My gravel bike is like a self-service shop—
not just for me … 😊
A full report and videos (Day 1-6) coming soon. Info
Day 1:
Start in Kigali – CP1 Lake Muhazi – Gasange
210 km/ 2850 Hm
Time in Motion: 11:30h
Elapsed Time: 14:07h
My Video – day 1
Race Day Morning
My excitement is building. A wonderful breakfast has been prepared for us at Café Tugende. Last preparations before the start. Someone informs me that my tracker appears as not fully charged on the Legends Tracking page, so I plug it into the nearest available socket again; someone else must have had the same idea. One last trip to the restroom, tracker packed, and I line up at the start. A cheerful blinking of red rear lights, and the blue flashing lights of the police car escorting us out of the city for the first few kilometers. Countdown … and we’re off! The tension fades with the first pedal strokes. There’s no turning back now … Whatever comes, comes!
23 kilometers of asphalt, interrupted by about two kilometers of rough cobblestones. This is where you can tell who hasn’t secured their gear properly. A rear light, a pair of sunglasses, and water bottles lose their owners. I get shaken up quite a bit, but everything stays in place.
Shortly before six, daylight breaks. Near the equator, this happens within minutes—pitch dark to sunrise, almost like someone flipping a light switch. Then it stays light for 12 hours before the same rapid transition back to darkness. So, time to pedal hard—I had decided to ride only during daylight. As a woman cycling alone, I do feel a bit uneasy riding in the dark, even though Rwanda is considered one of the safest countries in the world.
At dawn, we hit the first gravel section. Simon describes it as “smooth.” At times, though, it’s quite rough—so what will the sections without this description be like?
It’s still early in the morning, and it’s also Sunday, yet so many people are already on the move: walking along the roadside, riding heavily loaded bicycles, and, of course, moto-taxis—like EVERYWHERE. This won’t change in the coming days. There is hardly a kilometer where no one is around.
I greet left and right with „Salama“, believing it meant „Hello“. Only after returning home does AI inform me that „Salama“ is actually a Swahili expression for well-being, similar to „All good?“ or „Stay healthy“. The people were always surprised by my greeting but responded cheerfully—sometimes with „Komera“, which means „Stay strong, have strength“, or with „Yego“—Yes!
For nearly 60 kilometers, I am accompanied by reddish-brown, compacted earth. Even though it’s dry—or perhaps because of that—my legs soon become coated in a thick layer of reddish dust, mixed with sweat and sunscreen. My clothes, too, quickly lose their original color. By midday, I already feel a connection with the people here, especially the children, whose clothes are not always spotless. Water, it seems, is often needed for more important things than washing and personal hygiene. It’s not always available as we know it—just turning on a tap and having cool water flow. No, here it often has to be fetched from far away. You frequently see women, men, and children carrying yellow jerrycans, hauling the full containers home—often on their heads or pushing them up steep hills on overloaded bicycles.
At CP1, I long for a quick freshen-up—a chance to cool down and clean my legs, arms, and face. But no luck. Water, like in much of the country, is scarce—at least for something as trivial as washing off dust. But does that even matter? In the coming days, I will learn that there are far more important things, like having enough water to drink.
After nearly 80 kilometers, we return to asphalt. I stop briefly by a small group of children selling bananas. A whole bunch—if that’s what it’s called—costs 300 Rwandan Francs. I only need three bananas and pay with a 1000 Franc bill. The money is snatched from my hand and disappears—no change is given. 1000 Francs is worth just around 70 cents. The children immediately surround me, asking for more money. I move on.
Shortly afterward, I reach a cyclist hotspot—there must be something here! Yes, a shop!
Every few kilometers, there are small roadside villages. Here, not only are there even more people, but also small “shops.” I could have saved myself a lot of detailed planning—shop? You get what they have: Water—always. Fanta—always. (They distinguish between Fanta Orange, Fanta Lemon, and Fanta Cola—sometimes even Fanta Pineapple.) Some kind of cookies is always available, or Chapati and Mandazi—East African pastries, often eaten as snacks or sides, likely baked by women early in the morning and transported in large transparent buckets to their shop destinations. Chapati is a flatbread fried in a pan, while Mandazi are slightly sweet, deep-fried dough balls. At first, I was hesitant to try these energy-packed snacks.
