Today I had to return from Jabana—I would have liked to stay longer, but I had a wedding to go to. Not actually a wedding, but the customary introduction of the families a week beforehand. The groom is a Rwandan friend from New York, and I was excited to have the opportunity to come: I had heard that Rwandan weddings were a lot of fun.
The ceremony took place outside of Kigali, in Mugambazi, Murambi Sector (I believe), Northern Province. I don’t think it is actually very far, but the roads stop being paved soon after leaving the city, and are often rough enough that 25 miles an hour is pretty optimistic for a sedan. It was about an hour’s drive.
All in all, I think there were about 400 people in attendance, plus lots of locals who stood nearby and watched. Four tents with about 100 seats each were set up in what was probably a pretty big lawn associated with some venue, a building that the event was organized out of.
There were several groups of dancers who performed at various times, and a singing group that did interesting harmonies accompanied by a drummer. There was also a meal in there somewhere, toward the end.
The main attraction, though, was a conversation. This took place primarily between the fathers of the bride and the groom, and I think it was a mock argument over a bride-price. The Kinyarwanda they spoke was ceremonial and antiquated, I was told, and even young Rwandans would have trouble understanding it. Unlike other ceremonial and antiquated traditions, however, it was full of joking and laughter. The two men had what seemed like a very loosely structured off-the-cuff exchange in several parts, and every few sentences the audience would burst out laughing and applauding.
I understood very little. I couldn’t actually have told that it was old-style Kinyarwanda; it sounded about the same as what other people speak. This is probably because the speakers, both in their 50s or 60s, did not natively speak what they were imitating, and the grammatical nuances were lost on me as I was trying so hard to understand individual words. If I listened, I could get a substantial portion of the words in each sentence—a third to a half, maybe—but I could not usually combine the meanings.
I was proud of myself for getting when they made a joke about the groom having a similar name to a controversial politician, though that was just because I heard the name and recognized it. I probably understood less than anyone else, though, as the other two foreigners in attendance (including an American, who I talked to a bit beforehand) had both come with Rwandan friends who were translating for them.
Despite my lack of understanding, the whole ceremony was fascinating for the mixture of tradition and modernity. There was a ceremonial exchange of gifts; I think the tradition is to give some kind of liquor, but probably not scotch. The music was very traditional, but sung into a microphone. The food was Rwandan, but served like any American buffet. The women almost all wore traditional garments: they looked like patterned rectangular cloths with adjacent corners joined by a knot over one shoulder. These did not cover the whole body, though, and a tank-top or some other modern garment was worn underneath. Moreover, most of them were rented—interesting, right? (The men almost all wore suits.)
By the time the ceremony wound down at 5:30, everyone was very dusty, quite hungry (for the meal that was then brought out) and very conscious that the neighbors had a cow: we heard it frequently throughout the day. Shortly after sunset, we drove back to our various homes; the people driving me dropped me in the city.
This brings me to the next thing I wanted to talk about from this day. Thus far, I had traveled around Kigali by car, by minibus and on foot, but there was one final mode of transit I had not tried. Motos are motorcycle taxis; they are distinctive, if not perhaps unique, in Kigali, and they are everywhere.
(Note that they are not Harley Davidson-style muscle-bikes. I do not know my vehicles very well, but they might be mopeds? They are gas-powered, but do not make much noise and do not produce much exhaust.)
I had not previously taken them because they strike me as really unsafe. They are largely the reason for my initial shock at the state of traffic in Kigali (which is not actually as bad as I first thought, by the way). They have a way of weaving in between cars that seems irresponsible and dangerous. And yet people take them; I did not get why, aside from assuming they were desensitized to the risk.
But sometimes, there just is not another option. For example, there are no buses that go to Jabana. The only way of getting between the city and the country, then, unless you have your own car, is to find a moto. Find them we did—three of them, as we needed, and we took them between Gitega and Karuruma, where we could catch a minibus back into town.
Maybe it wasn’t good for my first experience on a moto to be on an unpaved, winding, downhill road. I was pretty uncomfortable for the whole time. Every so often, there would be a gap in the road covered over by logs that were not completely tightly packed, and I just had to trust that the guy would position his two wheels in the right place. And maybe it was the smoothest part of the road, but I wished he wouldn’t ride right along the edge of the gutter. The passenger’s seat has a rim on the back that is a little bit raised; I was clinging to it the whole time.
And yet we arrived without a major hitch, caught a minibus into town and went home.
