Sick in Burundi

Ben wakes up with a sore throat on our last day in Rwanda. At first we don’t think much of it since he gets those all the time. But it doesn’t seem like a good omen that the Tanzanian health officer is coughing all over our vaccination certificates. And sure enough, Ben comes down with a proper cold. Lina joins him in sickness a few days later. Thus, not in our best condition we cross the border into Burundi.

At the immigration office we get our 3 day transit visas for the great money-making price of 40USD each. We will then need to extended this in the capital of Bujumbura for another 20USD. Even in good health it would take us three days to get to Bujumbura, 230km away. So, we cross on a Thursday. This way, our three days run out on the weekend, when the immigration office is closed and we have until Monday (5 days). Problem solved.

Going from Rwanda to Burundi via Tanzania means lots of yo-yoing: We change the clocks, first springing forward, then falling back. We ride on the left and then the right side of the road. We oscillate between tea/coffee fields and acacia trees. In a matter of days we recycle our few words in Kinyarwanda for Kirundi (a very similar language). Ben’s Kiswahili is coming in handy, as is Lina’s rusty French.

As always when we enter a new country it feels different. The streets are filled with people again (compared to Tanzania) and the buildings/cars/clothing look more run down. Burundi is stuck as one of the three or four poorest countries in the world (depending on the indicator you’re using), with a massive gap between rich and poor.

Whenever we stop we’re of course the talk of the town and a crowd of people gathers around us. Though we’ll never get used to this, we were prepared for it. By chance, we even find out how to send people running away as fast as possible. Apparently they don’t like being in selfies.

The first stop is Gitega, the second largest city, where we hope to get some rest and supposedly the best pizza in Burundi. We’re in dire need of both as we can’t even cycle all the way there. Thankfully a pickup truck stops next to us, just as Ben is starting to feel quite faint. It’s the Burundian elite coming to our rescue and they give us a ride for the last 15km.

After arriving at the hotel, we have to construct an elaborate lie about being married, to be allowed to share a room. We even have to show Lina’s sister’s marriage certificate to the manager before they believe us. We stumble over to the pizza place, which indeed lives up to our expectations, then stumble back to the room and collapse into bed.

The next day we’re in no shape to do a big push of 100km to Bujumbura. Instead we cycle to a place close by, where we do some of our most hard-nosed haggling so far. It takes us at least 10 minutes but we finally get the price for a drum performance down to 45USD (from 100USD, we know of other people who said it was 35USD). The Burundian drummers are recognized as UNESCO world heritage and they certainly deserve the title.

The players are summoned by beating the drums. While we take our seats, the villagers change into tribal clothing around the corner and get the drums ready. Then the show begins. We count at least 30 men of varying ages who carry the heavy-looking drums on their heads. They beat them with such skill and obvious enjoyment. The intricate, perfectly synchronized rhythms and especially the high jumps leave us speechless.

After another bad night’s sleep we can’t delay the tough ride any longer. It’s Sunday and we have to get to Bujumbura today, illness or no illness. But our bodies know the drill and don’t fail us this time. We complete the biggest part of the distance and climb (over 1000m) before lunch. After waiting an hour and a half for an omelette and some tea, Lina heads back to the bikes while Ben visits the facilities.

Her incredulity quickly changes to outrage as she finds the parking attendant rummaging around our bags. In her best broken French she makes him empty his pockets, ignoring his pleas and shoes him away. Naturally he is nowhere to be found when we tell the manager a few minutes later. Only in the evening we find out that some of the money the thief had in his pockets was actually his own. Lina feels very guilty, especially because this was probably all the money the poor chap owned. We vow to give it to someone else who needs it too and is less likely to steal from us.

With the adrenaline still pumping we are crushing the final ascent. Our reward is a stunning view of the surrounding hills, a sea of clouds and Bujumbura, sprawling around one end of lake Tanganyika, over 1000m below us. The 35km descent into town would be enjoyable if it wasn’t for the unexpected stretches of unpaved road and the daredevilish overtaking maneuvers by the trucks and cars. As the sun starts to set we reach Bujumbura, grateful to be in one piece. Hopefully the next few days in town will be enough to restore our health.