One of the reasons I and Musanze are tight bed fellows is because on the way to Musanze, there is a strict traffic law that prohibits motorists from speeding past Nyirangarama without making a courtesy stop over.

It is disrespectful, not to mention uncultured, to not make that magical stop. Who in their right state of mind would want to speed past Enterprise Urwibutso, all the while pretending that they do not see the need to brake?

I am a staunch Nyirangarama fan, which in turn translates into that other liking for Musanze, because I can’t jump on a bus to Nyirangarama’s Resto Ikimaranzara just to find brochette and pottage to eat. I presume that one can only experience Nyirangarama in the context of making a stop-over on your way to Musanze from Kigali and vice versa.

Sadly, in our haste to go ease our bladders before they burst, and in an effort to catch a quick bite, most of us fail to capture the real essence of this stop. It’s essence is that you are supposed to come out of your car or bus and dance a gig before even attending to your bladder.

After that long ride so far, you are definitely not in the best of physical and mental postures. The evidence for this harsh physical and mental toll on you was the drools of saliva that occasionally dribbled down the corner of your lips as the minibus sped by. What better way to kick off this dreariness and dreaminess and wobbliness than dance?

Speaking of which, have you taken note of that mild carnival-like mood created by Dolly Patton and Celine Dion ballads piping from scores of small speakers buried in the roof? Personally it took me a few visits before it came to my realisation that Sina Gerard employs a DJ who never goes to sleep.

Here, the DJ does not play the music loudly like he is calling on you to sing along. Rather, the music pipes ever so gently from the surrounding, giving you that soft, deluxe, and warm house feeling. There is a certain mild camaraderie that hangs over the air whenever this joint is in full flight. 

But Sina Gerard is not the only entrepreneur up north with a good musical ear. He has got real competition to contend with in Musanze town. Take the Muhabura Hotel for one.

The DJ at Muhabura plays his music at such fine decibels, you actually think the music is not piping from the speakers, but that the singer is perched up there in the ceiling, like a monkey, serenading the hotel’s rich, polished diners.

The times that I have been to Muhabura, I have tried to look around and locate the DJs booth, but always in vain. All I can do now is to suspect that Madam Gaudence, who owns the hotel, also secretly doubles as a disc jockey.