Muzungus in the Mist, Pt. 1

( I did not come up with that title, but I can't remember who did.)

After many delays and postponements, we finally made it over to Uganda to hike Mt. Sabinyo this weekend. This will be the story part of our adventure, and the next post will be the picture portion. Mom, I am warning you right now, there are parts of this story you do not want to read. Spoiler: We all survived.

Sunday afternoon, Louise graciously drove us to the border. After being swarmed by money changers and people hoping to transport us for the next leg of the journey, we made it through and caught motos to the place we were going to stay. (Mom, stop reading.) Because Uganda has far less rules than Rwanda, we were able to save money by sitting two to a moto and also there were no helmets. (Mom, I know you just read that even though I told you not to. Sorry.) Because there were two of us on each moto plus the driver, that meant we were three deep on the motos going up and down very rocky dirt hills masquerading as roads. How the driver was able to balance all that weight is a complete mystery to me, and I don't even get that close to my friends, so it was an exercise in letting go of my personal space expectations. The good news is that we only fell off the moto once!

We made it to Amajambere Community Camp, the rustic and oh so amazing place that we stayed, just before dark. We ordered an excellent dinner of beef stew and mashed potatoes and played a game of euchre while waiting for the food to arrive (I will win one day). It's been so long since I've had mashed potatoes, and they were so delightfully salty. They were so delicious and helped me carb load for the big hike. The hostel-style cabin where we stayed was everything I ever wanted. There were candles in the place of electricity and really nice bathrooms outside. Don't tell anyone, but we took one of the blankets off an extra bed and laid out under the stars for a while. The sky was so clear, and there were no lights for miles around, so there were many stars both stationary and shooting to be seen.

Uganda is an hour ahead of Rwanda for some reason, so when we woke up at 615 to go eat, it really felt like 515. That was a little brutal, but I killed that morning with kindness and smiles. I threw down some eggs and toast, and we made our way to the park entrance gate, aka next door (well done Mary Clayton on some excellent planing). We has a short briefing and then hit the trail. It took about and hour, a swamp, and a buffalo for us to get to the base of the volcano. Thankfully, I am well-versed in swamp wading, and I hardly noticed my very damp toes after a few minutes because goodness knows I am not coordinated enough to actually keep my feet dry.

Sabinyo means old man's teeth which is the perfect way to describe the way this volcano looks. You can Google it or wait for my picture post, but, regardless, you will definitely see how it got its name. The hike spans three peaks of the volcano, which means that you end up hitting all three peaks, and then go back across the first two. I can just imagine God reaching down as a potter into clay and thumbing deep ridges into the side of the mountain. It is an intense hike. The volcano also has mass in three different countries: Uganda, Rwanda, and Congo. The third peak actually has parts in all three countries. There are loads of places on the hike where we had to climb ladders at varying angles, some of which were vertical. There was even a set of stairs to get to the third peak, and some of those stairs went vertical for short spans. It was weird to be on a ladder above a ravine and know that were you to fall off the ladder, you would likely be toast. Jesse noted that it would be the perfect setting for a kung fu movie. The student has now become the master. We are grasshoppers no longer.

There really is no way to describe the absolute awesome that were the views of and off this volcano. No photo and no word could ever capture it. I will try with some pictures, but I could never do it justice. I wish everyone I know could somehow see it through my eyes, but that can't be. I will forever hold it in my mind and be able to share it with the other three. Part of the beauty and the majesty of it all was having three incredible friends to hike with. People I never tire of talking to and laughing with. People who, when I stopped in awe of what I was seeing, would stand right next to me and be blown away, too. God has been so incredibly good to me, and I have experienced many wonderful things, but this was the single, most awesome nature thing I have ever seen/done. It didn't rain, no one was injured beyond sunburn, it was altogether a perfect day.

If you read my post about our hike on Bisoke, you will know that I experienced major hypoxia, so I was pretty worried about what would happen on this hike on a higher mountain. However, Mary and I have been training for a half marathon, so my body and mind were much better prepared to work harder at a higher altitude. It was still odd to feel my heart racing so fast, but I never felt my brain was compromised, and I never struggled for air. This was one of those moments where I had to stop and thank God for health and strength and a body that is able to do incredible things.

I have to give you a snack break-down. Mary and I are the queens of snackage. On our many stops, we were sustained by Pringles, apples, roasted cashews (Mary roasted them like a boss), and laughing cow cheese with crackers. A very special snack was saved for the third peak: snickers. It was exactly what I needed. Between all of those snacks and loads of water, we made it through the nine and a half hours of hiking back and forth across the peaks and up and down countless ladders.

