Mzungu, Mzungu

4km from the Congo border

Wednesday morning (24th November) I made my way over to where Patric was staying in Kisoro in preparation for our hike. We were going to walk past Travellers Rest, then on past the new market and into the surrounding countryside and villages.

We started at 11am and within half an hour the hustle and bustle of Kisoro was long gone. The red dirt track we were on was shadowed by Mount Muhabura directly ahead with its telling clouds circling the top, these clouds usually signified afternoon rain. To the left of us was the Rwandan border.

We greeted many locals on our hike, passing in an out of small villages and settlements while the roads gradually worsened into pretruding rocks and pot holes...but not putting off high speed cyclists who bounced on by. The humidity picked up and the foilage grew ever more green and vibrant as did the smells and sounds. At points along the road, groups of men sat and stared, which was a little unnerving as some of their eyes looked quite intense. A quick 'wa ra yeh' or good morning broke the silence and in most cases got a reply of 'eh go' which means 'well'. After a couple of hours of fast paced walking we reached a village called Kashinge and stopped outside a children's baptist school. We exchanged greetings with a teacher on the road and then realised we had the attention of the whole school with children hanging from their class windows staring and giggling. We had a short chat and the teacher told us we were 4km from the DRC border so we decided to turn around. We'd actually walked in an elongated 'L' shape to the right without realising.

In these villages and even in Kisoro the average life expectancy for a man is 46 and a woman 47.

On the way back we unfortunately passed a school which was emptying out for the day. Immediately we had a mob of 30 children shouting 'Mzungu' and 'American' walking right next to us. It wasn't so bad as they kept their distance and were young children. We stopped to let them go on their way but the whole crowd stopped with us. I waved and said 'Agoha' or goodbye a number of times but still no joy, so we decided to smile and continue on down the road.
The crowd continued to grow with boys of 12 or 13 joining in, this time with more confidence as they started to touch my bag or arm. It started to get uncomfortable as the group got more boystrous shouting 'Mzungu' louder and copying my walk but through gritted teeth and forced smiles we kept walking and ignoring it. We passed through 2 more villages and thankfully after 20 minutes the children dispersed. We laughed a lot at the bizarreness of the situation, with an undertone of relief.

I had a glimmer of how it feels to be singled out for your colour, even more so on this walk then visiting the shops in Kisoro.

Patric with the sugar cane

A few hundred yards from base we purchased some sugar cane for 3p at the side of the road. The locals bite off the outer shell to get to the cane, but our teeth would fall out if we tried, so we used a trusty knife. I can't say I loved it, but it wasn't unpleasant, it was sweet and is surprisingly good for your teeth.

Before I left, Patric had a phone call from the British Consellate asking for his temporary travel document as he'd had his passport stolen in the UK. He'd handed this over at Entebbe airport and not got it back, but wisely kept his flight ticket. Unfortunately he had to leave immediately on a night bus for Kampala to sort it all out.

When I returned I mentioned the walk to Jenny (The Potter's Village director) and she said she was aware that the further into the countryside you go the more heightened the reactions are to white people. I was promptly given the Rifumbira for 'Go away, or I'll beat you', which is a proven method in crowd control here.

The evening's meal was a skinny chicken, avocado and rice at 'Graceland', a local establishment. An early night followed ready for the Thanks Giving preparations in the morning.