Acacias And Eucalyptus

For some reason, I am back in Kigali. I was not expecting to return for a month. But events transpired (namely, Paul Kagame visiting Gisenyi, my practicum home-base, which threw everything into security chaos) so that it became evident that I needed my passport or some form of identification. I did not bring anything. Usually, you do not need that kind of thing for in-country travel here. But anyways, I am back for a day or two from my brief adventures with the Rwandan soil. Tomorrow I head back to Gisenyi on another four-hour bus ride. On the way here, my entire left leg fell asleep, completely numb, and the woman two seats to my left started burping like she was about to vomit. It was not entirely pleasant. 

My favorite part about working as a tree planter so far has been just getting to know my coworkers, my crew mates who have been teaching me the ropes although most do not speak English. I am improving daily in my Kinyarwanda communicative skills (I learned the future tense!) but talking to a rural Rwandan is still difficult, especially understanding them. We have not done that much work so far, just studying and learning, but I have fifteen trees under my belt and ten various trenches/terraces I have dug to help the hills catch the falling rain and prevent erosion. Hopefully, we will be much more involved in the physical labor next week, when we receive our own tools. 

Two things I do not like: planting foreign, non-native trees that replace the native forests, and planting trees only for them to be chopped down in four short years. However, those things are out of my control at the moment.

We plant on hills, slopes of varying inclines/declines/whatever. Some of the steeper ones are impossible to scale without using the hoe as leverage. Skipping and jumping down the hills, from terrace to terrace, is one of the more thrilling activities I have experienced yet. The Rwandans like it too; they hoop and holler as they throw themselves down the hills, sure-footed and confident. I know they like having us around (my friend Devon and I), to laugh at us when we work, to distract them, and to teach us the skills they know almost intuitively. They applauded us after we flung ourselves down a particularly steep hillside and made the final fifteen-foot drop. 

We live in paradise, on the shores of Lake Kivu. On my sole run so far, I stopped at a point on the lake, called it a midpoint, went for a swim and then ran home to our guesthouse. There are two volcanoes in the distance and we live three minutes from the DRC border. I am prohibited from crossing over. 

We work in a couple of different locations, all of which require a substantial commute. One of them is near a town in the hills called Gishwati, populated mostly by the Batwa, or the pygmies. It is surrounded by green, so much green. Green pastured hills and green hillsides covered in newly planted trees. We are so high up in the hills that we are almost in the clouds. Another site, around Mukondo near the town centre Mahoko, is located near a valley completely covered in tea bushes. I mean green tea bushes as far as the eye can see and beyond. The hills around the valley are populated with trees my fellow planters have labored to set in the earth. 

I love trees.