My impulsive weekend-getaway in Gisenyi

Last Friday, just two days before our two-week planned excursion to Uganda was set to commence, my classmates and I were told that all out-of-country activities were "suspended indefinitely" due to COVID-19 disrupting cross-border travel. I was devastated.

Not only had I been looking forward to 14 days of exploring Kampala and Gulu via NGO visits, boat rides on the Nile (yes you read that correctly, I missed a chance to float down THE NILE), and safari game drives, but I was also anticipating a much-needed break from Kigali. I couldn't be more grateful for my accommodating, generous, and understanding host family, but the thought of spending another fortnight at home when I'd been counting down the hours to my freedom created a hopeless pit in my stomach.

Right away, our program staff did everything to show their remorse. They apologized at least a dozen times even though it was an institution-wide decision––completely out of their hands––and encouraged us to start coming up with alternative ways to reinvent the lost trip through in-country excursions. We let our minds run wild and immediately began putting together a master wishlist of Rwandan dream-activities to complete before Coronavirus took over. We came up with impromptu trips to Akagera National Park, a couple lake visits, some local school and organization programs, art events and free days to travel on our own. Aside from "meet Kagame," "see gorillas," and "visit a different country," most of our ideas seemed fairly feasible.

Despite how hopeful the group-meeting concluded––I still had an uneasy feeling that any of our new plans would be cut short due to the pandemic within the coming days and weeks. The virus still hadn't reached Rwanda at that point, but something in the air told me it was well on its way. As it turns out, I wasn't alone in that worry. A friend of mine named Jess who unfortunately had already been asked by her home university to return to the U.S. within the week, asked me if I wanted to leave Kigali for the weekend. The thought of sleeping anywhere aside from beneath my mosquito net in Kimironko was enough to get me on board instantly.

Seeing as we had been given Monday off to allow for some downtime to process the sad news about Uganda––we decided to head towards Lake Kivu, Gisenyi, for the weekend: a town located in the Northwestern point of the country. Initially, we'd put together a larger group, but as pandemic-fear set in amongst my peers, people started bailing until just a mere four of us (Me, Jess, Evan, and Elyse) were left, determined to see one of the African Great Lakes.

After pleading with my host parents late on Friday night to let me go early on Saturday morning, they agreed and wished me a good trip. Admittedly, I used the "I'm just so worried I'll never be able to come back to Rwanda or see my friends again" card, but to be fair it was a circumstance that called for dramatic measures.

When 6 a.m. rolled around on Saturday morning, I woke up feeling awful. My stomach churned, my head ached, and I was sweating to the Nth degree. Cholera, Malaria and extreme food poisoning all crossed my mind, nearly convincing me to stay behind. I powered through instead and stuffed what little clean laundry I had left, into my backpack along with other 48-hour-journey essentials. From there, I walked to the bus station, stopping along the way to grab cash from the ATM and nausea-friendly snacks for the long bus ride.

The bus, which departed from Nyabugogo Park, took around four hours in-total to reach Gisenyi. I left a little earlier than everyone else, but welcomed the solitude of looking out the window to the indie melodies of my Weekly Discovery Spotify playlist without the pressures of smalltalk. The drive itself was breathtaking. Just twenty minutes outside of Kigali revealed a whole new world of lush mountainside and rural villages that I'd been yearning for for weeks. I opened my window and smiled at children who waved at me shouting "mzungu!" from the roadsides.

Upon arrival to Gisenyi, I easily hopped onto the back of a moto and asked him to bring me towards a the "Family Nest Kivu" guest house I'd somehow managed to book for the weekend with just 12 hours notice. He seemed impressed that I knew the Kinyarwanda word for 1,000 RWF and gave me a discounted rate on the ride. While most every adventure on the back of a moto throughout Rwanda is a gorgeous endeavor––doing it by the lake is next-level picturesque. The empty winding roads covered in beach flowers reminded me of a more beautiful, less-populated, Maine coastline in July. Had the air been a tad saltier and the waves a bit more choppy, I would've sworn I was by the ocean.

As I made my way into the bed and breakfast I had pre-booked, everything seemed normal: I paid in cash and unloaded my belongings in a quaint room with a nice view of the water and a little public beach. Suddenly, an urgent knock at my door led to an employee informing me that my room––along with every other one––had "been booked already." Seeing no use in getting angry or panicking, I reassured him that everything was fine and I'd be on my way. He brought me back the cash I'd paid in-full and before I knew it, I was back onto the road with nowhere to go. This kind of predicament would normally be enough to bring the old Helen to tears, but the new and improved pandemic-era Helen had developed some YOLO tendencies that left her feeling faithful to uncertainty and carelessness.

About a half-mile up the road, I recognized a sign for "Inzu Lodge," which ironically I had almost booked online before going with the other b&b. At the top of a dirt road, inside the reception desk which was more of a gazebo/hut, I found a kind man who told me he indeed had a tent available for two people for two nights (Elyse and I had planned to share accommodation to cut costs). Without hesitation, I told him I'd take it, sighed of relief and headed up to my "tent" to see what rustic chambers I'd gotten myself into.

As it turned out, the tent was anything but! Our tent or rather what could better be described as a glamping-style cabin made of thick canvas and traditional wood branches, was decked out beyond belief. The actual beds were equipped with thick duvet comforters, sturdy headboards and soft pillows. Tables and nightstands sat aplenty for storing our belongings, we even had outlets, lamps and wait for it... WiFi! The true silver lining though, was the spectacular view. I couldn't believe how fortunate my misfortune had become.