I refill my water reserves—it has gotten very hot, and my thirst is greater than usual. I treat myself to a cola. Then, I make an unfortunate discovery: my little white plush bear, which has accompanied me on all my bikepacking adventures, is gone. Likely torn off during my stop with the kids. I hope it makes a Rwandan child happy! Goodbye, little bear!
After a rapid descent, we hit gravel again—smooth and flat. With a slight tailwind, I speed through this low-lying, intensely hot region. It’s midday, and the moving air offers a little relief.
This changes after about 50 kilometers—now it’s time to tackle some climbs. No more cooling breeze, just the scorching sun at 38°C in the shade. Coming from winter, this heat is brutal. My head feels like a burning furnace.
One experience makes me unable to ride around as carefree as before:
In front of me, four children (let’s call them almost adolescents) sit down in the middle of the road, forming a barrier with their legs spread apart. When I brake, they jump up and surround me. They ask for „money“ in a more aggressive tone, and when I try to keep riding, they grab and tug at my bike.
Later in the evening, I’ll read in the WhatsApp group that some people’s rear lights have gone missing. Ah, so that’s what the kids were after… But my lights were secured with zip ties—not against children, but to prevent them from getting lost.
Otherwise, only happy faces—everyone greeted me back, and some children called out „give me money!“ or simply „good morning“ and „how are you?“
Eventually, I make it and roll into the first checkpoint around 3 PM. A crew member immediately informs me that my tracker isn’t working properly and gives me a new one. Lars also tells me that, according to Legends Tracking, I am still in Kigali. They must be worried back home. I try to reassure everyone via WhatsApp, only to realize I have no internet connection.
I’m starving and dive into the lunch spread: vegetables, rice, pasta, sauce, fries, water, and—once again—Fanta. I also want to wash up. No luck. There is a basic toilet, but no running water.
It’s getting late, and I need to find a place to sleep. The afternoon is slipping away. Back home, I had noted a few options, but to my dismay, they are all fully booked. What now?
I decide to continue riding with some others who have the same problem. Piotr wants to go all the way to Byumba—another 90 kilometers from CP1, with several small climbs and one long ascent of nearly 1000 meters elevation gain. Definitely too far for me.
On the way, I solve my internet problem. I stop at one of the yellow umbrellas found in every village, bearing the logo of the telecom provider whose SIM card we received from the event organizers. I struggle to explain that I have no internet. After some effort, the woman under the umbrella uncovers my own technical stupidity—I had simply forgotten to enable data roaming.
Relieved, I ride on. Soon, a beep—a message comes through. I have reception again! Lars texts me that he has found accommodation in the next village. I arrive shortly after, and we inspect the place. Before that, I quickly text Hermann to let him know I’m on the move and no longer in Kigali.
The accommodations initially shock me. The „bathroom“ especially: a plastic toilet, and a yellow jerrycan next to it is presumably meant to serve as the flushing mechanism. Two rooms, the bedding rumpled and not entirely clean. At least there’s water, with a tap next to the entrance door. The host seems to have moved his family out? I’m not sure, as there are no personal items around except for a jar of skin cream. We’re promised that the beds will be freshly made. If we want a mosquito net, the price rises from 15,000 to 40,000 Franc (1,000 RWF = 0.70 €). We agree. A dinner can also be served. I emphasize that I would prefer only fully cooked food. Understood.
In my room, there’s no light; a new lightbulb is supposed to be installed. The man leaves, and we are told to lock the door behind us and not open it for anyone. After a while, he returns with a colleague, and they start working. I get no electricity, but I do get a mosquito net. A little later, fresh bedding arrives, and I must admit, I couldn’t make my bed with sheets as neatly as our host does. In the meantime, I make do with a bucket of water and a cloth to „wash“ myself. Eventually, the food arrives, steaming hot: beans, potatoes, pasta, and vegetables—and cheap, under 4 Euros when converted. Our hosts say goodbye. We had agreed that we would call when we leave the house for the key handover. To my horror, I realize that I’m still not marked on Legends Tracking as a checkpoint and discover that my tracker is turned off. How silly: What must the race observers be thinking?
Lars and I, in our wisdom, had already booked two rooms in a hotel in Ruhengeri, the location of the next checkpoint, where I would likely arrive just before dark.
I sleep somewhat poorly, as the mosquito net tries to do its job, but it can only do so much when mosquitoes are inside the net. I go on several „hunts“ and discover that the mosquito net isn’t new, but bloodstained, likely from other pests. Hopefully, my malaria prophylaxis does its job.
