On a 5-hour bus ride

At a recent Priest Party, I pondered my most existential Peace Corps question: during this past year (13 months but who’s counting), have I spent more time sitting through Catholic Mass or traveling on an Express Bus throughout the winding roads of Rwanda?

As I run down the hill from my house to the main road, all I can think is that I probably should have not have hit snooze the second time. Did I really need to make a cup of coffee for the road? Silly question. Yes, I did. The sun is starting to rise, I don’t see a bus at the bus stop, but does that mean it somehow got here early and I already missed it? Or that it is late and all my plans for the day need to be adjusted? Are the people waiting at the bus stop actually waiting for a bus or are they just waiting? I’ve seen people sit at the bus stop as multiple buses, taxis, motos and trucks go by. What are they waiting for?

Me: “Bisi yaje?” (panting, out of breath, has the bus come?)

Jeannette/Danny/Jacques: “Bisi iraje vuba.” (The bus is coming quickly.)

What does quickly mean? 2 minutes? 20 minutes? Also, why am I so desperate to get on this bus? I am anxiously waiting to sit on a 5-hour bus ride to Kigali on which I will be anxiously waiting to be in Kigali. Interesting logic, Grace.

My bus person prints me a ticket. How much of my house could I wallpaper with these ticket stubs? Why didn’t I keep them so I could find out?

Will I get a good seat? The bus comes, and of course, no, I get a jumper seat. Jumper seats are in the aisle, and you typically have to stand up every time people get on or off the bus, which can happen every 20-30 minutes. More if the police stop you and you all have to get off. These are definitively the worst seats on the bus (specifically the one next to the door where you nearly fall out of your seat at every curve), but what is the best seat? Okay, the front seat is the best. After that? A seat next to a window, for sure. But not the one with over the wheel. That seat sucks more than a jumper seat.

Speaking of the windows, why at 6AM when it is freezing outside (lkay, 60F) does everybody open their windows, but mid-day under the equatorial sun every single window is sealed shut? If only I was sitting next to a window, this bus would be the ideal climate.

It has only been 20 minutes, but there is a lot of movement next to me. That can mean one thing. Who is vomiting? A child? A woman? Do they need a paper bag? I rush to grab one out of my purse but it is probably too little too late. Isn’t it ironic that Rwanda has banned plastic bags, the perfect receptacle for vomit, in a country where most common form of transport is the bus and the roads could make somebody with a stomach of steal puke?

Have I ever been on a bus where people haven’t been vomiting? Answer: not in the west. Without fail, how do I always sit next to somebody puking? Statistically speaking, I guess it isn’t surprising. Weirdest thing I have seen somebody vomit into? A boot. Saddest? A full backpack. Usually, they vomit into fabric, shove it in their purse and move on. No big deal. Vomit doesn’t phase any of us, as long as one window is open and I can get a whiff of burning trash instead.

The second we leave the west, what happens? The vomiting stops. Miraculously! It also signals our first snack break.

What do I crave on the bus ride to Kigali? A cup of Question Coffee, a massive Java House breakfast, a smoothie, pizza or even a scoop of ice cream. What is there to eat? Potatoes on a stick. Meat on a stick. Corn on the cob. No better snack after puking for the last few hours. I’ll pass, unless I’m really hungry and cannot track down a baggie of peanuts.

I wish I could accurately describe this scene to my friends and family at home. We roll into a town, with a commercial center that has a sole purpose: feed the people on the bus. People start running up to the windows and opening them from the outside. There is screaming, shoving, and there are plates of corn, jerry cans of milk and little net bags of fruit shoved in front of my face. Everyone wants to rip off the Muzungu. Okay, where is the bus driver? Let’s get moving, this is my second (third?) least favorite place in Rwanda.

A few months back, I made friends with the woman next to me on the bus. I accidentally tapped her. Why do people complain about airplanes? Compared to express buses, on airplanes you have your own island. You are all alone. But yes, I tapped this woman. What did she do? Handed me her half-eaten ear of corn.

Would it be rude to reject this offer? Would it be rude to take the corn and not eat it? What did I do? I ate it and chucked the cob out the window when I finished. I am umunyarwandakazi (a Rwandan woman) and that was solid gold integration.

What is there to do on the bus? Between crime podcasts and Spotify, I look out the window. Rwanda is gorgeous, stunning and no matter how many times I take the bus, it doesn’t get old. I could sit and stare all day long. I sometimes do sit and stare all day long. I see a kid walking a dog on a leash! I’ve never seen a dog on a leash here! My eyes have deceived me again – it is just a goat.

My second most frequent question: I often see goats on leashes and think they’re dogs. When I go back to the US and I see a dog on a leash, will I think it's a goat?

There are kids all over the road. Playing with balls, playing with wheels, playing chicken with the bus. Is there anything that makes me sadder being here? Probably not. It's about as depressing as it gets in my book.

As we careen through the country, I cannot help but think how absolutely dangerous this is. Why aren’t there seatbelts? Why is my driver passing another bus on a blind curve? Please stop talking on your phone sir. Texting is worse, why is he doing that right now? Is that a semi passing another semi? A Ritco passing a Ritco? How many overturned cars and trucks are we going to see today? Will I survive this bus ride? The next? The one after that? Was the Peace Corps worth it? I usually stop my mind before I get that far.

On a good day, the trip to Kigali takes 4.5 hours, and to Kibuye or Kamembe (other regional towns on the lake) it takes 1.5 hours. On the way to Kigali, I know the milestones like the back of my hand. If we aren’t in Mubuga in an hour, Kibuye in an hour and a half or Muhanga in three and a half hours, we’re screwed.

When I realize it is a bad day – over 5 hours to Kigali – my hunger and caffeine dependency kick in. When I get to Nyabugogo, will I pay for the $7 cab by myself or suck it up and take the 25-cent city bus? Take the bus, Grace. $7 is a scary high percentage of my monthly stipend. How high you ask? You don’t want to know.

The last stretch to Kigali is the worst. There are a lot of roads where it is illegal to pass other cars. Does this stop bus drivers? Only when they see cops. I’m internally screaming for them to pass people. Why are they so apt to blindly pass other cars and trucks on the blind turns of the west, but not closer to Kigali where roads are nearly straight?

We arrive within city limits, and I cannot even lie to you: I breathe a sigh of relief. Is this because I know I have survived another bus trip or because I have survived another stretch of my service? Is it bad that it is primarily the latter? Alas, I can breathe.

Until: Nyabugogo. The worst place in all of Rwanda, only rivaled by Kamembe, also known by volunteers as “Nyabugogo City”. As eluded to earlier, Nyabugogo is my least favorite place. It makes North Station look like a palace, Civic Center BART station the international terminal at SFO.

Are all bus stations this horrible? How many times will I be offered a Kinyarwanda-English-Swahili pamphlet today? Over/under 5? How many times will I hear “Sister! Sister! Taxi! Sister! Uganda! Sister! We go.” How badly do I really have to pee? Could I make it another 30 minutes? No. Into the bathrooms, if I can find a stray coin to pay my entry fee. Inside, and they aren’t the best but definitely not the worst. What is the worst latrine I’ve been in? I won’t go there.

On the 7th day, God invented noise cancelling headphones. The only way to survive the onslaught to the senses that is Nyabugogo.

I’m on the city bus, another 30-minute extension of my travel, but know that friends, food, coffee and a fun few days await. And then it dawns on me – do I really have to do this all again tomorrow? Yes, ntakundi (there is not other way).