Quite a Rift.

A man rides his bicycle through the Rift Valley.

Chekalini, Kenya – As we coursed along its tongue, the cavernous jaw of the Rift Valley appeared to swallow us, its pebbly walls rising as we wound down serpentine switchbacks into dry pastures of scrub and stretching acacia.

Cacti lined the road, standing sentinel with spiny paddles.

The road at the head of the valley, which leads to former President Daniel arap Moi's home region, is well-paved, but silent. As so few vehicles pass by, locals quip it is best known as a resting place for goats and cows.

Sure enough, around the corner lay a goat, nonplussed, chewing on a long blade of grass.

Crossing the equator and descending farther, however, we rattled across pocked roads as the ground blushed with the red of clay, its lips whispering small puffs of dust. Termite hills as tall as I rose from the landscape like stovepipe hats.

Yet, even as the sun threw blazing rays earthward, motorcyclists remained bundled in down coats – the concept of heat obviously dependent on the climate to which one is accustomed. The whole way, we waved at wide-eyed children in school uniforms who double-took at the palour of our skin.

Toward the end of the day, rain set a local market into motion as tarps were drawn like curtains over stick-framed kiosks selling everything from shoes, to fruit, to suitcases. Weather had signaled the end of the show.

We had been on the road for nearly 12 hours, setting out from Lake Naivasha to see the splendour of the Great Rift Valley and to visit Eric's family in the Western Kenya village of Chekalini.

With a thud in Eldoret, though, we heard the now-familiar snake-like hissing and, for the second day in a row, were roadside – covered in ochre – changing a punctured tire.

This is becoming a habit.

Day 11: And the Rains Cometh.

Kitabi, Rwanda – Given the country’s history, it can be a little unsettling when the roads appear to be bleeding, which they did as rain traced our course back to Kitabi this afternoon. Drops hit us like a thousand flies to the windshield and rivulets of red clay flowed off the hills and across our path.

Even cheery sunflowers appeared droopy, seemingly weeping. It was the quietest I’ve seen the roads during my time here as people took cover, huddling under steel awnings with bundles of bananas and bags of charcoal. Hitting the roof, the raindrops made their own tune. Nobody seemed to be whistling along.

As treacherous as these roads can be, you can hardly blame anyone not wanting to push heavy bicycle loads up the hills with even less traction. Even the smoke weaving its way through the clay brick of homes seemed to want to revisit its course.

For those willing to brave the storm, colourful fabrics contrasted nicely against the grey blanketing the landscape. A child washed in the runoff. Others clung to soggy red sports jackets, which hung listlessly over their heads. Further down the road, a couple of drivers shivering in rain coats huddled under the trailer of a transport truck that had broken down.

It has rained at least a little every day I’ve been here and Kitabi, being a rainforest, often remains cloaked in cloud. The rains, however, contribute to the vast vegetation that is essential to the nation. There is a dearth of industry in this country and more than 80 per cent of its citizens are dependent on agriculture for survival. It’s one thing that is bountiful.

Given the abundance of food and of clay used to make solid homes, it can be easier to overlook that extreme poverty exists in Rwanda, but people here are among the poorest in the world, living off less than a dollar a day.

By the time we returned to Kitabi, however, the sun welcomed us with open arms.

At its Most Beautiful.

Kitabi, Rwanda – More than 2,000 metres above sea level, my head aches and my ears have popped, feeling at moments like snare drums. The sheer beauty on which my eyes have supped today, though, has brought over me a calm as ethereal as the wisps of cloud that hang languidly between the mountains. I am happy.

Put simply, Kitabi, and this region that travels through Nyungwe National Park, provides some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve seen in the world. I cannot get over how fertile and rich with vegetation this country is; it’s as though the rains that fall paint everything green, with small speckles of pink and yellow.

Throughout the drive, I sat with my head lolling out the window like a puppy that hasn’t been outside in a week (except I kept my tongue in my mouth), taking in all the smells of the fresh air and the eucalyptus.

We drove among the clouds and above them, through rain showers and bright sun. All the while, we navigated tight turns on uneven roads over rolling hills to tall peaks. I stared in wonder at the wall-to-wall trees that towered over us, unspooling vines earthward. Small birds somehow contorted to cling to the sheer rock face. It was stunning.