Once I'd had time to re-unpack everything at Inzu, my three other friends had arrived in Gisenyi and told me to meet them at a nearby hotel restaurant for drinks and lunch. After a minute‘s walk down the road, I found them all sitting around an outdoor table next to a man with whom I was unfamiliar. He introduced himself as Justin from the DRC and apparently had been an old college friend of Evan's after studying in California at the same school a few years back. We passed the afternoon by chatting about various current happenings: the beautiful lake, our strikingly different majors, and of course the looming potential fate of Coronavirus. Once full of starchy sustenance and cold Fanta, we walked down towards the water and hopped on a little boat captained by a couple local guys.

First, they brought us across the water to the Nyamyumba Hot Springs, which allegedly can cook a potato in 45 minutes. The steamy pools were no bigger than small koi ponds (one designated for women, the other for men) and seemed to be a popular spot amongst locals looking to unwind and destress. It's an ironic concept as I don't think I've ever seen a Rwandan emitting anything but happy vibes, let alone emotional tension.

Once back onto the water, we witnessed a hazy sunset and headed towards the horizon. Traditional boats yielding singing fishermen set the mood for complete tranquility as we motored around the lake stopping at various rock piles and mini islands for quick group pictures. Once we'd had our fair share of water-backed photo-ops, we headed towards the Democratic Republic of the Congo which shares a border on the lake with Gisenyi and can easily be spotted out. We got so close to the DRC, I was actually worried that some naval patroller or helicopter would come out and chase us towards the shoreline, but alas, no one ever did. Guess I'll have to save my exciting idea of Congolese border-crossing action for the blockbusters.

Once the sun had set and the sky began to darken, we headed ashore for drinks and dinner downtown. Justin guided us towards a local beach bar for some beers followed by a nearby resto for a traditional dinner which he called-in ahead of time. Both bars were virtually empty––a result of a pending Rwandan COVID-19 mandate, asking bars and restaurants to limit customer density and reduce contact between patrons. Nevertheless, the hearty meal of rice, beans (which were the best I've had thus far), chips, beef, and a tomato-based broth was well-worth the quiet atmosphere.

A couple beers and "I'm stuffed"s later and we all decided that we were exhausted and ought to get some rest in order to make the most of the next day. I took a moto back to the lodge and was pleasantly surprised to find hot water in the outdoor bathrooms! I slept like a newborn. The beds, like everything else, were ten times comfier than I had anticipated.

I woke up earlier than I wanted to the next day at 6 a.m. but I justified it by realizing it simply meant I had more daylight to explore the area. Not long after, Elyse got up and we settled on meeting everyone at a local cafe for breakfast. Thinking we'd able to snag a couple motos downtown (which was about three and a half miles away), we began walking along the winding road. After walking for an hour, that prediction got less and and less likely. As the never ending trek lengthened, our attitudes had transitioned from "who cares? It's a lovely day for a walk anyway" to "how do you feel about hitchhiking?"

Eventually, we made it to a main road, flagged down a few bikes and successfully made it to the cafe where everyone else was waiting for us. Elyse and I scarfed down our dainty "goat cheese and honey-tahini" toasts feeling like we'd more than earned them. After eating, each of us agreed on spending the day doing low-impact activities such as laying out and napping on the beach. Our dreams of Vitamin-D were initially squandered by local law enforcement shutting public beaches down due to Coronavirus, but we discreetly snuck our way onto a more secluded rocky area where it was safe to sprawl out and absorb some rays.

The rest of the day was concerned with happy hour drinks, snacks and daydreaming about tossing our phones into the lake (if SIT couldn't contact us, they couldn't make us go back to Kigali, eh?). Dinner was eaten by the water again. We split a few pizzas which as regretful as I am to say, is not usually Rwanda's cordon bleu. Perhaps I'd had one too many Amstel Malts because on the contrary, I devoured five pieces before the cheese even stopped sizzling. Elyse and I shared a single moto back to the lodge which in and of itself is a rarity in rule-following Rwanda. The crackling lightening streaks in the sky overhead made the whole ordeal even more jam-packed with adrenaline.

Once again, I arose on my final morning in Gisenyi at an unreasonably prompt hour. When I unlocked my phone to catch up on the news I'd missed in the U.S. over the past few days, an email notification popped up that I couldn't ignore. It was the bad news we'd all been waiting for from SIT. All SIT programs were being closed across the globe and students were to immediately return to their home countries.

It wasn't so much shock or even sadness that overcame me, rather it was a kind of disbelief towards how vast the effects of Coronavirus had become so quickly. Two weeks ago, the sickness was merely a distant blimp on my radar, if anything. It was a concern for the students in China and Italy, but Rwanda? I mean could I be anywhere safer than a landlocked, tiny country with less than five cases? I thought to myself.

Right away, SIT students began messaging about ordeal on WhatsApp and sharing possible tactics to evade being sent home.

Elyse and I grabbed breakfast at the Inzu restaurant. I had a coffee and an omelet with thick-cut toast and butter. We ate while overlooking our heavenly view of Lake Kivu and reiterated how happy we were to have visited Gisenyi while we still had the chance. We took our last water-side motos to the bus park which was already hectic with Corona-fearing locals practically hurling hand sanitizer at every pedestrian, myself included.The bus ride back was less captivating than the arrival. Unlike the way in, my head was now filling with travel logistics, packing, and how I would be able to complete my academic semester outside of my host country.

Even the walk back to my homestay felt different. Eye-contact, which was typically unavoidable on the streets of Kimironko as the only white person in a three-mile radius, suddenly became nonexistent. Mask-wearing locals walked briskly on the sidewalks and motos who used to flag me down were now passing me without so much as a second glance. Things were undoubtably getting weird, and I knew they'd only get weirder within the next few days. After a quick FaceTime with my mom back in my host-bedroom, I booked a flight out of Rwanda on Qatar Airways set to leave in three days.