I sit down on the red earth next to the road, open my pack, fish out my and map spread it out on the ground. I stare at it intently. I know where I am, and have a good idea of where I’m going, but I stare at it all the same. The kids that have been following me stop, and regard in silence. There are 8 or maybe 10 of them, bright-eyed and dressed in rags. They were playing on football with a ball fashioned from plastic bags bound with twine when I passed, or pushing thin strips of metal with a stick.
My journey started two weeks earlier at 1,500m on the shores of Lake Kivu next to the Democratic Republic of Congo. I’d followed my nose east over the steep hills of Western Rwanda, down the wide landscaped Boulevards of Downtown Kigali to the dusty road to Akagera national park 15km east of Kibungo.
The human traffic on the road slows to a halt and a curious circle encloses. Young men stop their bicycles loaded high with branches of green bananas, women stand with their hips cocked to one side, steadying the basins balanced impeccably on their heads. The inhabitants of a terra-cotta mud cabin come out to see what the fuss was about excitedly shrieking Muzungu Muzungu when the rusty door creaks open to reveal a white body perched awkwardly in front of their house.
I need head space, I stare intently at my map, it provides a simple and sensible picture of the world giving solace from the claustrophobia of my position. I’m sitting on the road side in a village of twenty huts, their walls cracked to expose wooden ribs, small windows for light, and rusty corrugated iron doors. The green vinyl of the banana leaves look all the more glossy and verdant next to the sandy texture of the russet brown walls.
I’ve been following the red dust road, baked hard by the equatorial sun since breakfast and now I need a drink. My brow is encrusted with a fine film of salt crystals and my tongue sticks awkwardly in my mouth. I’m sure I smell, but that doesn’t matter here. I dearly want a few sips of the sweet water hidden in my bag. Each time I look up from my map someone outstretches their hands and dolefully mimes eating.
It is rude to eat or drink in public here so, after a long pause I fold my map and I shoulder my pack and start walking again. Fifteen or so, people follow, some tug at my pack, they ask for money/food/water/my shoes again. I’ve spent the last two weeks walking across the country, so I know most of my followers will get bored after a km or two. I know that the best thing to do is ignore them, but knowing what’s best doesn’t make it any easier.