Burundi. Even the name had that air of foreboding, like the title card to a late-night crime drama on the ID Channel. You could picture it: the unsuspecting American stumbling into a forgotten African village, shaking hands with the wrong police chief, and then watching the whole thing unravel like some badly written script. Or worse—an Ashton Kutcher comedy where the punchline is you, wondering how the hell you got there.
This was another one of my self-inflicted marathons, the kind of trip that made sense only on paper: ten days, as many borders as I could cross before my body or my sanity gave up. I dropped into Kigali, Rwanda—a place that disarms you with its cleanliness, its order, its almost performative friendliness. It’s so calm, so civilized, you almost forget where you are. The drive south was easy, rolling through green hills that looked like they’d been painted in. For a moment, it all felt too good.
Then, just over an hour later, at the edge of the map, the mood snapped. Borders have a way of doing that—like crossing an invisible tripwire that changes everything. My driver, the one who’d been my lifeline up to this point, suddenly wanted out. He wasn’t going into Burundi. Not him, not his car. Some excuse about border rules, paperwork. The kind of answer you know is bullshit but don’t press because the silence after it tells you more than the words.
And that was the first real lesson: when the guy who grew up an hour away decides he doesn’t want to cross, maybe you should reconsider. But of course, I didn’t. I pressed on, shaking hands with a stranger who would now be responsible for wherever this story went next.
Stamped out of Rwanda, stamped into Burundi. Simple enough on paper. But the second my passport slid back across the glass, the whole thing turned into theater. A half-circle of Burundian police closed in around me and the car like they’d been waiting all morning for this moment. Bags out, bags open—standard drill, sure—but they lingered, poking through my stuff with the kind of deliberate slowness that tells you this isn’t really about customs. This is about reminding you where you are.
Even after the search, no one moved. We just stood there. My driver muttered in French or Kirundi with the officers, long exchanges punctuated by glances in my direction. Smiles that didn’t quite reach the eyes. I caught nothing of the words, but I knew enough to recognize when I was the subject. And the feeling hit: this wasn’t an arrival. This was an event.
What made it stranger was the silence of the place. No trucks idling in line. No vendors hawking fruit or SIM cards. No desperate travelers shuffling through with too many bags. Just me. Alone at a border post that looked like it had been forgotten by the rest of the continent. Every crossing I’d ever seen was chaos. This one was the African Twilight Zone.
After ten long minutes of nothing, the verdict finally came down. We could go. But not alone. One of the officers, grinning with the kind of curiosity that makes your skin itch, announced he’d be joining us as an escort into the village. My own personal police shadow. Great. But before we rolled out, he leaned in with the kicker: maybe I should show a little gratitude, buy his friends some beers. Translation: slide two bucks across the table and we’ll call it even.
I paid. Of course I paid. Not much to lose, and the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. Two dollars lighter, one cop heavier, and just like that, we were off into Burundi.
The ride was a battered twenty-year-old Toyota with a decal on the back that proudly declared Tigre Express and an Allah Akbar banner stretched across the windshield. It was the kind of vehicle that looked like it had survived a dozen lives already, now repurposed as my chariot into the unknown.
Crossing into Burundi was like stepping into a parallel universe. Rwanda, just a few miles back, had felt alive—cars, order, movement. Here? Nothing. The road was a ghost. Locals sat right on the asphalt, doing business, gossiping, living their lives as if the idea of traffic was a distant rumor. Every time the driver honked, bodies scattered in surprise, startled that a car actually existed. This was supposed to be a two-way highway, but it looked more like a forgotten airstrip no one had bothered to use in years.
Beside me, the officer—Festus—talked nonstop. His English was fractured but enthusiastic, every sentence riding on the cadence of some half-remembered Hollywood stereotype. He was proud, almost giddy, to tell me about his country, and just as quick to remind me of his role: my guide, my protector, my security detail. He claimed to be second-in-command to “the chief,” a figure he brought up like some looming character in a story I hadn’t agreed to be part of.
Again and again, Festus hammered the point home: the chief would be told an American was here. The chief would want to see me. The chief would expect a “gift.” He smiled when he said it, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that gave you confidence. A “gift” in this part of the world could mean anything, and my stomach sank at the possibilities.
