Thank God for bareback riding experience. The strength in my thighs alone kept me on the back of the motorbike rumbling over pock-marked dirt roads winding themselves further and further into the Rwandan hillsides.
Turns out that spinning wheels and mud are not very complimentary. But jerking your body back towards a place of perceived balance is a guarantee for tipping the bike. So I mold my body to the bike and rock with it as if we are one unit. Fishtailing through mud holes and swerving around giant puddles, pastor, bike and myself slowly climb up the winding road from base to mountaintop; Dr. Seuss rhymes running through my mind as we go. “Up the side of Mt. Crumpet he rode with his load.”
I finally am getting out of Kigali, headed to my second “healing and reconciliation training workshop”.
The way there was infinitely more fun than the way back I must admit. I finally arrive home an hour and half after leaving the church. Muddy, a little bit bloody (stupid trees), bruised, muscles beaten, and thoroughly exhausted. Starving with no desire to actually cook, but thanks to a general lack of roaming food vendors or local “fast food” shops I must cook. Raw bananas and a surplus of flour compose a lovely loaf of banana bread. A pot of ginger tea and slice of bread later, my overly caffeinated and sugared body can process via writing.