Burundi rarely makes the news. It’s a nation about the size of Massachusetts, but with more people and extreme poverty. It’s the twin to Rwanda, same ethnic strife, Hutu vs Tutsi, same Belgian colonial legacy, but Burundi is poorer and more forgotten. In the entire country, we saw but one working traffic light. From the Tanzanian border, the road was dirt. Our hiking trails are in better condition. In Burundi, most children suffer from chronic malnutrition. I have never been in a land so poor.

People were surprised to see us. Outside of the capital, especially closer to Tanzania, people would cheer as we cycled by. It’s like we were famous, like we were world class cyclists, like we were doing something noteworthy and important. And in a sense, maybe, we were. One man told me that I was the first white person he’d seen outside a car. It was just incredible.

At every little town, a crowd would gather. Once, the police asked us to move because the crowd around us blocked the main intersection. They would stare and gawk and sometimes manage a few questions in English. They asked us where we were from. America. America! They asked us why we were in their village, their town, in Burundi. We come as tourists. Tourist? And they would shake their heads, like they knew what the word meant but they’d never seen one before.
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We took the MV Liemba from Mpulungu in Zambia to Kigoma in Tanzania. It was insane. When we go on a cruise, we expect sunsets and pretty scenery. This, however, is the MV Liemba: yelling, banging, crying babies, chickens, people sleeping on top of cargo, people sleeping on people.

the MV Liemba

it was an unbelievable voyage, so much stuff on one boat, utlizing only canoes and a little crane

sunset n' cargo!

there were two lifeboats for 1600 people

A TV crew for the History Channel rented out the top deck. It was the only nice place on board because no one else was supposed to be up there.

Sunrise over our destination, Kigoma, Tanzania.

The MV Liemba is not for the claustrophobic!

on the second day, after it got just insane, women and childern were allowed to sleep on the floor of the 1st and 2nd class deck

the hallways were a mosh pit of sweat, mud and maize

3rd class was crowded. there were no beds, they just slept on top of each other

the main deck - nothing was strapped down, people slept on cargo, people slept on our bikes

the door in front of our 2nd class cabin was a puddle of mud, maize and unknown. people would walk barefoot, they slept on that floor.

there were no docks - canoes would tie up to the ship and people would climb onboard

the door in the boat people would climb / slash / push though to get onboard

it was crazy

the images speak for themselves

It was an experience. Especially as a TV crew from the History Channel rented out the boat, kind of, and were very happy to use their power as they pleased. I learned a lot. I’ll write more later.

Bicycling through Africa, excluding the big cities, I can easily imagine myself in a classic Western film. The land is dusty, sun omnipresent, buildings stout, industry absent, law more a suggestion and at every turn there’s the palpable sense of both opportunity and danger. The highway is littered with the hulking remains of automobiles stripped to the frame. Subsistence farmers with goat powered carts trot along as a 2011 BMW whizzes by. The highway is sparse, uninterrupted but for potholes and the few occasional cows.
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