With the wedding party gone, the expansive air on top of us felt radiant; like it was still singing songs of love. The pillows that the bride and groom knelt on stared back…
Its spire rises above almost all else. Perched atop one of its approaching hills, the spire is a landmark that one would hardly miss from most areas surrounding the main road into Muhanga.
At the reception we meet a couple of beautiful young mushanana-adorning guides laughing at a joke that’s been in the air for quite a bit, their smiles slightly waning.
Then I see four men carrying a stretcher, the load on it covered by shukas similar to those I saw wrapped around the women on bikes. I think the load is a dead body.
Kibeho is as dusty as the road leading to it, but covered by a hum of activity as motos and buses pick and drop travelers. At the Kibeho Shrine I see a lonesome piano, silent as the air around it, still and sort of waiting on something.
Up there, on top of all these tall trees, surrounded by one of the purest airs on this planet, one feels a certain kinship to the earth – a sort of tug at your being, and thoughts of time and how fleeting the human endeavour is sometimes.
A guided tour of the hill starts off with the traditional section where replicas of royal huts are. Made of thatched straw, the main hut rises from the ground and bulges out into an enormous structure; it’s almost unbelievable how the structure stands on just a couple of wooden poles.