We managed to make it back in perfect timing to catch our super squished, helmetless motos back to the border (Sorry again, Mom). This ride was much easier maybe because it was more downhill than up. Jesse and I stayed upright this time and the other two bailed, so I would say everything was pretty even. We made it through the border as smoothly as could be hoped for, and finished our journey home with a friend whose car's headlights don't work. That last drive in the dark really rounded out the perfect weekend adventure. And it all happened in the span of about 28 hours. We done did it.

Kibogora

My great aunt and uncle are in Rwanda and working at a missionary hospital in Kibogora.. The older kids were home from boarding school, so we all went to Kibogora for Easter weekend. It's on Lake Kivu and is shockingly gorgeous. 

The long car ride was eased by anti-motion sickness medication and an excellent playlist. My cousins are keeping me musically current because, goodness knows, I am so far out of the pop culture loop at this point. When I get home, it's gonna be like the opening scene of Mean Girls. Our major stop on the way there was at the only ice cream shop in Rwanda. It happens to be in Butare and right between us and Kibogora. Ice Cream? YES PLEASE.

This is the gorgeous house where we spent the weekend. The compound was made for missionaries who are working at the hospital, so there are many houses all with incredible views of the Lake. There are many gardens full of produce and herbs and guava trees abound.

Aunt Lydia and Uncle Bill brought us all chocolates for Easter from A Southern Season (I love that place), and I was greeted by this little pig cutie. It actually took me a while to eat it because it was just so adorable!

We had a swing outside.

 

I ate way more than my fair share of guavas. 

Some of them are super pink inside...

...and some are pure white. Both are delicious beyond words.

Saturday night, we were invited to join one of the missionary families who lives at Kibogora for movie night. I had never seen The African Queen, but my mother has often talked about it, and, given the high volume of old movies consumed at my house, it's a mystery to me why I never saw this one. An incredible dirty Humphrey Bogart rescues the tight-lace missionary Katharine Hepburn as the Germans are rounding up Africans to add to their World War I troops. Their escape plan is to float down the river on Bogart's boat, The African Queen. It's a classic, and you should all watch it if you haven't seen it already. I was mainly struck by how dirty and gross Humphrey Bogart is the whole time. I remember him as the suave, fedora-ed, nightclub owner of Casablanca. Let me tell you: this was nothing like that.

The missionary retreat center, Kumbya, is a short drive away from Kibogora, so I got to swim in Kivu every day and spend delightful hours soaking up as much African sun as possible. My great aunt and uncle brought over some of my grandmother's ashes, so we were able to have a small service to commit her ashes to the lake. It is a comfort to know that part of her earthly body has been given back to a place she loves so much. The water carried her back to Zaire. 

On our way back to Musanze, we were able to stop in Kigali and see a movie. This was very exciting for me because I so enjoy movies and haven't gone to see one since the summer. Bright lights, big city. I went with the older kids to see Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Basically, it was awesome. It was also refreshing to see so many things America to prepare me for my return. 

twenty years

This week is Spring Break for our school, which means that I have slept in everyday until the blissful hour of 6am. Yeah... I can't really sleep in because my body is in the rhythm already, but I can refuse to leave my bed until 730 or 8, which I cannot do on a regular school day. Our Spring Break coincides with Genocide Memorial Week here in Rwanda. On Monday, I was able to attend the big meeting that kicked off the whole week. Everyone gathered at the district offices, walked over to the memorial that's behind my house for a short ceremony and laying of flowers, then walked to the stadium for a series of speeches and singing. I did not understand a word of what was said, but the grief was palpable.

In no way am I comparing my experience to that of genocide, and I praise God that I have never experienced anything like that, I just need to write something out. The biggest total loss I've experienced was due to Hurricane Katrina. We were living in New Orleans. Dad was actually deployed in Baghdad at the time, so Mom packed Erich and me and the pets up in the van and we went to Northern Mississippi. I had a duffle bag of clothes and a few things including my homework that Mom kept telling me to complete to turn in to my teachers on Monday because we were going back as soon as this storm blew through, right? Well, it didn't just blow through. Our one-story house held 8 feet of water for weeks. The thing is, I was never homeless or hungry, my whole family was safe, there was hardly a hiccup in my education as I was back in school the next week. We switched cities and started again. It was certainly hard, but we were provided for every step of the way.

Each year that passes, I miss New Orleans deeply. I miss New Orleans as a home, the people I love there, and the music, food and culture that make it such an incredible city, but the tide of grief seems to ebb a bit further out to sea. Could the pain of genocide ever be like that? It's been 20 years, and, for individuals, the pain and grief seem to be as visceral and real as they ever were. Don't get me wrong, there have been incredible steps of reconciliation for this nation and its people, but that's some painful stuff. I don't know that it will ever fall away.

I was two, a baby, when it happened. There are people my age here who have lived with unimaginable loss for their whole lives, my whole life.

Come, Lord Jesus. Come.