Our plans to hike the Nyragongo Volcano in the DRC were preceded by a few nights at the Discover Rwanda hostel in Gisenyi, Rwanda. It was here while hunting for lunch that we stumbled upon the strangely misplaced Calafia Cafe. Describing itself as “California Style” the cafe boasts a menu filled with terms seldom seen in Rwanda like “Kale”, “Beetroot”, “Goat’s Cheese”, “Pesto”, “Garlic Mayo” and “Cucumber Gin”. After placing your order you can watch as the kitchen staff walk outside to pick your leafy greens from the garden. A great spot if you’re lusting for a good sandwich or a salad.
It was in Gisenyi that I took my first Bicycle Boda Boda*. The whole experience was somewhat analogous to a king on a palanquin as I sat leisurely on the back of the bike watching the driver peddle his single-speed transmission up the road. An interesting experience appropriate for trips consisting mostly of downhills when you are not in any rush at all.
The next day kicked off with a more traditional Moto trip to the DRC border where we were to liaise with Rogers, our resident border control expert. He directed us through to Congolese immigration where we were put through a brief “interview” consisting of very few words, some awkward stares and a surprise laser gun attack. This device was in fact an infrared thermometer. Nothing to worry about if you knew what was happening but the Congo border staff aren’t particularly good communicators and tend to spring the device on you without warning as if they are playing laser-tag.
After surviving border control, we were escorted to our transport vehicle which was to take us into the park. The road slowly deteriorated as we moved further and further from the city till we were driving on nothing more than a pile of rocks. Considering the poor road quality, Shea and I were surprised to discover it was in fact a toll road when two men with AK-47s stopped the car to demand payment of $40. This seemed a bit unfair but my mom taught me not to argue with anyone armed with a semi-automatic assault rifle so we refrained from making a fuss. The poor road quality was no deterrent to the locals who cruised down the hill past us on their home-made wooden bicycles, known as Chukudus. These devices are the carthorses of the Congo, used to transport everything from sugar cane to charcoal to people. The most impressive sighting of the trip; six people squashed onto a single bike.
Driving through the Congo is a bit like being in a scene from a 1940’s version of the movie Rambo. UN soldiers and bases are everywhere, choppers fly overhead regularly, the buildings all look neglected, there doesn’t appear to be any electricity anywhere and there are almost no vehicles on the road. We passed the South African UN military base at one point. I waved. They didn’t wave back.
We met up with two friends at the base of the volcano, Joe and Miraj, who we had first come into contact with at the pool party in Kigali. The four of us were guided up the mountain by two extremely friendly, AK-47 wielding, gentlemen named Esparo and Paul. The hike proved to be a great workout with a climb of 1,500m in only 8km. In order to get to the peak you track the path taken by the lava flow from the previous eruption in 2002. It’s hard to imagine that the lush bush through which we were trekking was at one point burnt to a crisp. The eruption itself resulted in the destruction of 30% of the city of Goma, over 15km away, with the lava travelling at speeds of up to 60km/h [1].
We reached the top of the volcano in the middle of a down-pour and huddled into the cabins to thaw. An hour or two later the weather cleared and we were able to see the bubbling lava, a truly epic sight. Naturally we had to take a selfie.
Dinner was a delicious basil pesto spaghetti with chorizo lovingly prepared by head chef Shea. When it came time to dig in we realized we had diligently packed everything needed to cook the meal but none of the cutlery required to actually eat it. I’m not sure if you’ve ever attempted to eat spaghetti with a spoon but it is definitely sub-optimal.
The next day we awoke inside a cloud with less than 5m visibility and no chance of an early morning lava viewing. We sent up a quick thank you to the volcano gods for the clear weather the evening before and headed back down. The loose gravel along the path made the trip back significantly more treacherous than the previous day’s hike up. At one point Joe landed his stride on a particularly loose spot and managed at least four full tumble turns down the side of the mountain before sliding to a halt. This prompted Shea’s adoption of a rather creative walking technique to avoid a similar fate. This patented hiking style known as “Crouching Tiger, Sliding Rock” consists of a series of bunny-hop-like rotational strides followed in quick succession by a bos-kak** style squat for stability. In his defense, in spite of losing a significant amount of self-dignity, Shea did not lose grip once. I on the other hand came well short and nearly fractured my coccyx.
On arrival at the bottom of the volcano we were informed that our payment for the volcano hike was not yet reflecting in the tour company’s account. Our guide informed us that we would be taken on a detour to Goma to enjoy some local food instead of heading directly to the border as planned. We enjoyed a rather delicious hostage buffet before negotiating an arrangement to pay for the tour in cash and then collect a refund from their accountant across the border in Rwanda. After scratching together enough dollars to secure our freedom we were allowed to pass safely back across the border where we both took a huge sigh of relief, hugged, high-fived, fist-pumped and made loud “woo” noises before jumping on a Moto back to Gisenyi to put the DRC flag sticker on the car.
*The terms “Moto” and “Boda Boda” are used in Rwanda and Uganda, respectively, to refer to motorcycle taxis.
**An Afrikaans term directly translating to “bush poop”.
Joburg to Scotland 