In Burundi, the rest of the country outside the capital is referred to as "the interior." Despite having bought every single thing needed for the coordination team, and for the opening order to get the field project started, I haven't set foot outside of the capital. I've been in plenty of neighborhoods, plenty of districts of Bujumbura. I've been in markets that were bombed hours after my passage, I've been in intersections that were fought over the night before. I've been in workshops for welders and carpenters, I've been in offices for phone and internet companies. I've searched for lock boxes, copies of keys, beds, coffee machines, bananas, light switches, hammer drills, buckets, voltage stabilizers, and a whole laundry list of other things. But I haven't been outside of the city, into the interior of the country.
Until now.
I hired a truck and loaded the first two project orders for the field. It was me and the new water and sanitation engineer, who just flew in 4 hours earlier. "Welcome! Can you help me lift this freezer?" I sign the contract and the truck driver hands over the keys right around 5pm. We have a little over an hour of daylight left, and about 1 metric ton of material to load. I check off items on the list and the watsan packs, but we are both carrying things to the truck from the various corners where they had been shoved. In 40 minutes, we're done. Everything's checked off. We lock down the truck with some pieces cut from an inner tube, and head inside.
The next morning, we're on track for a 7:30am departure. The truck driver comes (almost) on time, miraculously, and I give the last instructions to the driver who will stay behind with our city car ("hey, can you buy three sacks of cement for me?"). The watsan and I climb into our pickup truck, and the truck driver revs the engine. We're on the way.
After 50m, we determine that the pickup should be in front, due to the unacceptable amount of exhaust coming out of the truck. Turns out we can't get in front of the truck until a kilometer later, but the cancer won't set in for another few decades. I'll have long forgotten about this day by the time I get my diagnosis, I'm sure.
We're headed to the city in between the two locations; the capital and the field are separated by about 4 hours of tarmac road and several mountain passes. We'll meet in Kayanza, 2 hours from each base. We'll transfer the watsan into their car, then turn around and come back, while they return to the field with the truck in convoy. It's called a kiss movement, because the land cruisers come face-to-face, like they're kissing. Actually, it's much easier if they go side-to-side, for the transfer of material, but I guess hand-holding movement was too long to say. It's still called a kiss in any language you work in, so many francophones think it's an acronym. Just anthropomorphizing our conveyances.
We roll up and down huge hills, winding our way up a few switchbacks. The road is in good condition, and the traffic is light. Bikers benefit from slow-moving trucks climbing the hills to catch a free ride.
We get to the kiss location about half an hour early, and stretch our legs. Kids run up and stare at us, then the police comes to warn us to look out for thieves. They indicate that the kids will probably try to climb in the truck and steal everything. People slow down and gawk at us, or come up and ask for money in several languages. The other car gets there, there's a smoke break, then everyone piles back in and we head our separate directions. I had no need to be here, but I wanted to get out of the capital. I have 6 days left in this mission, and I couldn't have told you what a Burundian meal is like.
On the way back, we hit a cloud that has covered the final mountain before the descent into Bujumbura. It's eerie and calm in the fog, which is so thick that driving slows to a crawl.
Then we're through it and we see the city spread out below us. Home sweet home, at least for the next week.
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