Do it. But, wear a sports bra and bring banana bread

The Adventure that was Kigali to Kampala

Carmen and I met Shelley (a fellow Pepperdine law student) at 6:30 am and walked to the bus stop together. Minibuses in Kigali are essentially large white vans with movable seats so that every inch of seating can be filled. As we were waiting for a bus to come, a white Corolla rolled up saying "taxi, taxi." After being here for almost four weeks, yesterday was the first time I saw a car with the actual word "taxi" displayed. One of the most mind-boggling things to me is the boldness of the Motos and taxi drivers in Kigali. We can be walking along and have a moto drive up  within inches of our face saying, "Moto, moto?" As if, even though we hadn't flagged him down or expressed any interest in needing a moto at all whatsoever, we would see that the moto was RIGHT there and suddenly realize just how badly we needed one. So this is the game we play, annoyed muzungus versus taxi driver at 6:35 am. "No, we are waiting for the bus. Thank you."
Then we bargained for about ten minutes to get a better deal, as our patience and faith in a bus with three empty seats waned, but the Rwandan's patience and harassment paid off. Angry at the principle of the matter that we just fed the system, but thrilled to be in a cozy unmarked white stranger's car instead of crammed into an unmarked white minibus with 20 strangers. We arrived promptly at checkin, and boarded the bus an hour later. 4 minutes after our scheduled departure, we were off.
It's a large coach bus, about the same height as a double decker and every seat is filled. We got airborne about every 2 minutes or so from the smooth, excellently paved roads (that's sarcasm). It's more like a roller coaster ride than a bus ride for the first hour. All the muscles in my body ached from self-bracing at each hairpin turn to ensure I didn't fall onto my next-seat neighbor. I legitimately wished for a harness like the ones that go over your head and shoulders on a roller coaster. Now, I find it important to tell you, that remarkably, it didn't feel unsafe. In fact, I was in awe of the suspension of the bus as I am of the suspension of any vehicle whose displeasure is life in Kigali.

Looking out of the tinted window, I had a realization. In America, we live on the land. But in Africa, they live OFF the EARTH. Spending time in Africa is like opening the pages of a colorful geography textbook. Want to see what the land looks like tilled by man's bare hands alone? Africa. Want to learn what people eat when they only eat what they grow off the plot of land they own? Rwanda. Sure, Americans use the land for buildings, parking lots, parks. But in Africa, everywhere you go, every panorama your eyes take in, you observe the Earth, lying there open, rugged and raw. Exposed. And there is something beautiful in seeing the Earth and all that it supplies as such a valued source of life. 

Just over an hour into the ride, we come to a stop. People start trickling off the bus, so we follow suit. Then we realize we think maybe we are at the border already. So we frantically fill out our customs forms, stand in what we discern to be the appropriate line and then get shifted over to another line. Fifteen minutes later, we have our passports back. We start standing around, just waiting for everyone to start getting back on the bus, but no one else is really around. Finally, one man says, "Sista, you go to Uganda?" we say, "yes" and he says, "You walk. The bus will find you on the other side."
Walk?! We have to walk to Uganda?? Ooookkkaayy....
So we start, very timidly, walking in what we presume is the direction of Uganda. A man sitting in a plastic chair checks our passports, and ushers us forward. Five minutes of walking later, as we are verbally wondering if this entire thing is a joke, we see a small handwritten sign that says "STOP, Uganda Customs." I hope I am doing a decent job of describing the absurdity of this scene- we've had absolutely no instructions, we have walked into Uganda, the bus is behind us, and we are just floundering wandering along. We determined from the collection of shacks around that our next move is to follow the next line to get our Ugandan visas at what was the most official looking shack of them all.
Sure enough, about ten minutes later, our bus appears, other passengers vaporize and we all load on. And that was that. Customs East African style.

The rest of the ride was more likable to a roller coaster than a bus on a dirt road, although the analogy is still more accurate than what you'd imagine on a bus in the US. I saw spectacular sights along the way. And I am so happy I did it. I'm also quite pleased we decided to fly back to Kigali. Thank the Lord Carmen baked us banana bread the night before the bus. It was all we had for three meals! Also there were no pens to fill the customs forms out to be found. Soo if you ask me how you should get from Kigali to Kampala, and if you should take the bus, my response is..Do it. But come prepared. Sports bra, pen, and a lot of food. 
Oh, and you walk into Uganda, sister.

ELEVEN hours of my life later, we were in Kampala.