Road to Kigali
Slept very well last night. The place I’m staying at is an ex Catholic Convent built, I guess, by the French or Belgians, I must check. There are crucifixes everywhere and brings back childhood memories of a crucifix in nearly every room in Ireland along with a picture of jesus with his crown of thorns and his exposed bleeding heart in his chest gazing down at you, wherever you were in the room, with such an expression of sheep like martyrdom on his greenish tinted face. You imagined him saying: I died for you, you fecker, and there you are playing with your thang. You’ll go to hell, you’re BAD, BAD, BAD. Such are the memories of an Irish childhood resurrected in an African town and met with scorn.
Anyway, the place had good beds and effective mosquito nets and a shower that was actually quite good.
As I’m in the cook group, I helped prepare breakfast but the two others on group had already started so I did what I was told and make toast and boiled the kettle. I like not having to think and following instructions.
After breakfast, I brought my possessions to the truck and walked down to a local museum for gorillas deviated to an interesting woman called Dian Fossey.
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