Lake Kivu and the Congo

So a little more about weekends in Rwanda. Dennis and I spent time getting to know Ross and Ernest’s (our facilitator’s) cousin on our first day, but there was also some exploration. Dennis was dead set on trying to see if it was possible to go into Congo, so we trekked the 1.3 km out of town to the border crossing. While it definitely felt pretty impenetrable, you could see just over the high walls that separated the Congo from Rwanda (maybe a wall isn’t such a bad idea on our border…). I am not sure that it works all that much, but on the other hand, except in the most emergency situation you wouldn’t be able to just ‘hop over.’ There were plenty of refugees huddled around a Unicef border station waiting for a UNHCR caravan. Caravans are taking refugees deeper into Rwanda to the refugee camps daily outside Gisyeni ( which we passed driving to and from Musanze).

Lake Kivu at Congolese Border

The border seemed relatively calm beyond these people; there were no trucks of military supplies or food aid, just people walking like always baskets on their heads to market. Money from each country was valid on either side of the border, and Dennis even picked up some Congolese bills from a moto driver. The area was surprisingly serene with a few straight over Lake Kivu. With huge, very fancy houses and hotel-esque places on both sides, if you didn't already know that Congo was in a huge civil war, you would never know it by looking about. It’s interesting how my expectations and stories of Congo leave me with images of devastation (both volcanic and military) that clashed to poignantly with those images I actually saw. I am by no means saying I would step onto the other side of that wall without a personal security guards, but then that begs the question ‘why bother.’ If you will not be able to live like a local and get close to people, (because you are so heavily guarded) then you miss a lot of what is unique about a country and might as well wait until life calms down to go in for a visit to see volcanoes that aren't going anywhere fast. 

I am not saying that we travellers get to know many people by just wandering around Gisyeni, we still cause waves just based on our race and citizenship, but at the same time we are able to observe people if we sit somewhere long enough that our presence wears off. Language is an incredible impediment to true understanding, but at the same time, there is a lot to be learned through participant observation. After visiting the Congolese border, we went to find a hotel with a sand volleyball area where Ross (our host) was planning to meet-up with friends. On the way, we passed by a public beach, crawling with locals swimming fishing and playing football (soccer). After passing through the hotel lobby, patio dining area, and onto the beach (complete with jetskis, sailboats and windsurfing materials), we entered the beach area. I was struck by a sign and rocky outcrop that asked visitors to remain on the private part of the beach- but don't think this was due to a life-guard being on duty. This part of the beach had almost no Africans at all. The few that were at the hotel sat back from the water to spend time eating or drinking in larger groups that were fully dressed in business attire. The make-up on the beach itself was all Caucasian, except for a few Indian individuals clearly vacationing in the area. It really was a stark contrast to the other beach we had passed by, so the next morning it was my goal to go swimming there - to see Lake Kivu from the local point of view. 

Even the sand was darker. From one beach to the next, the sand was progressively less pebbly and more of a black fine grained sand. Dennis and I were up relatively early Sunday, since we wanted to not overstay our welcome. Beach bound, we arrived early morning and it was definitely too chilly (and overcast) to swim, but that was not the case for most locals. Splashing around in the water, fishing, and jumping off the ‘boardwalk, the beach and breakwater barrier were crawling. Even a child who was using crutches managed to clamber down into the water for a swim and before climbing back onto the breakwater barrier that we sat on dangling our feet into the spray of the lake's waves. While Dennis worked on a book he had borrowed from a friend, I read on my kindle (definitely a fabulous purchase for international travel!). It felt a bit ironic to have a piece of brand new technology to read from while a kid next to my was using bamboo and string to fish with, but it worked out, clearly we were both amused in our own way. I am working on reading the book Man Seeks God by Eric Weiner, and it includes some serious food for thought in terms of immersing oneself in the culture of another. It felt particularly ironic when the beach seemed to nearly evacuate around 10. Then, we realized it was Sunday. Everyone had gone home to get dressed for church. It is a bit humbling to realize that while I sat reading about religion, others were working their day around practicing it.

Realizing this exodus, we decided it was probably time to move along ourselves. Dennis and I made our way to a gift shop we had dropped into the day before, and learned the visual differences between elephant ivory and hippo teeth (another version of ivory). It is certainly interesting how even though it is illegal, many artisans still work with elephant ivory in the Congo, and that like Congolese money, ivory passes across the border with relative ease. Another set of items that caught my attention in the gift shop were a variety of Malachite necklaces, boxes and small carved animals. There were many of them in the store, but all of the materials were mined in Congo. After seeing to many stories like those of blood diamonds and coltan feeding war in the Congo, I could not help but be saddened by the stones. I wondered if buying these little trinkets was really something I should just go about doing obliviously. There are clearly people working hard to make these goods, mine them from the ground, carve them, but where are the funds really going? To the artist? Or to feeding the civil war? The proximity brought me pause, and decided I should look into it, and reflect more before just purchasing the trinkets. It’s so hard to think about these touristy gifts having significant impacts, but mines can have that effect. They can be some of the most bloodily fought over areas of the Congo, because extraction can be coerced and export is relatively easy. Prices stay high for goods that are hard to get, and having control over resources in a land of relative chaos means having means for action. So even though the malachite animals were beautiful, I had to step back and leave them for another day. It's impossible to track things as dutifully as one would hope, but perhaps my time in Rwanda will help me find a few more answers to questions like this.