Feats of Strength: Part III

FEATS OF STRENGTH III: Kings and Queens of the Road

I think there is a person under there

Rwanda is loosely translated as ‘land of one thousand hills.’ But the inaccuracy lay in the likelihood that there may be more like ten thousand hills. The capital, Kigali, is a city spread over four major hills. When you walk from mumuji (downtown) in any direction you go downhill. To reach the outskirts of town (another loose idea since adjacent towns seldom leave a gap between the city limits) you walk down hill for a mile or more then climb an equal distance up hill before reaching the boundary somewhere over the crest if not somewhere down the hill on the other side. That is true in all directions except for north and south where the Akagera River flows in and out of the city. To the north it is just a long walk downhill and some miles of flood plain. To the south, it’s some miles of twisted, long and gradual highway before you leave town. In a country rebuilding and developing its road infrastructure, working two-lane pavement in any direction is more important than a single major highway. Thus major trucking routes do not exist as many of us imagine.

 That is not to say that trucks do not ply the highways carrying materials and goods from one part of the country to another. But it does mean that most of those trucks are long-haul. The business of getting things from farms to town, farms to farms, or town to farms is left to much smaller vehicles. No doubt pickup trucks prowl the paved roads and some of the dirt roads. However, the real moving is done by two-wheeled vehicles. Yes, it is bicycles which rule the transportation industry of Rwanda in sheer numbers of rider/drivers and overall volume. Bicyclists haul people, animals, and every imaginable thing everywhere and do it with a fearlessness and purpose that make this country work.

20 cents gets you a long way

They start hauling hours before the sun rises, throughout the hot or rainy day, and late into the evening.  They are fearless not only in their wild abandon as they fly down every hill, the repeated whoosh of their decent ringing in one’s ear as each successive daredevil flies by, but also in their  faith that the diesel powered vehicles they share the road with will be able to see them and therefore avoid them in the darkness. It is a wonder to see them pushing unimaginable loads up monster hills burning more calories than the money they can be earning could buy to replace them. All the while, sweat dripping and faces impassive, they turn their pedals.  It is a wonder to see also the ingenuity and deftness with which they load these bicycles.  Multiple one hundred kilo bags arranged to get the maximum load and if an additional twenty kilo can be carried on your head all the better.  Metal doors, lumber, chickens, goats, monster bags of cabbage or pineapples, bunches and bunches of green bananas, six, seven or eight water containers, metal roofing three meters across or vertical, wooden bed frames, and absolutely massive bags of empty jerry cans all find transport on these average sized bicycles.  In all the time I have been here I have only seen two mishaps: a bag of beans fell off the back of a bike, spilling gracefully across the road, and an unfortunate rooster who found his neck in a rather precarious position between the bike frame and wheel.

The hierarchy of the road is as follows: big trucks, small trucks, pickups and SUV’s, bicycles, wheel barrels and pedestrians. If in doubt about who yields to who consult the pecking order above. Pedestrians move to the far right if a bicycle bell rings. Bicycles move right as far as possible when a pickup truck honks. Everyone scrambles when a big horn leads the way for the big trucks. It may not be right, but might makes right on the Rwandan pavement, dirt and, some, barely recognizable roads. Dear reader you may choose to discount the veracity of this since there is no picture to back it up: I saw a live pig, a large live pig, strapped onto the cargo platform of a bike just a few days ago. The pig lay on its side, feet toward the road and head hanging over the shoulder. Does a person reach for a camera every time? Or does a person, once in a while, just stare in wonder and enjoy the moment? I will end with this: the pig did not look happy.

weaving materials

beer distributor...really

earthenware headed for market

gotta feed the goats

100 kg = 230 lbs

For good measure, a reminder that some places require the most primitive of transport methods