Day 2:
Gasange – Lake Muhazi – Byumba – Ruhengeri (CP2)
161 km/ 2500 Hm
Time in Motion: 11:23h
Elapsed Time: 13:51h
first my video day 2:
Around 5 o’clock, we set off again. Lars soon disappears around the next bend, while I roll very slowly downhill towards Lake Muhazi. The gravel descent demands my full concentration—there’s no way to call this „smooth.“ Stones, holes, ruts—the full package for getting thrown off balance with the slightest lapse in attention.
At dawn, I cycle along the lake. The morning atmosphere is wonderful.
I’m not alone, either—I keep overtaking heavily loaded cyclists on their steel-framed bikes, and some people are already walking.
I pass by the Kingfisher Resort. I couldn’t get a spot here. The reception is on this side of the lake, while the hotel itself is on the other side and can be accessed by boat. Next time, then…
A cycling team is standing by the roadside next to a motorcycle. A moto-taxi? No, the rider has a large wooden box on the back, filled with fresh bread. I grab some! Who knows when I’ll get food again?
At the next junction, there should be a shop. I need to refill my water. A lot of people are standing around, but the shop is closed. So, I move on. Now I’m riding on asphalt, but it’s still almost 30 kilometers to Byumba and nearly 1,000 meters of elevation gain.
I draft behind a steel-framed bike—a bicycle taxi, known as a „Boda-Boda.“ These are the affordable alternative in Rwanda, especially in rural areas. A ten-minute ride costs around 100 RWF, about 7 cents. These taxis are made from sturdy bicycles, often „Made in China,“ and adapted to carry passengers and heavy loads. A distinctive feature is the reinforced rear rack, often fitted with a cushioned seat for passengers‘ comfort. Many are decorated with colorful additions that the riders use to personalize their bikes.
My „riding partner“ has probably just dropped someone off in Byumba and is now on his way back. He falls behind on the incline—I suspect these bikes are single-speed—but on the flats, he keeps catching up, pedaling relentlessly. This goes on for many kilometers. We exchange a few words now and then.
I stop just before Byumba at a crossroads. Several bicycles are leaning against a beige-colored mud-brick building with a few chairs outside—a „restaurant.“ Can I get coffee here? Nope, but there’s cola and water. Food? One of the men disappears and returns with a paper bag full of chapatis, a type of flatbread. I take three. Others bring goat meat skewers, but I don’t dare try them.
Is there a toilet? No, but across the road… I decide to keep going and find a quick spot behind some bushes when the opportunity arises. But where can I find a place without onlookers? Here, where there’s barely a 100-meter stretch without people? I find a small ditch. Looking up and down the road—no one around. Below me, maybe 20 meters away, a group of women is cutting something. Thankfully, they don’t notice me. Just as I pull my cycling shorts back up, a moto-taxi approaches. Close call. I can’t imagine how awful this would be if I had stomach issues…
Onward to Byumba, and then I plunge into the descent. Gravel. And what a descent. I crawl at walking speed over eroded ruts and large stones.
At some point, two teenagers stand by the roadside. They greet me politely; I greet them back. Then, one of them suddenly jumps up and runs alongside me. He gets closer and closer. Suddenly, he reaches out, snatches something white, turns around, and sprints back up the hill.
Perplexed, I stop and watch him. He waves something in his outstretched hand and disappears behind the eucalyptus trees. What did he take? I check my food pouch on the handlebars. Aha—my wet wipes! Not exactly essential, but still crucial for daily hygiene, especially in the saddle area. Hmm… I probably won’t find replacements in Rwanda.
The next 75 kilometers of gravel roads are sometimes lonely, winding through a beautiful hilly landscape, sometimes so steep that I have to push my bike, and sometimes lined with people, especially children. Some sections are so steep that I have to push my bike. Thankfully, no one is chasing me this time. Kids usually run alongside unusual cyclists for long distances. „Good morning“ at any time of day or night. Today, they add a new phrase: „Give me money,“ „Give your money,“ or variations like „Put my money“ or „Put your money.“
A quick stop at a small shop, like the ones found in every little settlement. Sometimes these tiny stores are hard to recognize—the mud-brick houses all look the same, often with an open door and people gathered outside. But which one is actually a „shop“? I look around to see if other Muzungus are there, as they usually attract a crowd. Once again, I grab some water, pineapple Fanta, and a few cookies. The owner proudly poses his child for a photo. A gummy bear for the little one is met with a puzzled look.
