Goodbye Kahama, Hello Rwanda!

I received my earliest marriage proposal thus far.  Our driver, whom had also driven us the day before, at 5:30 in the morning first asked what my kind of man is.  This is after we had to wait for someone else to go buy us gas because he had forgotten to fill his gas tank. 

Well, that’s easy.  Smart.  Funny. Kind.  Oh, that’s not what he meant. 

Black? 

Yah, if they’re smart, funny or kind. 

When do you come back to Tanzania? 

I don’t know. 

Marry me? 

Choke.  I’ve got to finish school before I can start thinking about things like that. 

Can I have your email address? 

What’s my fake email address again?

Of course Andrew was no help and just sat there awkwardly and (I could tell) waiting to laugh at me once we were out of earshot of Harrold, which he did.  Our bus this morning was much smaller, well furbished, and new.  But much less comfortable if I might add.  The seats were very low and my legs and butt cheeks kept falling asleep.  Otherwise it was pretty painless and actually nice to pile out and squat with everyone else on the side of the road to relieve my bladder.  Nothing’s more entertaining and evokes less manners than a mzungu woman peeing on the side of the road.  Still happy to be a source of entertainment. 

The staring never ends.  When we got to the border, Andrew and I had our huge packs, had to walk up a hill, check out of Tanzania, cross a bridge with a raging waterfall, and up another hill to check in to Rwanda.  We were stared at the whole time.  I don’t think many mzungus cross the way we do, aka not in a plane.  It was also the easiest immigration process either of us had ever experienced, and might I add free?  Yippee!  As were were strolling to find our bus we were stopped by entrance security for bag inspection.  Despite the fact that plastic bags are illegal in Rwanda, we got a ton in just fine.  Didn’t even try to hide them I had so many.  How else would I successfully separate and protect all of my medical supplies and leakables? 

We were back on a Sotra bus with Rwandan franks in exchange for Tanzanian shillings, a new bottle of water and chapate in hand.  The land of a thousand hills lay before us and we had a week to explore.  Life is good.