The beauty of Buja

Bujumbura feels like the place you do not like to visit often because it might remind you of home. It has nothing to do with its temperamental temperatures, hot in the late nights, cool in the mornings, breezy in the late afternoon. Perhaps it is in the geography of the place. Bujumbura hugs Lake Tanganyika like a new born, still unaware of the world without its dependency on its mother’s body. You can drive for miles along the beach from the north of the town to the south, without losing touch with the regular splash of waves onto the lake shore. It reminds one of the constant buzz of the big fellow in the background, who is struggling to remain invisible like a naked man standing on a hill, reminiscent of the way the ocean treats Dar es Salaam or Mombasa. Burundians are a tad too respectful. A shop keeper will hold her right arm with the left while passing you the balance, and so will the waiters and motorcycle taxi riders. Those and the drivers on Bujumbura roads are a little bit wilder than their Rwandan counterparts. They turn at awkward places and often elicit elongated hooting of road rage from other road users. It feels more like the street chaos in Nairobi, with a few traffic jams at rush hours and an unofficial stop-for-the passenger-anywhere policy, but is akin to Rwanda in the branding of special hire taxis and matatus. If Bujumbura’s weather is temperamental, then the climate does not take anything from its people. Speaking impeccable French and regularly spewing it into Kirundi, such that you would never know if the two languages do have a shared origin, their speech rolls with an artistic characteristic reminiscent of years of living side by side. The Bujumbura main market is a riot of colour, with cheap but impressive looking imitations of western designer labels living side by side with the Congolese matrix of many ideas in the variously meticulously designed original Kitenge. Then they have the much younger wines that sell for as cheap as four thousand Burundi francs, but which from close inspection demonstrate the cunning ability of humans to get around the tax man’s trap. Why would a South African wine, imported by Kenya Wine Agencies Ltd label, be selling cheap in the middle of Africa? Fortunately, wines don’t speak, instead they make you speak!Buja’s highways are loaded with tones of history. Its jacaranda or huge dodo mango tree-lined avenues subtly informs you that the town has been around for a long time. There is no whiff of the political violence that rocked this haven of quite manners for years. In the offices, the face of a stoic handsome clean shaven man with an idealistic background of meticulous studio work watches over the people. President Pierre Nkurunziza’s performance can probably not be judged on the strength of his official presidential portrait, but it is enough to assure anyone that Burundi is now a calm country, being watched over by somebody who has a knack for the job. Buja is a melting pot of new and old. Old gracious buildings struggling to survive among the frequently sprouting new structures, fading colour versus new eye-catching arty paints, old roundabout monuments struggling with a new fancy billboard fad. Burundians like to make merry with their beers, big but not threatening, because of the reassuring label designs of BRARUDI (the brewer), perhaps intended to assure you that the contents are not as intoxicating as the size of the bottles would otherwise suggest. Like in their faces, the citizens appear tranquil and comforting. They don’t seem to be easily excitable but instead are rather laid back and willing to enjoy the good things in life as it comes. And they sure like to talk about life. How else would such a tiny country accommodate about five mobile telephone networks? Perhaps it is something to do with the strategic location, between the opportunities and therapeutic effects of a lake shore town on a wide plain tucked, under the protection of high rising mountains, a moody weather and the good life. kelviod@yahoo.com