The sky darkens. So far, I’ve been lucky, but I’m not sure when exactly the rainy season starts. The long rainy season should begin soon and lasts from March to May—bringing frequent and heavy rainfall. Is the transition even clearly defined? Either way, it starts to drizzle, and distant thunder rumbles. Oh no, I have a terrible fear of thunderstorms in the open.
I stop under a large tree—finally, no people around. Probably, everyone has found shelter from the rain. While putting on a thin rain jacket and short rain pants, I take a few bites of the bread I bought from the „flying“ (or rather, motorcycle-riding) vendor this morning.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a slightly chubby girl in a gray hooded shirt appears next to me. She points at my bread and her belly, which isn’t exactly small. Hungry? I give her half of my bread. She snatches it, runs off laughing, and joins another girl walking nearby with an umbrella. I guess they were making fun of me. Slightly annoyed, I pedal on.
At least the drizzle stops. The road is a bit slippery but could be worse. But I spoke too soon…
A little later, I reach a small settlement and hear loud noise in the distance—like construction machinery. I expected this but didn’t realize it would hit me today.
Road construction! Massive trucks and excavators are at work. And I dive right in—ankle-deep mud instantly clogs my tires. I jump off and take a few steps. Immediately, I have 10-centimeter-high „heels“ of mud stuck to my soles. This will be fun. Pushing isn’t an option—I have to carry my 60-kilo bike for a few meters. At least there’s a firm path on the side for my feet.
Huge construction machines are everywhere, some carving away at the roadside to widen the road almost to highway size. Near them, a few yellow-helmeted workers sit casually in the shade, waving me and other travelers forward with little enthusiasm. I wonder if they even know what the machines are doing. I keep a wary eye to make sure I don’t get run over.
After a packed-down section, I breathe a sigh of relief—only to encounter the same muddy chaos a few hundred meters later.
Ahead, a RaR team is talking to a Chinese man—probably the site manager. They glance in horror at their navigation device. They tell me they’re looking for a detour—this 16-kilometer stretch is unbearable. At an average speed of 5 km/h, we’d be stuck here until midnight before reaching CP2 in Ruhengeri. Oh dear.
Then, another stretch of mud. One of the cyclists in front of me slips, can’t unclip in time, and crashes full-length into the red mud. Poor guy! I wobble cautiously forward.
A few kilometers of beautifully packed terrain follow, but then—more machinery noise in the distance, and the same ordeal repeats. I resign myself to my fate. Stop & go!
Suddenly, a barrier. Beyond it, a steep hillside with ominous sounds—rockfall! The guard waves me to stop. On the other side, heavily loaded steel bikes are being pushed uphill. Seems like there’s no barrier on that end.
I keep glancing suspiciously at my bike computer. The 16 kilometers should be almost up. And indeed, I approach a small village and a huge soccer field, where two teams, cheered on by a large crowd, are battling for victory. It seems the students have the day off for this event, as countless children in colorful uniforms are gathered around the field.
Shortly after, there’s a short but very steep climb, and I reach the asphalt road. The RaR 2026 participants will likely have to contend with 16 more kilometers of paved road.
Only about 30 kilometers to the second checkpoint in Ruhengeri. It’s going great. Smooth asphalt and fast descents interrupted by short uphill sections. I’ve definitely earned this. There are masses of people along the sides of the road. In the second row, the usual bikes with cargo or used as taxis. Then, lots of moto-taxis and some cars and large trucks. After speeding along, I only noticed a knee-deep, almost bathtub-sized hole in the asphalt at the last second. I slowed down and focused my attention more on the road. And then I realize: my bike looks awful. The color is barely visible under all the dried mud. It’s unlikely they’ll let me into the hotel looking like this. What to do?
