You Never Walk Alone (or Why You Should Take Motos)

After Adventures in Driving (http://millescollines.blogspot.com/2007/11/adventures-in-driving.html) last week, I have been sans car (while it’s being repaired) for some days now and find myself walking… a lot.

Oddly enough, I never ever seem to walk alone.

The other day, a familiar face skipped toward me as I ambled down the main road of the neighborhood. Her face lit up when I recognized her and even recalled her name – or at least something close to it. Mediah (I thought it was Medinah) is such a pretty little girl, even if she is a bit too skinny. She has light skin and hair cut so close to her head that the curls just barely make it out, looking almost like caramel-colored bubble wrap. On this brisk day, she had wrapped a cloth around her that must have been in the reject pile at a fabric store. It was a burgundy, yellow and white patterned abomination that would have been used to make one obnoxious pair of Bermuda shorts in another life. In spite of the hideous cloth, she looked so pretty, blinking out from under it with her narrow face and elegant eyes. She followed me almost all the way to the Novotel, where I was going to check email and lounge by the pool with other fat and overpaid expats. Again, we couldn’t really communicate even though I am so curious to know about her family, where she lives, where she goes to school, what she likes to do for fun. And again, by the end, she was making pleas for money or some donation in a Kinyarwanda/French mix.

On another occasion, as I was returning home at dusk, a young man from Kenya quickened his pace to catch up to me. David was just looking for some fun and wanted to know if he could buy me a drink at the Planet nightclub, since it was after all on my way. Even if I couldn’t smell the alcohol on his breath, I still wouldn’t have wanted to go. Being rude/bitchy doesn’t come naturally to me and even when I want to be rude/bitchy, I still somehow end up being a shade too nice. And true to form, I was too nice and let him walk with me long after he had overstayed his invitation to chat. He asked for a hug in the end, and then I said that sorry I had to hurry ‘cause I hadn’t been home all day and was worried about my very old dog that has Alzheimer’s. Hey, if you can’t be a rude bitch, at least be an inventive liar.

In those rare moments when I think no one is accompanying me, I have the view to keep me company… The walk from the Novotel to my neighborhood follows the crest of two hills and you can peer into the valley all along the way. You can watch women carry baskets of bananas on their head as they traverse the little red paths that cut shortcuts from one hill to another.

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Motos Operandi

Motos are the little motorbike taxis that abound on Kigali streets. Once banned because the government found them too problematic (lots of accidents, known to be reckless), they’ve since been reinstated much to the dismay of many a nervous driver. Moto drivers wear green and yellow vests and helmets, and they always carry a second helmet for the customer who rides on the back.

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Slightly weary of having to haul my very heavy butt every day, I finally decided to work up the nerve and take a moto.

And it was like opening the floodgates: I now take them all the time. They’re so fun!

Sure, they’re horribly dangerous and you don’t know who or what was wearing that helmet last. In fact, I felt especially uneasy today as we weaved past a long queue of cars in the small space between the (rather deep) concrete drainage ditch and the right lane. If the stress of these moments doesn’t age me quicker, then all the noxious fumes I inhale will surely deduct several months off my total lifespan.

But c’mon, those are minor cons. The pros include

-They’re convenient and fast. You can hail one almost anywhere, hop on, and zip off in no time flat. Practically door-to-door service.

-They’re cheap. The longest trip in Kigali will probably cost 500 Rwandan Francs . That’s less than $1.

-They’re kinda… cool. I have caught myself being fixated by my shadow, watching my hair whipping out from under the helmet. I can’t help but feel a little proud that I am throwing caution to the wind and, quite frankly, enjoying it.