The story doesn’t end there. Surprised as I am to retell this, that was not the only moto I took today. I had to be at the Sainte Famille Church in town at noon, and I ran late in getting ready so I did not leave until 11:45 a.m. Because of the strength of their engines and all of the stops, minibuses cannot be relied upon to get into town from Nyamirambo in less than 35 minutes. A moto, on the other hand, can do the job very nicely. So I found one, on the main road just a block from the house, told him where I wanted to go and was there within ten minutes.
And, believe it or not, even that was not the last moto I took. Since we got back into the city well after dark, most of the taxis had stopped running. Not motos, though! And the same thing happened: say a destination, agree on a price and go. Admittedly very convenient, and I also felt safer at night when there were not as many other vehicles on the road..
They still scare me a bit. They have distinct advantages, though: they are more expensive than minibuses, but getting from home to town is still less than a dollar (and I might add that neither driver tried to give me an unfair price). It is even a little bit relaxing to watch the city go by. The next two advantages that come to mind—that they can get places quickly and weave in and out of traffic—can also be easily construed as disadvantages. Rest assured that I still prefer to take other modes of transit when I can.
This leads me to the next point. The three moto-rides I took today illustrate pretty well the three situations in which I might be willing to take a moto: (a) if there is no other transportation available from my location or to my destination, (b) if I am in a hurry and need to get somewhere fast, and (c) if it is late and other modes of transit are not running. In these situations, they are the best way to travel—a fraction of the price of a hired car, faster and much easier to find.
So, after some thought, I have decided on the following policy: to recognize that, under specific and limited circumstances, I will be willing to take a moto—but really make an effort to avoid those situations. I got by for a month here without taking one, and hopefully the next will not require too many.
If you are considering taking motos, or are just curious, keep the following tips in mind, which come from my own experience and what I hear from others:
- Moto drivers must legally be registered; you can recognize a registered driver by his blue vest. All of the ones I have seen are sponsored by Tigo, the phone company. Note that some drivers do not wear the vest, but put it in an otherwise visible place. You should probably not take an unregistered moto—and this is not much of a restriction, as most are registered and they are actually everywhere.
- The driver should also have a helmet for you. Make sure he does, and that the strap works. Once again, most of them are fine and finding another is pretty easy otherwise.
- Communicate where you are going by landmark: government offices, prominent buildings, markets, taxi stops and gas stations are good examples. Street names are not useful references, and small shops or restaurants may not be either. The driver should know where you want to go; if he does not recognize it, tell him the neighborhood and you can direct him as you go.
- Regardless, however, you should agree on a price first. Nothing within the city should normally cost more than 1,000 francs at the time of writing; to go from town to Kacyiru or Nyamirambo, or a similar distance, should be in the range of 500 or 600.
- The driver will speak Kinyarwanda, and likely a good amount of French. Don’t count on the English, but it might happen. Useful Kinyarwanda words to know are:
- buhoro: slow—apply liberally
- ibumósô: left
- ibúryô: right
- hâno: here
- haâfi ya: near
- ángááhê: how much?
- ijana: 100
- maganaabiri: 200
- maganaatátû: 300
- maganaánê: 400
- maganaataanu: 500
- maganaataándâtu: 600
- maganaariindwi: 700
- maganamunaâni: 800
- maganacyeênda: 900
- igihuumbi: 1,000
- (ibihuumbi) bibiri: 2,000
- Get on and off on the left side of the bike, even though the sidewalk is on the right. The reason is that the exhaust pipe is on the right, and you want to avoid getting burned.
- Drivers of hired cars will get annoyed and might ask for more money if you ask them to drive on a dirt road without telling them first. This is not nearly as much of an issue with motos, and one of the moto’s definite advantages is getting you exactly where you want to go. That said, if you would not feel safe on a little moped on your dirt road, do as I do and get off at the intersection.
- Feel free to hold the bar behind you; most Rwandans will not, but in this case I think it is O.K. to look like a foreigner if it means you feel safer.
- If you have a bag, put it in front of you. Drivers will take you if you have a large load (though they might charge more). I have seen passengers holding big metal pipes, wireframe drawers and, most memorably, about a dozen dead chickens, on the backs of motos. Generally, they hold them in their hands to both sides in such a way that the balance is not screwed up. This looks unsafe.
- I have read that the recommendation for women wearing skirts is to sit sideways if they cannot spread your legs enough to sit forward. This sounds frightening. Maybe it would work, or maybe just wear pants.
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