We saw a number of monkeys, including one sitting in a tea field just outside the park, and another with a baby. Not realizing they existed here, too, I was a little surprised to see a squirrel dash across the road in front of us. Somehow, they do not tend to be featured among the many wooden animal carvings artisans offer to help you remember your time in Africa.

We were greeted at Kitabi by a small group of village children who had crept onto the College’s property to fill their jerry cans with water from its well. I was home (away from home).

Day Six: Off the Beaten Path.

Cyangugu, Rwanda – With towering mountains, red soil, tropical vegetation and the twisted shape of Lake Kivu, it’s not really any wonder this is an exceptionally beautiful region of Rwanda. Despite being perpetually overcast – or perhaps hazy is more fair a term – I can’t help but marvel at the vistas.

It’s temperate, though warm in the sun and particularly humid following rain. Still, I was completely comfortable in a long-sleeved shirt as I worked outside on my balcony this morning. The breeze had a relative chill to it – ‘relative’ as I hear it is currently -30 back home in Canada.

You could really hear the hustle and bustle of Saturday morning as children ran around playing and others completed such tasks as laundry and firewood gathering. Drums resonated over the hills in the distance and people could be heard singing from all angles. Children’s shouts and the ever-present chirps of birds completed the aural tableau.

I’ve been told this area has long felt cut off from the rest of the country and that, as a result, people are different here. The depth of the Nyungwe Forest – and its steep, curved roads – have made accessing this region difficult. Due to its proximity to the DRC, however, you see a significant proportion of the population heading off to work across the border, and a number of Congolese working here.

Though poverty would impede many Rwandans from flying, there is at least an airport here, where I ventured this morning to pick up my baggage this morning (finally!) I particularly enjoyed the ride because it took me through the rural area and I was able to witness some of the community’s daily goings-on. A young girl with a large bundle of sticks balanced on her head vanished into the tall grasses, while a trio of young boys disappeared into the hills. Another boy tended to his goat with a bamboo pole twice as long as he as two rusted bicycles with large bundles of bananas slung over the back rested against the clay nearby. Another man struggled to push his bike up the hill with two giant bags of onions on the back. There were people everywhere.

Though children still attend school on Saturday here, a small group had taken time to watch the planes taking-off at the airport, much like I had seen in Kisumu, Kenya last year. It was nice to see them looking after each other, pulling stray friends out of the way of oncoming vehicles, which have little regard for pedestrians in this country. One young girl in the group could not have been more than two-feet-tall and wore a tiny kanga wrapped around her waist. She was, in a word, adorable.

I took their photo and, despite the severity I’ve seen on many faces here, theirs lit up when I waved, making me feel welcome.

Day Five: A Light Show.

Cyangugu, Rwanda – Given that I’ve just spent the past couple of days working – editing long manuals that will be used to govern and manage KCCEM – I figured I wouldn’t have many stories to tell.

I could talk about the food, but that will wait for another day. This is an African country where there is no shortage of things to eat, and where flavour is important. Unlike last year, I may just come home heavier, rather than lighter.

After a last-minute invitation to go out with the team to a local dance club, I figured I could write about the nightlife and the traditional Congolese dance, ndobo, that is prevalent in this part of the country. Unfortunately, that opportunity fell through due to a lack of communication, though the beats resounding from next door had my leg a-twitching in my sleep all night.

While waiting, though, I decided to step outside in an attempt to take some long-exposure photos of the lights on the hills across Lake Kivu. For whatever the reason, I climbed out my window (I have a door) and onto my balcony. The storm clamouring for attention over the mountains was one of the most spectacular light shows I have ever seen.

It was like paparazzi in the heavens as several flashes a second lit up the sky for an hour, non-stop. For the most part, lightning bolts weren’t visible, though one could occasionally see one jumping, kamikaze-style, to a nearby cloud. Instead, as though filled with giant flashbulbs, the sky silhouetted – in various shades of grey – the swollen clouds and arrows of rain that fell to the earth in the distance.

Yet, where I stood, the stars in the sky smiled down like a million twinkles in your eye.