Just before Ruhengeri, I stop at a gas station. It’s unclear whether there’s a car wash, but I ask anyway, showing the attendant my dirty bike. He points behind the building, where a small group is cleaning an SUV. Immediately, I’m surrounded, and everyone gets to work on my bike wash request. A Muzungu (foreigner) doesn’t come by every day. While three people focus on my bike, I suddenly feel something on my legs. What’s this? In front of me, a boy is kneeling and scrubbing my red, crusted skin with soapy water. What a service…
I pay my bill, a mere pittance, give a tip, and a few kilometers later, I arrive at CP1. I collect my guest gift, a small wooden gorilla keychain. It occurs to me that I didn’t pick up my gift at CP1 earlier—I simply didn’t know about it, or is that just an excuse not to carry extra weight around? Joking aside, a small, cute stuffed elephant will find its way to me at the finish line, replacing my little plush bear. Almost at the same time, Lars arrives. We eat something here and then head to the hotel. We had booked the same one the night before.
The warm shower is bliss, and the soft, cozy giant bed under a mosquito net is a real treat. I decide not to wash my clothes. It’s not that bad. This way, I don’t stand out too much, unlike if I were riding around as a „groomed“ Muzungu.
At the hotel—warm shower, soft bed, mosquito net. Heavenly.
Day 3:
Ruhengeri (CP2) – Volcano Belt – Gishwati Forest – Muhanga
167 km/ 3400 Hm
Time in Motion: 12:04h
Elapsed Time: 14:16h
In the morning, there is an early breakfast buffet just for us at 4:30 AM, featuring fruits, eggs, toast, jam, honey, and most importantly, coffee with milk. I guess I’m a bit of a coffee addict…
Today, we’ll be climbing above 2800m altitude twice. In total, over 3400 meters of elevation gain must be conquered, and the terrain is said to be quite challenging.
The first few kilometers are uphill but manageable on asphalt. From all directions, children in blue and colorful uniforms, holding notebooks, stream towards me, walking in the same direction. Ah, school must be starting soon. At some point, the schoolchildren begin coming toward me—I must have already passed the school.
In the distance, towering volcanic cones rise into the sky, illuminated by the newly risen sun. I am approaching the Volcano Belt. Less than 50 kilometers away, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, stands Nyiragongo—a 3,470-meter-high stratovolcano, considered one of the most active volcanoes in the world.
The road seamlessly transitions into gravel—an extremely rocky track. We had been warned that it would be a rough ride for hours. I hope I don’t get a flat tire. But no matter how eroded, full of deep washouts, or riddled with potholes the path may be, there are still moto-taxis here. They find the smoothest, best line, and often, we end up crossing paths, both searching for a rideable track…
After a short time of rattling over large, sharp, hardened lava rocks, my wrists start to ache—even with my Redshift ShockStop system on the stem. And there are still another 30 kilometers of this bone-shaking terrain ahead of me.
I keep having companions along the way. Apparently, not all children go to school, despite compulsory education. Just when I think I’m finally alone and breathe a sigh of relief before the next brutal climb, out of nowhere, a handful of kids suddenly appear and shuffle alongside me. Stopping to catch my breath or eat something? No chance. They talk, ask questions, demand…
I pass Markus, who is sitting on a rock by the roadside, having a snack. Around him, a swarm of children—no, a child-swarm. I slip past almost unnoticed and am left alone.
I’m looking for a secluded spot to disappear behind the bushes for a moment. I think I’ve found one, so I hurry before someone else shows up from somewhere. Pants down… and out of the corner of my eye, I realize I am not as unseen as I thought. In the curve below, a woman in a colorful dress, her hoe resting on her head, is watching me curiously. Hmm… oh well, it has to happen. Afterward, I ride past her with an embarrassed grin, offering a friendly greeting. Finding a place to relieve yourself in Rwanda? Nearly impossible. And of course, I don’t want to pollute this clean country…
Eventually, after what feels like a snail’s-pace descent over all those ruts and stones, we take a detour. Due to the escalating conflict between the Congolese army and the M23 rebel militia in the border area between Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, we have to change our route. Originally, we would have passed through Gisenyi, a border town now at the center of these tensions. The conflict between Congo and Rwanda has been smoldering for years—fueled by disputes over natural resources and deep-seated ethnic tensions between the Tutsi and Hutu.
The new route leads slightly further south through the Gishwati Forest, one of the highest points of the tour at nearly 3000 meters.
As soon as I enter the next gravel section, I notice a change. People here seem poorer. Their faces often appear worn and hardened, and even adults sometimes ask for money. The houses look more modest, and more children wear clothes barely hanging onto their bodies. Many of them carry heavy loads.
