In the morning, I did some laundry by hand, had a shower and repacked in preparation for a trip north to Nyagatare. We took moto taxis to the Nyamagogo Bus station. It only cost us 1000 francs each or $1.50 for a 15 minute ride. Pretty reasonable, I'd say. We asked at the front gate which bus would take us to Nyagatare and immediately a young man called us to follow him through the crowded bus lines to a matatu (15 passenger mini-bus) already crammed with people and often crammed with as many as 21 people and not all of them small as Branden found out. They squeezed us on board and we waited...and waited. We noticed the front seats were up and the engine cover was up on the front seats. Looking out the window we saw a couple guys and the driver comparing some parts with some more on the ground. I didn't recognize the parts very quickly, but they looked similar to starter solenoids. We were sure we were catching the 2:00 o'clock bus, but were we sure we were going to Nyagatare? The sign on the bus showing fares along the route didn't seem to include the name of our destination, but we were assured that we were on the right bus!
Finally, at 5 minutes past the hour, the engine roared to life and the engine cover and front seats assumed their normal position. We had been told the bus trip would be around 2 to 2.5 hours long. Well, this bus stopped frequently to let off 3 passengers and let 4 more on. How is it even possible? The traffic in the city of Kigali was really congested and sllw moving, but once we got out on the en highway there was only large lorries to contend with. Underpowered with the weight of too many passengers, the bus driver still tried to pass everything on the road, including transportation trucks. At one point we were halfway past a transport and the driver had to use the brakes (thank God those still worked) to slow down and slip in behind the transport before coming heading with a gravel truck. There are always a number of close calls that make you wonder if you made the right decision about the trip. One lady that got on the bus at a particular stop eating dedicated up sitting by Branden. She was a bit taken with him and tried communicating with every Effort glish word she could muster. Failing in that, she dug out some oranges and offered him one which he declined. She would not be deterred. She peeled the orange and was about to hand feed it to Branden. He decided to take the now-peeled orange and feed himself. Eventually, after more stops than we could count, we were told to transfer to another minibus that would take us to our destination. The purser wanted 6000 francs and we were told not to pay another fare on the new bus. I saw our driver pay the other driver from the funds we had given him. OK. It's a good thing it wasn't much farther to Nyagatare because a rather large woman got on board and took the place of the 'orange girl'. I was scrunched up in the back seat with my knees around my ears. Branden was squished between me and the big one. We're we ever glad when the bus pulled to a stop at our destination about 10 minutes later.
We got into Nyagatare about 5:30, only a half hour before dark. We were immediately surrounded by moto drivers on their bikes wanting us to hire them to go where? We didn't know where to go as we expected Peter would be there waiting for us. One moto driver pushed up to Branden and asked him if he was a boy or a girl. His hair is short enough that it was hard to tell for an African, and besides, he was wearing lime green shorts that were gender neutral, so the guy felt he could honestly ask the question. Branden was pretty angry about that, but he remained calm and didn't give the guy a knuckle sandwich. We moved over beside a soldier carrying an automatic weapon, exchanged pleasantries and called Peter on the two numbers he had given me. The call would not go through on either number. What now? I sent a request to his Facebook address, still no response. Meanwhile, we are drawing a lot of attention from bystanders and it is getting darker. I find a phone number for Diane and rang it. Whew! Diane answered and Peter is at home waiting for my call, which I had tried both on the bus and at the bus stop. He would be on his way shortly. I think I asked at least three times if he was on his way yet and he hadn't even left the house! Finally, Diane said he was out the door and on his way, really. Eventually, he showed up on a moto taxi. That's what they usually use for transportation. We hired two more and rode to his place, arriving at 6:00 just as the curtain of night dropped down around us.
Alphonsina, the house maid, had a wonderful supper prepared for us and I caught up with about 17 years that had passed since I last saw Peter and Diane in Watson Lake, Yukon. They are now over here in Rwanda affiliated with Youth with a Mission. I called my Diane in Canada on Skype to let her know we had arrived safely. I forgot to close the call as the phone was passed from person to person. During that time I brought out the package my Diane had prepared and sent along for our friends. It was Thanksgiving dinner! Including a stuffed turkey! Well, their was an excited scream as I brought out each item and placed it on the table. A can of pumpkin pie filling, a can of cranberries, 2 packages of gravy mix, 2 packages of Idaho mashed potatoes, a package of cake mix, cupcake liners, scented candles in glass candleholder and a hotpad. Then I dug deep to bring out the stuffed turkey. Now I have taken a real frozen turkey all the way to Thailand, to be sure. With baited breath, everyone waited as I slowly pulled out a ”webkins” stuffed toy turkey! The beauty of it was that my Diane heard it all through the open phone line on Skype without us realizing it!
Soon after all the excitement, we prepared to call it a night as Peter and Diane's day starts early at 5:00 a.m. And we are going to be up and gone with them at 7:00 a.m. to the school.
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