From point A to point B, with mild detours to points C, G-P, and R-Z: A tale of Rwandan transport.

I've heard it said that it's the journey that counts, not the destination.  Such a statement was probably made as a sort of desperate rationalization of the Rwandan transportation system, given that here, the destination is not always reached, and the journey can stretch so long as to provide one with the opportunity to indulge in the entire pantheon of human emotions.  Excitement, hope, awkwardness, frustration, rage, exhaustion, despair, and finally resignation--just try to travel anywhere in this country without experiencing at least half of these emotions.
I've blogged a bit about the buses here before, but today I want to take you all with me on the harrowing, uncomfortable, and often hilarious trip from my village into Gitarama.  Every time I travel this route, something happens to surprise me, scare me, or just plain bewilder me.  There's never a dull moment, that's for sure!
The average bus here might not be quite street legal in the U.S.  There are larger, Greyhound-esque buses that run between the major cities, but they very rarely venture out to my main road.  Instead, I usually take a twegerane (translation: "we squeeze") as far as Gitarrama, where I can get a slightly more reputable mode of transportation into Kigali.  As much as I dislike riding on the twegeranes--they are more than aptly named--they certainly do provide ample opportunity for entertainment.
All the twegeranes have the same basic body.  They are more or less glorified vans, with 20 seats.  The number of seats is in no way related to the actual number of people that can fit in side.  One of my favorite things about twegeranes is the way that they are decorated.  I can't believe I was ever capable of functioning in a country like America where public transport didn't involve tassles and wall-paper and beads.  Some of the decor looks disconcertingly like the inside of a slightly seedy New Orleans brothel.
Obviously, each bus has its own name plastered across the windshield in bright letters.  About half of the names are religious themed, and most are in poorly conceived English.  Jesus is caming? Er...sure.  Many of the rest have something to do with celebrities or sports.  I am still waiting for the day when the Chris Brown bus crashes into the Rihana bus.  And my life will be complete the day I see the Kanye West twegerane cut off Taylor Swift in traffic.
Legally, the buses can only hold as many people as their are seats.  Side note: it was very difficult for me to type that last sentence, as my fingers were hampered by my spasms of uncontrollable ironic laughter.  Space is an illusion, bus space doubly so.  This leads to an interesting litte conspiracy between the bus drivers, the bicycle taxis, and the traffic police.
As the buses trundle recklessly down the road, usually with passengers practically hanging out the windows, the drivers signal to each as they pass, especially if there is a police check point coming up.  If there is, the bus pulls over and unloads passengers until the legal limit is no longer exceeded.  Often, these excess passengers will hop a ride with a bike taxi, or be forced to jog down the road and meet up with the bus again once it passes the check point.  It's quite possibly the most obvious things in the world, and makes me laugh every time.
There's usually about a fifty percent chance someone will vomit on the bus, an old lady will start screaming about her smashed tomatoes, the entire bus will be delayed several minutes while passengers bargain for pineapples out the windows, or you will either sitting on someone or having someone sit on you.  The one advantage to this form of transportation?  It's cheap, and it sure makes you appreciate walking!