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This morning I registered a company called MYL with my partner Isabelle, in Kigali, a picturesque city of blue, black and red roofs sprayed over green rolling hills. There are currently two parts of Kigali that look truly metropolitan, a hilltop of skyscrapers and a giant conference centre dome; the rest is remarkably low-rise but the city is growing relentlessly and the government is set to make it a continental business hub. Here, three hours away from my village mud, lies a highly organised, heavily traffic-lighted, obsessively spotless and extensively paved urban dream that I want to be part of.
And it comes so easily… A couple of years ago I would have applied online some days in advance and prepared 30 dollars to be allowed into Rwanda. Nowadays—thanks to the beauty of the East African integration—I can show up on the border and enter for free. Shared cars that do not over-squeeze passengers (Rwandan policemen stationed behind every corner wouldn’t permit that) seamlessly connect Kabale and Kigali, and charge less than 5 dollars for the ride. My former assistant Nash is building an African Uber here, and his open house is a priceless second home for me.
Honestly, it wouldn’t be beyond me to go for a night in Kigali only to get a fine Asian snack at Preet, compile a Mexican treat at Meze Fresh or sample the extraordinary collection of fresh delicacies by Rz Manna, a Korean-run bakery.
And I am not even a foodie… Exposed to a bunch of volunteers or travellers dreaming about this dish or that craving, I always roll my eyes and leave. No, I have been organising a transboundary cooking competition because I believe in the special power of great food to bring people together.
Which brings me back to the first sentence. In May I was just one little bad thought away from cancelling the second Silverchef. My financial situation was so dire that I couldn’t stomach investing any shilling into the event; I wanted others to support it—but support was not coming. Eventually we did it on a shoestring, with competitors camping and judges finding their own way to the venue, and it turned out pretty fabulous. A last minute sponsorship by Kazinga Tours even brought it out of the red zone.
It was a victory of my flexibility and creativity, a proof of my stubbornness; I am not called Rwebandira* for nothing.
But I do not want to do something like that ever again. At 42, I feel too old for that. After 16 years in Uganda I feel I should know and demand better.
So my gradual transition to Kigali is also a mental transition from the Ugandan Wild West and improvisation to the more single-minded and organised Rwandan way. I am not leaving my Lake Bunyonyi and the intoxicating freedom of Uganda behind, it will remain a sweet part of my life. An hour ago I watched Queen of Katwe in the posh cinema of Kigali and cried more than at any movie; it was such a celebration of Ugandaness, of the Ugandan people.
I am just saying that I am ready for something different and more disciplined, and that I will be spending more time south of the border.
With our new company, the Gorilla Highlands initiative is getting professional representation in Rwanda, and with Isabelle’s TV show my life seems to be destined to bend back towards television, the medium that always loved me most. It’s time to give this jilted lover some affection back.
Last but not least, Silverchef 2017 will now definitely be at the level worthy of BirdNest Resort.
* Rwebandira = somebody who does not stop in front of the bush but grabs a machette and cuts his way through it; the name Festo Karwemera gave me
text: Miha Logar
