Annemarie:
In mid December we climbed from the shores of Lake Tanganyika through the steep forested hills and rift valley landscape to the border with Burundi and within a short stretch of road it was obvious we were in a very different country, although it was difficult to define why.
According to the BBC, Burundi is said to be one of the world's poorest nations, struggling to emerge from a 12-year, ethnic-based civil war between the usually dominant Tutsi minority and the Hutu majority. Intervention, mediation and aid have played a large part in supporting a ceasefire and the first parliamentary elections for some time happened as recently as 2005. A heavy UN presence worked with the elected government to disarm soldiers and former rebels and support the reconciliation process. Current UK Foreign Office advice warns against driving in the area north of the capital as unrest is predicted ahead of the 2015 elections but we were curious.
When you look for information on Burundi it’s a bit thin on the ground; Bradt don’t produce a guide book, Lonely Planet’s website didn’t have much information on a border crossing from Tanzania so we just followed our noses, up through Manyovu in Tanzania, crossing over in the mountains, then dropping back down to the lake to pursue a road north to the capital, Bujumbura.
The bustle, business and slight indifference of Tanzania seemed a world away. Stares and waves and broad smiles greeted us in each hillside village; everyone seemed to be going somewhere on a bike, usually heavily laden with everything from bananas to bricks to massive sacks of grain or huge stacks of charcoal. Then, as we reached Lake Tanganyika again the villages were now dominated by the drying racks, boats and nets of the fishing communities lining the shore. Light was fading and people were out on the road, chatting, trading and watching us. But as we moved further north the more incongruous sight were massive signs at the entrance to each village declaring what aid project was being delivered locally. A huge variety of countries were represented and many different aid organisations, plus of course the omnipresent UN. It felt like a long running advert for all the wealthy countries in the world wanting to show they are doing the right thing.
After a night by the lake we climbed out of Bujumbura the next day along winding, vertiginous roads, accompanied by more bikes. And not only accompanied, at one point we glanced behind us to find two riders had grabbed the ladder on the back of the Land Rover to get a lift to the top. As we passed other lorries on the route we saw they too each had a shoal of cyclists grasping firmly to their tailgates. It was scary stuff but even more remarkably, many were riding sidesaddle and only swiftly changed back to cycling astride their bikes when they were preparing to leave their hosts. We were reminded of sharks and their pilot fish: in exchange for safe passage up the hill the cyclists helped out, tucking in tarpaulins, adjusting any loose straps on their lorries. Our guy kept waving and grinning at me in the wing mirror until leaving us near the summit. We felt a little sad as we whizzed on to the Rwandan border, our load lighter but our cheery companion gone.
Looking up details of Burundi on the BBC’s Africa site it was all very serious stuff and included a recent story of a further army v rebel battle in the north of the country but the picture at the foot of the page? A man on his banana-laden bike!