The connection goes back to a very random evening some five months ago, when I met this Libyan guy, Essam, in a bar in Kigali. A few weeks later, we also happened to plan a Burundi weekend at the same time – and he duly served me and my friends with a lovely shisha session on the beach, for some 48 hours. And that was that, until a few days ago, when I called him up, to ask how he and his family were doing with all the craziness in Libya.
Now, please imagine someone who speaks English quite badly, multiply it by a 1,000, and then add the funniest accent you can possible think of. Long story short, Essam is a very hot, rich and seemingly highly-educated guy, who works for the Libyan Embassy in Kigali, but unfortunately communication between us (on a verbal level, of course;-)) is just IMPOSSIBLE. Somehow I managed to understand that he was going to Gisenyi with friends the next day, and that he would love to have me over in Kigali whenever I needed a place to stay.
On Saturday, as I was also at the beach with my girl-friends, we briefly met, and I asked Essam and his Libyan boy-friends whether I could get a lift from Ruhengeri to Kigali the next day with them. Sure I could. What I did not know was that I would almost sign up for suicide.
I have NEVER before been seriously afraid for my life in a car as I was yesterday. These guys were, quite literally, INSANE, on this very narrow, windy, suspended road. What it normally takes the other crazy African drivers around 2h15 mins. to make, we did in 1h22mins. I keep wondering how come I didn’t throw up a million times in the back seat, and how come I was still in a somewhat good mood by late afternoon.
Well, I actually do know how – as shaken as I was by the road, I was yet to take in a different shock in Kigali: the PALACE these guys live in, and the lifestyle they have, on a very regular basis. Simply put: lie on sofas and smoke shishas. My mistake was to think that this is just a late afternoon-relaxing habit, but after getting completely high last night (only with legitimate tobacco, of course), I realized that the only way to wash that away was to have more shisha first thing on a Monday morning, on the terrace. And then break for lunch, have delicious couscous, and top it off with even more shisha.
In between puffs, I was trying to get more insights from Libya, but apart from Al-Jazeera in the background and the Sevilla-Barca game in which we all suffered terribly, my knowledge of Gaddafi is still mostly from the NY Times. I did, however, experience first hand the AMAZING Libyan hospitality, so, all shaking aside, this was quite a remarkable moment in my life.
Half of the palace (imagine the same to the left)
Monday morning treat
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