By the roadside, I spot an incredible photo opportunity: in a stream, hundreds of bright orange carrots are floating, being washed by several young men standing in the water. I reach for my phone, but one of them signals—only for “money.” I keep riding—no photo then. I don’t want to take out my wallet in front of all these people…
The landscape is breathtaking—deep green everywhere, tea plantations lining the way. The incline becomes steeper and steeper until I have to dismount and push. I almost take the wrong turn, as the track appears to go straight up the mountain. Something isn’t right. I simply follow the road, and at some point, the path and my GPS track align again. Luckily!
The higher I climb, the more desolate it becomes. Finally, no people. The landscape now looks almost like home—coniferous forests and, further up, alpine meadows.
I can hardly believe it—after my long hike, I have reached the highest point. Here, I find a paved road. After countless kilometers of descent and several more long climbs, I won’t leave the pavement again until I reach my destination for the night: Muhanga.
On the way, I pass through wealthier areas again. Well-dressed men and women, on foot, on bicycles, or riding moto-taxis. Banana plantations, fertile land, and well-kept houses.
It seems to be market day in many places. People are carrying all kinds of goods—goats, chickens, pigs, banana bunches, corn cobs, pineapples, grains, buckets of mandazis (deep-fried dough balls), and much more.
I especially feel sorry for a live pig tied onto a bicycle and a dozen roosters, also alive, strapped to a wheel by their feet.
The afternoon wears on. A quick stop at a shop for a Coke and some water. At the bakery next door, I find delicious, freshly baked warm bread. I meet a few of our group here—Lars is among them. We agree to meet at the turnoff to Muhanga to search for our hotel, as the rooms were booked the night before.
Only 20 kilometers remain, but nearly 900 meters of climbing still lie ahead. Fortunately, the sun is no longer as intense. A truck passes me—clinging to the back is a Rwandan cyclist. Despite the obvious danger, I can’t help but envy him for a moment. Meanwhile, I have to haul myself and my over 20-kilo bike up the hill on my own.
The sun sets, and soon, darkness falls. I reach the intersection. After repeatedly overtaking each other throughout the day, Lars and I meet here again. We should be close to our destination—Muhanga, which lies a few kilometers off the main route.
The traffic is chaotic. The road is lined with potholes. Cars dazzle me with their headlights. I just hope the drivers behind us can see us. We get lost multiple times looking for our hotel. It’s not where Google Maps says it should be. We ask a policeman. He tells us we need to go another three kilometers.
Frustrated, we give up. Ahead of us is another hotel that looks decent. We ask if they have two rooms. Jackpot!
A functional warm shower, finally! I even wash my cycling clothes. After a delicious dinner, I sink into my fine bed under a mosquito-net canopy.
Continuing soon…!
Day 4
Day 5
Day 6 – Finish
Summary:
- 110 starters
- Around 20 women (6 solo)
- 87 finishers
- 23 did not finish (DNF)
- Gabi: 3rd solo female finisher / 66th overall
- Maximum time: 163h
- Winning time: 57h 50min
- Gabi: 134h 41min (1 day before the finisher party) – avoided night rides, not only as a solo female rider but also to enjoy the beautiful landscapes.
Epilogue:
I am infinitely grateful to live under conditions that provide me with constant access to clean drinking water, sanitary facilities, a healthy and varied diet, and many other conveniences that make for an unburdened life.
My bikepacking experience in Rwanda was simply unforgettable! Stunning nature, breathtaking landscapes, and an incredible cleanliness that made traveling especially pleasant. On top of that, the warm and friendly people made every encounter special. A true adventure I would repeat anytime!
Plastic Waste in Rwanda: A Clean Success Story
Seeing trash along the roadside in Rwanda? Almost unthinkable. Maybe the occasional crushed plastic bottle, but otherwise—nothing. How is that possible?
Rwanda has taken strict measures against plastic waste. Since 2008, single-use plastic bags have been completely banned, and in recent years, this ban has expanded to include plastic straws, bottles, and packaging. The government enforces the ban rigorously by controlling imports, imposing fines, and promoting environmentally friendly alternatives. This policy has made Rwanda one of the cleanest countries in Africa, particularly in its capital, Kigali. Additionally, waste separation programs and recycling initiatives further help reduce plastic waste.
Moses‘ Energy Bars:
Before setting off, I picked up some local energy bars—wrapped in banana leaves. Delicious! And the best part? You can toss the packaging into the roadside ditch without worry.
Murakoze cyane, Rwanda – and especially Simon and the entire crew!!!