#6

Today I’m going to talk about my trip to Bukavu in DR Congo. Where I’m staying is a 10-minute walk from the border, essentially a rickety wooden bridge marshalled by nervous looking soldiers on either side. My guidebook describes parts of Congo as very similar to Rwanda in the 90’s, so I was hoping a trip would be worth more than just the passport stamp. We were essentially going as tourists, but planned to do a degree of research for Rwanda Aid work. The size (and name) of the charity makes any expansion over the border highly unlikely but it would nevertheless be a useful exercise.

We set off early with enough money to cover the US$35 visa and any other expenses that could arise. Leaving Rwanda was very easy but, as you might expect, the other side was trickier. Our guide led us into a run down office, full of unfriendly-looking officials. Inside one of the tiny side-rooms our passports were quickly given a particularly large and lavish stamp, before any money had changed hands. At this point we were informed that the visa was $50. A Congolese man had advised us before crossing that, if they tried this, we should turn back and return another day. Unfortunately with our passports stamped, and with a policeman blocking the door we didn’t really feel in a position to do this. To add injury to injury we were also told that without our Yellow-Fever vaccination cards we would be charged an additional $10. The visa was one thing, but I know that the card is not a requirement of entry. Indeed the money, rather unsubtly, went straight into his pocket. As frustrating as this was, I am glad that a country doesn’t really allow potential yellow-fever carriers to enter for less than the price of a DVD. Either way, I felt the experience would justify the cost.

With thin wallets but wide eyes we stepped out into what can only be described as chaos. Cars covered the unpaved streets and pavements. Bizarrely there were crippled men everywhere, either strapped into hand bikes or dragging themselves through the dust. Rwanda is by no means an organisational paradise but after 3 weeks here I was shocked by the difference.

Throughout the day we made numerous stops at various aid organisations including OCHA (the UN’s humanitarian affairs coordinator) and Christian Aid. As worthy as their individual causes undoubtedly are, you have to wonder what kind of message they send out by covering their walls in barbed wire. I suppose it is just a reminder of the continuing security problems they face. What was incredible was the sheer number of aid organisations. Every 5^th car had some group’s emblem, always with a sign that they were unarmed. The UN is the most obvious presence, with over 1000 soldiers around Bukavu alone. The nature of the organisation means that, surreally, they were all Pakistanis and Uruguayans. This heavy, if colourful, contingent pales in comparison with the 15,000 men that the Congolese army has stationed there.

The main message coming from the aid workers was that DRC is stuck in an endless cycle. The war caused destruction of infrastructure, which creates an uneducated and unemployed populace, in turn encouraging ignorance and anger, the main causes of the civil war.

As well as aid groups, the city is fat with government buildings. I saw more ministries than schools, hospitals and banks combined. While this paints an unrealistic picture of the government presence here, it certainly demonstrates the ineffective way they apply themselves. Many seem abandoned, and have fallen into disrepair. The Congolese, unfortunately, seem to have fallen for the old trap of quantity over quality.

Probably the most interesting thing was my visit to the region’s parliament. We met its vice-president, a rather imposing man who didn’t seem as impressed as I am by my cowboy hat. He gave us a long list of problems that, amazingly, my GCSE French managed to understand. It got rather embarrassing when I tried to reply, but never mind. What was interesting was his assertion that, without political change, the massive NGO presence would be futile. This may sound incredibly pessimistic, but it is hard to disagree. Government employees haven’t been paid for years, which leaves soldiers looting and teachers charging parents for schooling. Instability, illiteracy and corruption follow suit, stopping development. I almost began to sympathise with the dishonest border official, maybe with a family to feed.

In organisation, security and wealth Congo lags quite significantly behind its neighbour. The last was the biggest surprise. Before going over many Rwandans had enviously told me of Congo’s wealth but I was at best sceptical. The reality was a gaping divide between the haves and the haven’ts. No doubt Rwanda has a similar problem, but not on the same scale. Vast houses cover the lakeside (possibly contributing to the Rwandans take on things) and, although many are empty, there is certainly no shortage of expensive 4x4s and barbed fencing. I never thought I’d say this, but as I crossed into Rwanda I felt glad to be back in civilisation.

