I've traveled in 5 East African countries now, and lived in two. In each of them, motorcycles are a major method of transportation. Just like we in the US depend on taxis for brief trips around town, folks in Uganda and Kenya and Tanzania are just as likely to hop onto the back of a motorcycle for that ride home. In Uganda, they're called "boda bodas," and I still remember how terrified I was during my first ride on one, and how whenever we hit a bump, I just knew they'd be scraping me out of a ditch any minute now.When I first got to Rwanda, I assumed all the guys wearing green helmets were policemen. After all, they were not only wearing them, they also had an extra one perched between their bike handles. Then I started seeing people riding along with the green helmeted guys, and noticed they were wearing helmets, too.
In Rwanda, those bikes are called "taxi-motos", and drivers are not only required to wear helmets, they must carry them for their passengers. The government demands compliance to this law. Before I got here, several people had mentioned Rwanda's political strict "regime," and I'm sure I don't know the half of it. But when I think of all the Americans who wind up donating organs because they refuse to wear motorcycle helmets, I can't help being impressed.
After a year in Kenya, where there seem to be no rules, I could use about a month of Kigali's quiet, orderly, clean streets. I could tolerate not having to worry about being car-jacked, mugged, or having people reach through my window to try and steal my phone (it happened). I could use a few weeks with "nothing to do."
For me, that's where the rubber meets the road.
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