John finished organising tickets for those to be seated and then turned his attention to the goods and the luggage. With the number of passengers, it was obvious that most of the luggage and goods would have to go on the roof of the bus. The top of the bus had a rusty red rack designed originally to run the entire length of the bus. This allowed luggage to be stacked securely and lashed with rope to the roof rack to prevent it from falling off. The rack, however, had seen better days. Rust cancer had completely eaten through the rack every meter or so leaving large gaps; it would be a miracle if any of the luggage or livestock managed to remain secure for even a small part of the journey.
John made his way down the queue for a second time, selecting the biggest bags and crates. After surveying them for a few minutes, he whistled in no particular direction. A young man sprang out of the waiting throng and stood expectantly in front of John, who pointed to the roof of the bus. The young boy then climbed up onto the spare wheel attached to the back of the bus, before adroitly pulling himself up onto the roof. John placed a table next to the bus onto which the passengers put their larger bags. The young boy on the roof dangled a hook on a rope, which John connected to the luggage before it was hoisted up to be positioned on the rack. Quickly stacking the larger bags in the corners, the young boy then turned soccer goalkeeper, catching the smaller bags thrown by up by those still standing in the queue. He wedged the smaller cases inside the larger bags. Christian could start to see the logic. The large bags spanned the areas where the rust had removed sections of the bus rack. The smaller cases wedged everything in tightly, and hopefully none of the luggage would then move or fall off.
The exchange of large and small bags proceeded with very little communication but great efficiency, a little bit like a silent movie. Once all the large and small suitcases were lashed down, live chickens in crates were passed up. A cacophonic protest of squawking accompanied each of the crates of six chickens. Baskets of vegetables were the last to be loaded. The vegetables jammed between the large suitcases and small suitcases, and then the young boy lashed everything into place.
John walked around the bus and inspected the roof-loading process, nodded approval to the young boy, and then started boarding the rearranged queue. Those to be seated were the first to get on the bus. Like an aircraft captain, who needed to balance the weight of the airplane, John selected the largest passengers to come to the head of the queue. John then seated them in the middle of the bus. All the other passengers were then seated around them at the front and rear of the bus. Having seated all the Rwandans, John smiled and nodded at Willy.
“Time for you to get on board, Dr. Chris,” Willy said. “I hope you have a safe trip. God bless you, and maybe I will see you in Garanyi, God willing.”
“Thank you, Willy. It has been wonderful meeting you. I hope we see you down in Garanyi as well.”
Christian, Cindy, and Donna climbed up the steps of the old bus through the front door, which the young boy from the roof had temporarily tied open. He then showed Donna, Cindy, and Christian to the back seat of the bus, which was the only seat now unoccupied. Walking down the aisle of the bus, Christian noted another disconcerting similarity with Willy’s van before he repaired the floor. The floor of the bus had similar air-conditioning vents, large holes in the floorboards, through which the road was clearly visible. Christian silently hoped that the bus did not have a similar exhaust problem to Willy’s van, although the strong smell of diesel inside the bus suggested that, unfortunately, it might.
Cindy and Donna took off their backpacks and sat down on the back seat. Christian put his backpack on the floor next to them, as he looked past them to the back side window. On either side of the back, windows were completely missing. At least he thought that would mean that they could get a flow of fresh air in the worst-case scenario where the diesel fumes were overwhelming. Moreover, with Donna not feeling well, having fresh air blowing through the open window would possibly help reduce her nausea.
Finally, with everyone seated, John started boarding the standing passengers and the eight remaining livestock and goods. Baskets of dead chickens he and the young boy placed in the racks above people’s heads. Extra vegetables, water bottles, and small collections of firewood were packed in alongside. The rope netting, which held all of the goods in place above passengers’ heads, started to bulge threateningly. Christian’s concern was growing that a large pothole in the road would probably cause it to release its constraints on everyone underneath.
“I’m glad we’re sitting down in the back and there is no overhead rack above us,” said Cindy as she watched another load of firewood placed above a young boy’s head.
“You might be required to do some emergency treatment before we get to Rhuengeri if that rope netting gives away,” Donna said looking at Christian in amazement as more objects were placed in the racks above the passengers.
Eventually with the racks full to bulging, crates of live chickens were stacked three high in the aisle. Sitting at the back of the bus, it was difficult for Christian and Donna to see the front. Once the aisle was fully stacked, the goat was led on board by the young man. Christian thought it was either a nanny goat kept for its milk, or a frequent traveller, as it was so relaxed, trotting up the stairs and lazily making its way down the aisle. Confronted by live chickens, it did a few disdainful sniffs and turned to face the front of the bus.
Four extinct volcanoes surround Kigali; they varied in height up to 4000 metres and had to be climbed to get to Rhuengeri and beyond. Serpiginous arms of smooth black asphalt were deceiving as to the mountaineering task which lay ahead for the bus. Each section of road cut into the mountain at an angle of about 40 degrees. John started the bus, which began to shake in time with the revolutions of its motor, perhaps fearful of the climbing task ahead. Once John was certain that the engine was well-warmed up, he engaged first gear which then caused the bus to start to sway gently. Very quickly, everyone and everything in the bus started metronomically swaying left to right. The gentle swaying of everyone on the bus reminded Christian of a Southern American Baptist church choir. All that was required to complete the imagery was for everyone to lift their hands in the air and sing a halleluiah chorus. Given his experience to date with Willy, he would not have been surprised if that happened.
