Bonjour Burundi

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Bujumbura Street

"Nous sommes touristes en vacances," I said to the official at the Burundi border shack set in the middle of a forest of tall eucalyptus trees. He frowned, as if to say, why would you come here on your holiday! (Actually we've heard good things about Burundi). He leafed through our passports, searching. "No visa?". In my school-girl french I explained that the Burundi Embassy in Tanzania had not had a stamp (or whatever) and had told us that we could get a visa here at the border. He mumbled to himself and then called his colleague in to consult on the matter. We were a little anxious, but we knew we could pull out the phone numbers of the precious contacts we'd made at the Burundi Embassy in Kigoma (our last town in Tanzania near Gombe), and our laid-back pal, Ernest, the consul from the embassy in Dar.

A few more questions, then talking amongst themselves. The second official left us, and then taking us by surprise, the first guy stamped our passports, clunk, clunk, then subtly muttered the words 'soda' and 'Fanta' - a gift for his troubles! Sorry, we did not have any Burundi francs yet, I said, avoiding the bribe. But wow, was it that easy? And free? Of course not. Apparently, there was still another immigration stop in Mapanda, a very slow 15km away, where we'd have to physically get the visa.

Streets and hills of Bujumbura

As you know from our blogs, travel days are not much fun, even less so crossing land-borders, but up until now today it had been smooth. Leaving Tanzania had been uneventful - a minibus and then gentle shared-taxi ride through green, hilly terrain to the exit border stop. Then, another shared taxi down a steep section of no-mans land, our entry into Burundi marked by a rough wooden sign amongst the trees, and the disappearance of the decent tarmac road; in its place a very rough, red dirt track off into the trees.

It was going to be a day of baaaaby-steps, I thought to myself, as we bumped along in our clapped-out taxi in the middle of Africa. Here we were, now with a stamp in our passport, but not quite legal yet, heading to the second immigration office. This went smoothly and the immigration official was pleasant and helpful. 1 month visa, $70 US, no problem. (And cheaper than we'd expected). Baby steps. Where was the Bureau de Change? we asked. At the market. Well the 'Bureau de Change' turned out to be men at the centre crossroads of 'town' with wads of notes in their hands. A man who recognised us from the border post helped us (which we're always wary of, but he turned out to be genuine with good English) and we were in business. We lined up a minibus going to Bujumbura, the capital, some nourishment for the journey (bananas from a street stall), and a quick loo stop (somebody's shack). Believe me, all these are large baby steps in Africa!

The tasty burger in the Tropicana Restaurant, Bujumbura

At this point we'd been in Burundi about three  hours and only once had we'd heard the cry 'mzungu' (white-man) from the side of the road. We realised that the reaction was more of shock on the peoples' faces. Clearly, very few white people come through this part of the country. We got to Bujumbura thankfully in one piece after 4 more hours on part tarmac/ dirt road running through the scenic border mountains and then down beside Lake Tanganyika. Glad to be safely out of the minibus, we made our way into town and found a hotel virtually hassle-free which made a nice change! Next, food. Not always easy in eastern Africa to find decent food, but Bujumbura boasts good quality restaurants thanks to its Belgian past. Not having to face chipsy-kuku (chicken and chips) again, we settled on splashing out on a very tasty burger and cheesy pizza. Mmmm, cheese! Arriving safely, with a roof over our heads and something to eat at the end of the day is always what we look forward to on travel days. How great to finally breathe a huge sigh of relief and relax! * Mush