The road into Kirundo was dotted with police checkpoints—rifles slung, eyes sharp, the kind of scrutiny that makes you feel the ground could drop out at any moment. We refueled at a roadside stand where petrol poured from recycled beer bottles. Trust was assumed. Infrastructure? Optional.
By the time we arrived, Festus personally checked me into the Rama Hotel. One-star in the States, maybe. Here, it was luxury: a roof over your head, four walls, a bed that didn’t collapse under you. But the place had that faint undercurrent of unease, the kind you can’t put your finger on until it’s too late.
Over warm beers at the hotel, Festus loosened up just enough to let me pull out my iPhone. Selfies, a quick toast, video for Facebook. In most of Africa, especially in police territory, doing this is flirting with disaster. But tonight, he played along, grinning like a man who knows the rules but chooses to bend them. Still, that “gift for the chief” kept hanging over us, a quiet warning. Nothing here comes free.
I paid for the beers. Then we stepped out into the night, into the village, into whatever this was about to become. And somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice whispered: you might regret this.
Kirundo had its own strange charm. Cobblestone streets, tidy enough that the dirt and poverty didn’t immediately choke you. But charm in a place like this is always deceptive.
Every couple of blocks, Festus would have the driver pull over. I’d get out, and he’d parade me around like some trophy. “Look at me,” he seemed to say with every gesture, “I brought an American to our town.” Small crowds would gather, eyes wide, curious, staring at me like I’d fallen from another planet.
I couldn’t read it. Was this fascination, genuine warmth? Or was it a warning? Every smile carried a shadow, every wave felt like a test. I had the creeping sense that the people either adored me—or were waiting for a reason not to. And I had no way of knowing which.
Most people were friendly enough—smiles, waves, kids running alongside the car, fearless in their curiosity. Others looked at me like I’d landed from another planet, confusion etched deep in their eyes. What was an American doing here? What right did I have to exist in their streets?
We passed a building—or maybe just a shack—where young men and boys were packing flour into sacks. One of them drifted closer, dusted head to toe in white. I wanted to snap a photo; it looked like a scene lifted from some surreal painting.
Then there was the girl. English-speaking, fearless, sliding into our backseat before I could process it. Festus didn’t hesitate. He shooed her out, scolding me with the kind of stern authority that made clear he ran the show here. And then came the offer, delivered like a grim business proposal: if I wanted a girl that night, he could make it happen. I assured him that was not on the agenda, though the shadow of that moment lingered—one more reminder that nothing in this town came without rules, and Festus made sure I knew every one of them.
We wound through the streets, rolling to a stop at a small plaza with a monument that, honestly, didn’t make much sense to me. Festus insisted I see it. Then, the hospital—or at least the gate to it. That was it. Just the gate. But in his mind, this mattered.
Every few blocks, the car slowed, and I was once again paraded to the locals. More curious faces, more questions I couldn’t answer. Every glance felt like a test: amusement, suspicion, or maybe both.
And then there was the soldier. Just walking the streets, fatigues rumpled, holding a gun that seemed bigger than him, staring straight ahead with a kind of rigid purpose. He moved as if he alone was keeping some invisible threat at bay. I couldn’t tell what it was—what Kirundo feared, what danger might be lurking just out of sight. But the tension was tangible, humming beneath the cobblestones and the dust, a quiet warning I couldn’t ignore.
Next stop: the lake. Getting there meant crawling down a narrow, rutted dirt road that seemed determined to shake the soul out of the car. Every bump, every rut, reminded me that comfort was a foreign concept here.
The sun was dipping low, painting the water gold, and for a moment, it almost felt like travel was supposed to be beautiful. Two small, handmade boats floated toward us, their pilots smiling, curious. And then Festus dropped the bomb: I now owed each of them $2,000 Burundian dollars. A casual demand, like tipping a waiter in New York. The absurdity of it hit me harder than the potholes.
Nothing in this world came free, and Festus was making sure I understood that down to the last franc.
After a slow cruise back through town—still stopping every few blocks so Festus could flaunt his prize—I found myself back at the Rama Hotel. Toward the rear of the building was a small club. “Club” was generous: a bar, a few colored lights flashing, and a DJ spinning to an empty room. But technically, it qualified.
Festus and the driver claimed seats at the bar, and soon three of Festus’ cronies—his fellow officers—joined us. And, of course, I was the one buying the beers. Luckily, they weren’t big drinkers; in Mexico, this scene would’ve ended with tequila shots and chaos until dawn.
