'VE EVER DONE IN MY LIFE. I believe I've physically challenged myself in the past and nope. This jellyfish was beaten into submission, hazed into badassery level 2. I'd like to think I've made it to level 1 at this point in my life-- you all know the stories. There are no words to describe how much this hike fucked with my head. The first quarter it was all about the difficulty breathing (flu shit and maybe inexperience with altitude), but I wheezed as silently as I could in order to blend in with the real badasses. But a third of the way through, my legs turned into the biggest assholes and stopped working. Literally, stopped working. In my defense, however, all 3,600m of this climb was uphill, starting at a 60 degree angle and only becoming steeper as time went on. For 4 hours, I fought like I have never fought before to make each leg move... "step, rest, step rest, keep going, step, rest, step..." Hello, my name is Jellyfish and my leg muscles are just for show. Most of the way was paved in loose volcanic rocks and losing your footing was the name of the game. But still, no words. Absolutely no words. 

The last stretch was the most insane. A place where my fear receptor is quite willing and active: acrophobia. I could not turn to look behind me. This was where the literal climb took place. We weaved our way from volcanic rock to volcanic rock. At this point, barely able to walk, the ranger decided "fuck it" and just dragged me to the topic. He was like a Nazi personal trainer who dragged, let me rest, dragged, etc. We reached the top before anyone else. 

The glow. Six hours of torture and at nightfall, the glow. You never think you'll see anything like it outside of the movies. All the stories of Pompeii and the myths of Hell, and yet it really was just like "whoa, we really do live on a planet." We're just naked monkeys wandering about on this huge living rock that can squash us like cockroaches whenever it wants. Humbling. In big part because my body failed me, but also because... you know, naked monkeys. We shivered through 5 layers of thermals and long underwear, wools and more wools and stared at it. And then the Ranger professed is love and then I slept in a shack made of like 2 sticks. I have to say, I did think repeatedly "I am fucking insane." You are all right. Mom, was it the tequila you binged on in the first trimester? 

Blah blah blah, Ranger professed his love. I'm home 24 hour later. I redeemed myself after the disgrace of the day before, by jumping down the mountain like a billy goat. There was some obnoxious stuff with getting back into Rwanda because I maaaay be somewhat working illegally here. Or not. No comment at this time. Regardless, saw the lights of Kigali in the distance while on the bus and similar to when I'd see the lights of New York, I actually thought "Home!" I'm an emotional whore for homes. 

Dying on Your (my) Own Terms

Feeling rather invincible-- or the opposite (brain isn't functioning along with the legs today)-- I picked up my rented scooter this morning. I prepped myself in advance for the fall on the rocky steep hills of my neighborhood. Hills and rocks and bruises are my life now. And fall I did, folks, fall.I.did. The workers in the fields had a nice laugh at my expense and a flock of children chased me about as I weaved and fell and looked generally confused and distressed. But I die on my own terms and hey, that's worth it. No moto man is going to cut this life short. Its me and the Rwandan streets. Looking for trouble. I'm going to start a motorcycle gang when I emerge like a tough ass butterfly from the cocoon of jellyfish. 

The office took a photo, which I will share because I think I've killed off all the vanity I acquired when I was with you good people last. 

So there you have it. I leave you weary and broken today. Next time you hear from me, imagine me in the voice of Rocky. And I leave you with a quote from The Heart of Darkness (because, hey, Congo) to sum up my reasons for being here, for leaving corporate world, the world of the glitterati. In case you wonder. Or maybe for when I wonder...

“I don't like work--no man does--but I like what is in the work--the chance to find yourself. Your own reality--for yourself not for others--what no other man can ever know. They can only see the mere show, and never can tell what it really means."

- Joseph Conrad

Til next time.