I have been offered the chance to travel with the UN into the lawless interior. Whether I’ll accept is uncertain. It was a fascinating but uncomfortable experience.

TY

Day One

My name’s Henry, I’m 18 and on a gap-year. This is my first blog, and already I think the most I’ve written since my last A-level. That’s me in picture 1, don’t worry that should be the last self-portrait you get (although honestly the shiny forehead’s due to a lack of water this morning, it’s normally as clean as the Queen).

The aim of this blog is to tell you about my experiences in Rwanda, East Africa and hopefully to dispel some common misconceptions. In an era where more and more young people spend time in Africa, whether for a gap-year or something else, it seems to me that some first-hand information from somebody not trying to sell you an expensive trip or gather donations could be interesting and useful. Of course this is only one view from one country but since so many of our shared preconceptions are pan-African I don’t think this should put you off reading on.

Rwanda itself has a long and complicated history. Some of the first people ever came from around here, and it was mainly inhabited by Pygmy tribes for a long time. It was a German colony until after WW1 when it became Belgian. Of course the one incident which most people associate with the country is the genocide of 1994. Very basically, throughout Rwanda’s recent history there has been tension between two ethnic groups: the Hutus and the Tutsis. The Tutsis make up a small minority, and under the Belgians were raised above the Hutu majority, causing strong tensions. In April ’94 the President, an army general called Habyarimana and his Burundian counter-part had their plane shot out of the sky. This gave the extreme branch of his Hutu support their chance to bring about their ‘final solution’. Their first act was to kill the ‘moderate’ Hutu PM and 10 Belgian peacekeepers. This had the desired effect of scaring off the rest of the Belgians and giving them the freedom to do as they pleased. The Rwandan Army, as well as numerous Hutu civilians rampaged through the country killing any Tutsis or suspected supporters that they could find. Butchered corpses covered the streets of this small, but densely populated country and any churches being used for shelter were burnt to the ground. To give you a sense of scale I was told today that 20,000 people were killed in a local football stadium. That’s four times more than 9/11. Before Tutsi rebels invaded and restored some order, it is estimated that up to a million people were killed.

What has struck me most since I’ve been here is the lack of obvious resentment. There are many memorials and, on the surface, the over-riding message seems to be not of revenge or anger but of hope that history will not repeat itself. Whether this is really the case I’ve yet to find out. Although it has taken up a large part of this first blog, I think it’s best to get it out of the way now so I can focus on how much more there is to this country.

I flew out on Kenya Airways, which felt exactly like BA. Apparently the definition of a continental breakfast doesn’t change when you cross the Mediterranean and during my wait in Nairobi I had my first encounter with the legacy of colonialism: an airport official berating me and one other traveller for not queuing in the appropriate areas. Evidently British values are alive and well there.

My first impressions of Rwanda involved a 5-hour car journey, a short battle with a twisted mosquito net and a welcome mattress. I have though managed to fit one nice surprise into that short time. They are, on the whole, lovely people. The stares that come with being the only white faces in a town of 10,000 slightly unnerved me to start but as more and more are followed by waves, smiles and the odd word of English (tonight one girl wished us “good morning teacher”) this has disappeared. Two women have hugged me before we’ve swapped names (something that doesn’t happen to me in England as much as you’d think) and one of the locals working for Rwanda Aid spent an hour this morning teaching me Kinyarwandan with as much knowledge of my language as I have of his.

That’s it for today. My next blog, in two days time (internet permitting), will start to focus more on daily life here and on my work in conjunction with Rwanda Aid, a very sensible and ethically run group who have kindly given me the opportunity to be here. I encourage you to come back for more, as my second attempt should see me move away from amateur historian/Bryson-wannabe and onto something of real worth.

On a small side note, I’m using my Dad’s laptop which means my music taste is restricted to his and anything I downloaded five years ago. Rather worryingly I’ve just found Avril Lavigne and Beyonce which certainly isn’t mine. I dare not scroll down any further than that…