Then the envelope came up again—the gift for the chief. This time, the tone wasn’t playful. Festus leaned in, close enough that I could feel his breath, and said I should “go get the envelope.” One hundred twenty dollars. My wallet immediately felt lighter, and heavier at the same time. There was no negotiating, no clever escape; alternatives existed only in hindsight, the kind of advice travel veterans dish out after the fact.
In the moment, I just wanted to leave. I handed over the cash, kept my head down, and retreated to my room.
Somehow, I survived the night without being dragged from my bed, hogtied, and spirited off into whatever nightmare Festus had waiting. Sleep came, surprisingly enough, though it was restless, colored by the tension that had settled into my chest. Breakfast was an omelet from the tiny kitchen downstairs—simple, harmless-looking. Later, it would betray me with a vicious bout of food poisoning, but for the moment, I was alive and reasonably intact.
The 8 a.m. pickup couldn’t come soon enough. Festus, of course, was joining us. At first, the idea of a police escort had seemed like a blessing—a safeguard in an unpredictable town. Now, it felt more like a leash, dragging me back into a world where every street, every glance, carried an unspoken threat. I just wanted out, to put distance between myself and the curious, watchful eyes of Kirundo.
To make matters worse, my driver was over an hour late. When he finally showed, Festus was with him—sporting a bloody lip. He blamed a motorcycle spill. I had my doubts. Festus’ crime-fighting partner—name long forgotten—slid into the backseat with me, completing the escort party.
The drive out of Kirundo dragged on, each mile ratcheting up the anxiety. Just leaving the village, a rope strung across the road, tattered rags fluttering, soldiers posted on either side. Of course, we stopped. Everyone climbed out while some elaborate negotiation unfolded, like we were moving plutonium instead of a tired American tourist.
Festus instructed me to present my passport to “The General”—a forty-something, gun-toting man in a beret, sleeves patched with authority. He leafed through my extended passport page by page, twice, eyes scanning for something I couldn’t even imagine. Then the questions: Why am I in Burundi? Why Kirundo? Why only one night? I gave my usual answer: “Trying to see all the countries in the world.” He didn’t understand. The pages went again, the questions repeated. Silence so thick you could hear sweat evaporate under the midday sun. Villagers with baskets stopped, stared, watched the scene play out. Ten minutes of unwavering eye contact, everyone frozen. Locked Up Abroad had nothing on this. Finally, he returned my passport. The rope lifted. We moved. Not before another “gift,” of course.
Every checkpoint after that—five in total—was a fresh test of patience and willpower. Each bend in the road promised the border, but delivered another rope, another officer, another silent stare. My window crank was broken, leaving me the only one not rolling down my window. Every stop became a mental minefield: open the entire door and risk being seen as a threat, keep it closed and risk being seen as defiant. No choice felt safe.
Ninety minutes later, the border finally appeared. Relief hit like a wave. When Festus requested one last “envelope” for his deputy, I wanted to scream, but instead, I sighed, handed over twenty bucks, and finally escaped. Every mile behind me now felt like hard-won freedom—and every Burundian checkpoint like a reminder of how easily it could have gone wrong.
—
If you go:
I wouldn’t recommend crossing into Burundi by land, not the way I did. Flying into the capital with other travelers is probably the safer bet—you’re in a crowd, a city, less exposed. By land, I was literally the only one on that deserted stretch of road, every eye on me, every rope, every checkpoint amplifying the spotlight. Even with a tour service—Burundi Safaris and Souvenirs—I wasn’t shielded. They didn’t intervene when cash was requested, didn’t seem to even try.
And yet…part of it was undeniably epic. Who else gets escorted, arms around them, by a squad of rogue-country police, rolling through a foreign nation like some absurd parade? Beers with soldiers in uniform. Selfies. Toasts. That’s the kind of story you don’t forget.
But the unease never left. The bribes. The constant calculation of how far it could go. I probably dropped $300 “taking care” of my security detail, and while the experience itself was worth it, my mind never stopped racing: $1,000? $10,000? A fabricated charge, my family scrambling to wire money for my freedom? The tension was there from the first moment, thick and unrelenting, and every checkpoint made it heavier.