John eased the bus onto the road and it began to heave and sway its way up the hill, diesel, as predicted, percolating up through the air-conditioning holes in the floor. As the bus laboured, John changed gear and extra clouds of brown diesel flowed up through the floor irritating the chickens, producing a rap cacophony of squawking. Unfortunately, the increased agitation caused spurts of chicken poo, which splattered the crates and aisles around the crates. The smell of diesel and chicken excrement was an overwhelming combination.
Christian cast a glance along the seat at Donna to see how she was managing. She had changed places with Cindy so that she could be next to the window. She had her face resting on her hand with the top part of her head out the window. Christian could see she had her eyes closed so it was difficult to tell how she was feeling; her general greyness indicated that the smell of the chicken excrement and diesel was having a deleterious effect. He had seen that look many times before in accident and emergency, and he knew it was a prelude to vomiting. As if on cue, Donna vomited loudly and prodigiously out of the back window. He motioned to Cindy to change places so he could sit next to Donna. As they were in the process of changing places, Donna vomited again. He sat down next to her and quickly felt for her radial artery. Her heart rate was regular and about 80 bpm. Clinically while she looked unwell, she was not at the stage of decompensating due to dehydration; however, he knew that unless she stopped vomiting, dehydration would quickly occur and with it possibly renal failure. He wondered, given the filthy conditions in the bus, whether he could give her an intramuscular injection of Stemetil, an antiemetic he carried in his bag. One more vomit, he thought and he would take the chance.
Th
e blaring of horns temporarily distracted him from Donna’s vomiting. He tried to peer around the chicken crates but could only see the backs of those standing in the forward part of the aisle. He looked out the side window past Donna and could see that they were still steadily climbing but were now on the opposite side of the road. They were attempting to pass a small truck that had stopped in their upward lane. Donna then vomited again as the bus lurched back rapidly onto the right side of the road, narrowly, or expertly missing a bus which had come around the corner just prior to the apex of the climb. The water that Donna had tried to take in between the vomits immediately was lost out through the window in a continuous stream. Christian unzipped his bag and found the container which held the Stemetil. He had six needles that were blunt-tipped for drawing up medications, the six others for injecting. He quickly told Donna what he was planning on doing and she weakly nodded her consent. As he drew the Stemetil into the syringe, people all around him started to look at what he was doing. Three young children, who had been sitting on their mother’s lap in front of the back seat, peered over their mother’s shoulders, wide-eyed and with great curiosity. By the time he had taken the needle out of its sterile container, more faces were appearing around the chicken crates, and most of those in the back of the bus had stood up to see what he was going to do next. Smiling at all of the faces, he rolled up the short sleeve on Donna’s arm, wiped it with an alcohol swab, and plunged in the needle before injecting the Stemetil. He heard some of the children gasp. Then, as he pulled out the needle and checked the syringe to make sure the full five mg had been delivered, all those who were watching burst into spontaneous applause. Donna mouthed a thank you to him and put her head back out the window.
Half an hour later having crested the top of the hill, the speed had increased significantly. More importantly, flows of fresh air flushed out the diesel and reduced the impact of the smell of the chicken poo. Importantly, Donna had not vomited again. Christian turned to Cindy.
“Would you like to sit next to Donna again now that she is feeling a little better?”
“No.” She smiled. “I’ve always believed you should share a good doctor.”
“Very cute. I’m relieved that she is feeling a little better. It would have been awful leaving you at Rhuengeri if she hadn’t been.”
“Well, at least we can try and concentrate on what there is to see around us now that she’s feeling a little better.”
Christian could see the flat road that they were now on was really just a connection between volcanic ridges. Looking up at the surrounding peaks, every possible inch was cultivated. Horizontal furrows were constructed all around the distant mountains to the very top. Rich volcanic soil provided a life-giving underbelly to everything from potatoes to bananas. Every 1500 m up the mountain, he could see there were small one-room huts. They had four walls, approximately a metre and a half wide, each with a small door, a chimney but no windows. Some had smoke gently drifting out of their chimneys, suggesting occupation. People who cultivated the soil obviously lived in the huts so that they did not have to climb the whole mountain each day.
It was like nothing he had ever seen before, a reminder of one of the human endeavours in Africa required to survive. In another life, he wondered whether he could have existed in a similar small hut. As he thought about the daily grind that would entail, he noticed the 50 km to Rhuengeri sign on the side of the road. For the last few kilometres on either side of the road, there were increasing numbers of people walking with various forms of produce. Some rode or pushed bicycles, which had large water bottles for filling, or branches of trees cut for sale as firewood. Some of the bicycles were so overladen with firewood that there was no room to ride them; the rider was walking alongside the bike while trying to maintain balance.
