Kibuye, or the perks of research

July 20, 2008

Julius and I went to this incredibly beautiful town located on the shores of Lake Kivu on Saturday to scope out possible places for my (potential) research next summer.

Kibuye, pronounced like ch BOO yeh, is about two and a half or three hours north of Kigali, depending on how fast the bus driver chooses to go. We traveled up, up, through several small villages, into the Western Province, around countless hills to arrive at the dark turquoise lake surrounded by woods filled with what look like different varieties of cypress trees. Along the highway we saw see people carrying seemingly impossible loads of produce on their heads as they made their way to market, children toting water and long bunches of sugarcane, and even a bride and two bridesmaids heading toward a church. I also saw one of Rwanda’s traditional breeds of cow, the Ankole, with its graceful longish horns.

I was also thrilled to see a woman carrying one of the traditionally-shaped Rwandan baskets on her head. I’ve seen these everywhere—they are printed on one side of the 5,000 Rwandan franc note because of their cultural significance—but I hadn’t seen them used before in a practical way. The baskets are so beautiful. (Please indulge me if I’ve written about these before.) The round bottom section is tapered at the bottom; the base is perhaps twice as narrow as the mouth, and the tight-fitting lid fits over the bottom part and narrows to a point, like a Chinese hat. The point seems like an artistic detail rather than a practicality.

In the Western Province, we also saw the famous terraces that farmers cut into the hills so that they can grow as much as they can in this fertile soil. These terraces not only increase production but also cut down on soil erosion. One of my other favorite sights was the stairwells that are cut into these steep hills near the highway. These stairs are maybe three or four feet wide and are paved with local stones cemented into place. I saw one stair in particular that took my breath away. It was about 100 metres long and there was a short wall that acted like a handrail on the side closest to the hill, but on the open side of the stairs, there was nothing. I can’t imagine walking up the stairs and looking down the hill, which was, for all intents and purposes, straight down.

In the clear, cool air of Kibuye, Julius and I checked out two hotels on the southern side of the lake. The layout of the first hotel was a bit labyrinthine, with hallways leading off from strange areas. Built into the side of a hill—like most Rwandan buildings—it had oddly curved stairwells and low ceilings. At one point when we were on the outside of the hotel, we went down a long outside staircase, maybe 20 steps, where we reached a small landing that didn’t lead to anywhere but another long staircase that went up up up. I used to have dreams that I thought were Kafkaesque in that the stairs did strange things just like this, but now I think I was dreaming of Rwanda.

This first hotel would have been okay, but Julius and I decided to take a boat to the other side of this small part of this huge lake. There we could scope out one more place, although it was newer and nicer, and so probably more expensive. Julius arranged for us to ride in a boat maybe 20 feet long and maybe 4 feet wide. It was piloted by a man dressed in leather shoes, suit trousers, and a button-up shirt. (What did I tell you about men’s dress here?) We reached the other hotel in about fifteen minutes. The lake was so calm. It looked like there was some sort of current in it, but no big waves. It reminded me in a way of Lake Michigan from a few weeks back (although it feels like a lifetime ago).

This second hotel seemed impossibly out of price range. The buildings are spacious and sit on various terraces leading out to the lake. The restaurant was elegant and the hotel had mostly uniformed staff. As Julius and I walked up the many stairs to the office, all I could think was “$$$.” At the reception desk, Julius inquired about the types of rooms they have, prices, and the all-important meeting room where we will (potentially) gather to write.

Can you imagine our delight when the better-appointed rooms here turned out to be the same price as the rooms at the first hotel? Can you picture our faces when we were told that the meeting room was half the price of the first hotel’s? Just to be sure, Julius and I toured each of the types of rooms we will potentially book, and had a glance at the light-filled salle where the participants will write. Each room has an attached bathroom which was in good shape, and most have semi-private lawns or other places to relax. And we had a delicious lunch in the restaurant.

Julius, who first laughed at me when I asked if we could reserve a week for July 2009 because nobody here makes reservations a year in advance, suggested that we negotiate a reservation with the front desk. This place is so affordable, so beautiful; I know it books up fast. In those few minutes we were at the desk, the manager fielded requests for rooms from several people, but she had to turn them away.

In the end, we were able to get the receptionist to write the dates for the week of (potential) research, and set aside the rooms and salle. And that was that. No commitment, no money. Of course it all depends on me writing persuasive, successful grants for this project, as well as gaining approval from my dissertation committee and Tech’s Institutional Review Board.

But now I have a designated week, and a place filled with light and fresh air, steps away from the clear waters of beautiful Lake Kivu where next summer I can hopefully begin my work with writers and continue this journey into Rwandans’ lives and stories.