Festus. I liked him. Partly, maybe, because the language barrier kept me from fully reading him. But the relentless requests for money gnawed at the camaraderie. I don’t know his life, but I do know officers like him don’t earn much. They survive the only way they know. I hope my cash went to help his family—if so, at least some good came from it. Festus, if you’re reading this: it was genuinely cool rolling with you…just a little terrifying, as you well know.
And then there’s Burundi itself. The countryside? Stunning. People? Gracious, welcoming. But it’s hard to look past the checkpoints, the ropes, the eyes that lingered too long. Still, I’d go back. The country deserves it. The beauty outweighs the fear, even if only by a hair.
So long Festus! Thanks for the memories.
UPDATE: April 14th, 2017
Since sharing this story, I’ve been struck by the outpouring from Burundians themselves. Messages of concern, apologies, even invitations to return—they’ve reminded me that what I experienced at the border and in Kirundo was only a sliver of life here. Some have taken the time to explain the paranoia along the Rwandan border, the tense history that turns checkpoints into theater and ordinary officers into unpredictable gatekeepers. See the comments on Facebook HERE.
And yet, this is Burundi. A country full of real people—gracious, warm, stubbornly kind in a world that often feels harsh. I’ve been to 82 countries, and I’ve learned not to let one surreal, frightening experience define an entire nation.
So to everyone who reached out: thank you. And for those considering travel here: go. Just take the safer routes, and go with your eyes open. There’s beauty in this place that offsets the fear, if you let yourself see it. The people will leave a mark long after the checkpoints fade from memory. God bless my new Burundian friends, and may the next visit be less terrifying—and just as unforgettable.
And remember: go to Burundi—just don’t try to sneak in alone by land, don’t underestimate the ropes and rifles, and maybe keep your wallet handy. Because somewhere between the checkpoints, the rifles, and the relentless questions, you’ll find a country that’s stubbornly, painfully, beautifully alive. And if you’re lucky, like me, you’ll leave with your money lighter, your pulse still racing, and a story no one back home will quite believe.
This entry was posted in Africa
Your trip was messed up by the driver and the festus guy while they are the ones who suposed to make your trip enjoyable. Normally burundians are very welcoming people. It’s just that you didn’t know ,you had every right to report whatever hapened to you.
The reason you found the road almost empty it’s because there is a tention betwen Rwanda and Burundi. Rwanda has recently trained rebels to distabilise Burundi. Rwanda has sent people to attack #Burundi several times.
But i wish you’ll come back, but come via Tanzania you’ll be happy with your trip by road.
Sory for what hapened!
Mr. Harushimana, what a nice message from you, thank you! And thanks for educating me on the tension between the two countries. I was certainly able to se ethe beauty of Burundi beyond the experiences with the police there. Thank you so much for the welcome, I really appreciate it!
i do not think there is anything to attack in Burundi, you guys are attacking your own country and starving,jailing your own people.this iSs just paranoia Rwanda is not your enemy,you are your own worst enemy. I just hope that you open your eyes before it is too late, i was born in Bujumbura and it pains me to see the situation you guys are in just because you ve chosen to follow a bad leader.may God bless Burundi
Mr. Ramblinrandy,
I am Burundian in exile in the US for many years.
I love my country and would have stayed through it all .
You can thank God for coming out of your experience only short of few dollars: many have lost more, even their lives in the same country you visited. Now, just a word of cautious, sir, use your discernment as for what people tell you about Burundi; Burundians are notorious in speaking half-truths and we are very selective.
I am sure if you care so much for Burundi, and you seem to be, follow carefully the history and the recent events which heightened the uneasiness you felt between Rwanda and Burundi; search deeper then you will gain useful knowledge that perhaps you could use to help bring healing in Burundi. The rumors that Rwanda recruited Burundians to go to war? Which war? Is one of the many things you should be “quick to listen to, but very very slow to believe and to respond to.
God bless your trips and hopefully one day we will meet in a free, peaceful, corruption- free and welcoming to All especially to sons and daughters of Burundi who are presently just dreaming to see their mother land.
Keep rambling
Wow, thank you for such a thoughtful note, I really appreciate it. The first thing I did when I returned home is immediately jump head first into studying Burundi’s tumultuous history. My trip into Burundi, and then all the comments and emails from Burundians after, has been such an education. I’m so glad to hear from you. Stay in touch and thank you again.
