Woke in daylight, delighting in not having to leap out of bed. After a leisurely breakfast, several of us headed towards Lake Tanganika for a swim Half-way across the sand, a mob of soldiers wearing brightly coloured satin shorts invaded the beach to do their morning exercise programme. But they struggled to keep their attention on their own activities because we were frolicking naked on the beach and in the water.
Drove into Bujumbura where we had three hours to discover the offerings of our first Burundi town. We hadn't even got off the truck when black market money changers thronged us, offering both Burundi francs and Tanzanian shillings.
Explored the marked with Vicki, wandering through a huge section selling second-hand clothing, probably donated clothing, with lots of designer items amongst less glamorous labels. There was a huge section selling fabrics, tins full of and piled high with salt, and lots of fruit and veg - we had to kick our way through a carpet of empty peapods surrounding the pea sellers. Everyone was pushing and shoving to get past.
Made our way along the main street to the supermarche, a magical world of cheeses, pates, wines, cereals, peanut butter, yoghurt, jams, cordials, rye biscuits, potato chips, and fridges full of frozen pizzas, samosa, fish fingers and mussels. We tore ourselves away from all this wonderful exotic western fare to rendezvous at a Greek café decorated with fishing nets and posters of Greece, where we indulged in custard cakes, coffee, sesame bread sticks.
Heard that Ton had had his wallet stolen in the post office. Then Jim arrived telling stories of being jostled in the market and losing 400F to a pickpocket. Theft is obviously a popular pastime in Burundi.
Everywhere we went men sidled up to us asking to change money, men who did nothing but hang around corners and tourist trucks, making no effort to disguise their business.
Drove out of town and stopped just clear of black sky, but rain drove us onto the truck for an elbow-to-elbow pass-the-plates lunch. Afterwards, we drove up the valley, passing dozens of people standing on the roadside as if peeing over the edge. Then we saw the valley floor and realized that they were watching the flooded river below, churning along the bed like violent liquid chocolate, tearing at the crops and hillsides. Thunder crashed when we stepped off the truck and we saw lots of grasses and crops flattened by flooding when we drove on. Increasingly heavy rain forced us to drop the back canvas of the truck, sealing us off from beautiful Burundi.
Per and I got drenched bargaining for and buying fruit and vegetable at roadside stalls, and we dreaded trying to start a fire for dinner if this weather continued. But we turned off the road into blue sky and camped on a beautiful, grassed area beside a brown stream. Smoke seeped through the roofs of the village huts above us.
It was the coldest night we'd had in ages and everyone huddled around the fire before retiring to the truck. And that's when we discovered that this group of Burundians had join ranks of African voleurs (thiefs) we'd encountered, our toilet shovel and fire-starting diesel having disappeared during dinner. I’m tired of having to be ultra careful and wonder when - or if - we will be able to camp with safety again and not look at every villager as a potential thief. We put everything away for the night and found our diesel in the middle of the road next morning.
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