Rhuengeri quickly came to meet them with its markets and throngs of people. As a town, it was not dissimilar to Kigali, although unlike Kigali it was entirely flat.
“I guess this is where we say goodbye,” Cindy said, looking dispiritedly at Christian.
“Perhaps not goodbye then, just au revoir. I feel like we are destined to meet again.”
“And hopefully not just for your medical expertise, wonderful though it was,” Donna added, her vomiting greyness replaced by a healthier pink colour.
“That injection that you gave me has made the world of difference. Thank you so much. I’m sure you’ll make a huge difference to the patients at Garanyi Hospital where you’re going.”
Christian felt both sadness and excitement. Sadness that he was losing his travelling companions whom he had, over a short period, grown to know and like, yet excited about the challenge which lay ahead.
“Well, you can always come and visit me, as friends of course, not as patients.” He laughed. “I hear it’s beautiful on the shores of Lake Kivu where Garanyi Hospital is situated.”
Christian looked across to his left and out the window. John was expertly bringing the bus to a halt next to another long queue. Remarkably, nothing had fallen from the roof. As the bus’s motor was switched off, Christian felt the sensation of the rocking motion of the bus continuing for a few minutes. John then reached through one of the missing door panels, untied the front door and the disembarkation proceeded in the reverse order to boarding. The chicken crates in front of them however remained in position and Cindy and Donna had to manoeuvre around them by climbing over the seats. Christian held onto their backpacks and once they were outside, passed them out of the window. Realizing that they would have to remove some of the luggage from the roof, Christian also decided to exit via the missing back window.
“Time for one last goodbye,” he said as he landed on the ground next to the backpacks.
He stretched out his arms and Donna walked quickly towards him producing a prolonged grateful hug. Turning towards a broadly smiling and open-armed Cindy, he breathed deeply and enjoyed the temporary escape from the diesel and chicken pooh.
“Now don’t forget, the orphanage is only about an hour from Garanyi Hospital. If you get a free day, come and visit.”
“I had been meaning to ask who runs the orphanage that you’re going to teach at.”
“The Chinese. It’s one of their new humanitarian outreaches.”
“Well, that could be very interesting from a cultural point of view at least; I would definitely be interested in coming and visiting you and the orphanage.”
“Be careful, Christian. There are reports of lots of Congolese militia and armed groups not far from where you are.”
“I will take care,” Christian said, climbing back in through the bus window, trying to imagine what was behind the Chinese humanitarian aid. The Chinese had always put their business interests first, especially when it came to Africa. The sceptical part of him wondered whether the proximity to some of the world’s most wanted mineral resources was behind the sudden desire to help the poor.
Chapter 11
Christian looked back out through the side window as the bus eased its way through the throngs of people gathered at the Rhuengeri market. Donna and Cindy stood like two life buoys in an ocean of colourful humanity, waving energetically as they pulled away. The bus, after a few minutes, turned onto the main road to Garanyi and he finally lost sight of their waving arms.
The two-hour ride to Garanyi was more of the dark rich Rwandan soil cultivated to its last life-giving centimetre. Greenness, in its darkest Sherwood Forest shade abounded, undoubtedly due to the multiple trace elements bequeathed by volcanic activity over the millennia. As Christian looked from the small-cultivated patches at the side of the road to the mountains in the distance, he thought if ever there was a place on earth where life had begun, Rwanda and its pristine beauty would have to lead the list. The overwhelming lushness is what he imagined would be a pre-requisite for any Garden of Eden.
The bus had been traveling for about an hour when Christian noted the lines of people walking on either side of the road expanding to three deep and more unif
ormed military personnel with automatic weapons. The Congolese border was getting closer. As the bus rounded a long slow corner, an area of rare uncultivated flatland appeared. A ten foot high fence topped with barbed wire surrounded hundreds of large blue United Nations tents. It was the refugee camp for those fleeing atrocities in the Congo, which he had read about in the news. At the front of the camp, a double gate protected the entrance. Four armed guards on the inside of the gate were checking people in and out. Inside he could see hundreds of people, mostly women and children, wandering around or sitting next to small fires. He imagined that many would be seen at the hospital that he was going to, before they made it to the camp.
From the time of his first setting foot in Rwanda a few days ago, its beauty had dominated his senses, irrespective of the surrounding poverty. Such beauty should have prepared him for Garanyi, but it did not. After an hour’s driving beyond the refugee camp, John announced they were approaching Garanyi. The bus again laboured up the side of a hill and then entered a canopy of trees on the road leading down to the town of Garanyi. Half way down the slowly winding hill, the trees suddenly retracted their protective canopy; the effect was like a curtain in a cinema being flung open for the major film. Racing to take centre stage, was a lake of expansive dark green beauty—Lake Kivu, with its attendant smoke, haze, and small wooden fishing boats. The lake, stretched miles into the distance, towards the nations of Congo and Burundi. Trees abounded, squatting in clumps around the lake, some trekking down to the shore, branches gently moving at the water’s edge as the lake breeze stirred.
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