Thrilling experience…. You re the most lucky guy of this season as Burundi is crossing the most difficult moment/season these days…A place where assassinations and disappearances are normal infos to hear at a daily basis. Crossing from the clean Rwanda to Burundi is like heaven to hell..
Sorry for you
Wow, thanks for the insight and the comments. I appreciate it.
Taylor you need to check your sources
I hope you write book about all these experiences one day. Glad you shared this, and glad you are ok (:
Thank you Serena!
Like Taylor said, you re a very lucky man to get out of there safely. Burundi is going through a tough time since April 2015. A lot of people have fled to neighbouring countries especially people from kirundo. And yes there are tention between Rwanda and Burundi but not like David said, its Burundi trying everything to provoque Rwanda, dont know what’s the Burundi gouverment’s agenda to so. Thats why your driver couldnt cross to Burundi from Rwanda, and that’s why the border was empty. No one goes in especially foreigners with the current paranoid government. They think you re a spy or a journalist there to report attrocities currently happening. In short, Burundi is beautiful and people are nice and welcoming in general, but not now. People are scared and you re don’t know who is watching, and definitly you are a very lucky man. I wouldn’t recommend anyone travelling there even by air cause the reality is pretty much the same in the Capital especially for foreigners.
Wow, very interesting! It totally caught me by surprise. Here I was, paranoid and on-guard visiting South Sudan (where I ended up having no problems at all)…I pictured Burundi a sleepy little nation, care-free and laid back…but that was my mistake for not doing the proper research. Thanks Sean, for your feedback.
Sean, that is a lie. Where are you from? I am from this region and what you say abut Burundi is wrong. You just can’t tarnish the image of the country like that. I suspect you are part of those who do not want Burundi to have peace. I know there are problems in Burundi right now (or in the past) but not to the level you describe them. Actually those who cause those problems are those who go around proclaiming themselves experts of what the situation is. Burundi is a poor country, the population is almost as green as their landscapes. But it does not mean they are bad people. Burundi has a potential to turn around the situation. They have minerals. They have water resources. They lack unity and harmony to be able to work hard towards the development of their country. Of course they need education. You should be educating them instead of tarnishing their image, if you are better than them, Sean.
To Randy: Burundi is a beautiful country, you haven’t seen it yet. Please come back. Like you said, just fly in the capital Bujumbura. You will have a better experience. Bujumbura has some of the best beaches in the region and good restaurants and more “civilized” people.
Thank you my friend, I wish you and Burundi all the peace and harmony you deserve. All the best!
Great reading Randy. Thanks for showing the great side of Burundi. It’s a hidden paradise. We are hoping to see you again here with a better experience.
Thank you Fayaz!
I’m glad you had a great stay and a very memorable tourism in my home city of Kirundo Ramblin’ Randy. As you witnessed, the people of Kirrudo are pleasant and the countryside is spectacular. That was just a glimpse of Burundi. They are many places & things to see in Burundi. In fact, I built the narrow road you took going down to lake Rwihinda ( Lac aux oiseaux in French). “That’s my family ranch & that road is private.” Lake Rwihinda is known to be the last destination of migratory birds from Europe during winter season in search for tropical paradise. Like you, I traveled the world before settling down in Noth California many years ago. I had same experience in southern America, in Europe, in Asia even in Africa. Yes, Burundian are not rich Maney wise but they are rich in their hearts.
Now that you saw yourself that you can visit Burundi and come back indemne, organized and go back for a week or two and see the beauty of Burundi.
Thank you for visiting my hometown especially for sharing the beautiful sunset of my lake.
Next time, email me and I’ll suggest place to visit in Burundi.
Raymond…WOW! Your comment left me speechless! So much to say, so much to ask about! YOU built the road???!!! That is amazing! And now you are in my state of California? The world is such a small place, and I feel richer knowing Burundi and you. Let’s keep in touch please. Thank you again for your kindness.
Hey Randy? Thanks for these interesting travel stories I enjoyed reading the Burundi experience. Funny that Mbatushimana is selling the accusations to Rwanda for all Burundi problems. Now is it Rwanda that asks Burundian police officials to ask for bribes?
Thanks for checking out my article, Joss!
Oh, I am very sorry to hear this story of yours. I am an European living nearly 4 years in a small village approximately 12km from Kirundo and I pass that border very often. Your feeling of abandoned place is because there are no buses passing from Kigali to Kirundo because they were recently banned (because of relations between Rwanda and Burundi as it was already explained) and locals are afraid to cross because they might have problems with authorities. Burundi might seem tough, but for travelers it is actually quite safe.
Have you tried to refuse to give them money for every stupid thing? It actually works very well. the police guy probably wanted a lift for free to his place and he played it to “your escort” and he saw you are quite easy to get money from as you was probably uncomfortable while they were debating so he continued to accompany you. Also 2000bif is quite a lot, it would be enough to give nothing or max 500bif. About passport, they always stare at it they don’t quite understand all the visas and stamps (apart from Burundian and Rwandan maybe). There is no point in explaining how you want to travel the workd, because 99% of them never left Burundi. Police, checkpoints, soldiers and guns are very normal in many countries of Africa, you see them in Rwanda very often too. Anyway, I completely understand your feelings, I am sorry for this Burundian experience I think most of it was because you did not speak French at least :-(( but as someone already mention, Burundians are very kind people, maybe simple, but with big heart.
Maria, thank you so very much for your notes, I really, really appreciate them…more than you know! I saw your comment on Facebook and see you are from Slovakia (one of my favorite places, AND my family’s background!!!)
I am so intrigued on how you came to Burundi…please share your story with me, either here in the comments, or through a private message. I would love to know!
Thank you again!!!
Thank you maria, I agree with you. All wazungus planning to visit Burundi may get in touch with you for guidance
i enjoyed to read your experience. hope you will come again in Burundi without those inconvenient. we are crossing a difficult moment in our country but hope that one day it will finish. Burundi is very very beautiful country and burundians we are good people. its rare that we will ask for money but as i said the situation is bad that’s why you met people like Festus. we are sorry for that. it was a pleasure to read you.
What a beautiful note…God bless you Michaella! You are the reason I know Burundians to be so wonderful!
What a lucky foreigner! am not here to fight with Harushimana, but Randy from what yourself saw, and coming from Rwanda, you cld tell if Rwanda is really destabilising Burundi, did you see anything at Rwandan border side that cld indicate something like that? but even as a foreigner, if i travel somewhere and security organs like police is able to come and toast beers with me in all sorts of pity bars, asking all those so called gifts every 10 mins,proposing me some dirty service with local girls, I don’t need someone to explain to me that this is a failed system in a failed country!By the way, where in this world,police officers of a country in tension with its neighbours leave their posts and positions laike a border to spend their days in escorting one and single American tourist in a peaceful village without any problem as Festus was claiming? Do they do it for any and every tourist visiting their country? if you saw the two countries, what can Rwanda really envy from Burundi to the extent of training rebels to destabilise them? We all know that when you fail to manage your house , you try to drag your neighbours into your issues. Glad that you managed to get out of that scary and risky environment.
Hi Charlie and thanks for the note. I am certainly not educated enough on this situation to comment in good conscience, but I thank you for your viewpoints, and I do wish nothing but peace and harmony for both nations in the future. Thanks Charlie.
Jee, why would this happen when crossing the border into a country that just experienced major violence and killings? It’s a wonderful country but not a playground for uninformed tourists, glad you only got money issues! Please bear in mind that your actions have consequences for the other foreigners living in Burundi, I dont feel like spending my days paying off every single police officer. You really didnt see that coming?
I didn’t Alain. And that was my mistake. I simply didn’t do enough research. I was so concerned about the trip to South Sudan during that trip, I focused almost all my research and attention studying South Sudan and its issues, safety, etc. Also, I figured since I actually hired a tour company to look after me, things would be okay.
Also Alain, I’ve visited 15 African nations, many while they were experiencing problems (war, famine, crime, coup attempts)…and never ever had the issues I had in Burundi.
Wouh..this it is those who happened to me too .. the people of the companion have never seen a White of all their lives? They were the ones I thought. They started touching my hair, everybody around me, I started to freak, but the landscape of Burundi is really beautiful. Concerning security is not really a country To visit, the police are really suspicious of each white person who is in their country, for each visitor, I would not recommend you to visiting Burundi during his times
Were you there as a tourist or working? The people in the town were all very friendly to me.
Chris, unless you have something against Burundi, the country is peaceful apart from political conflicts and people are very welcoming. How can you reccomend people not to visit the country whereas no single foregner has lost life in Burundi since 2015 ( from which many think things have turned bad)?
Randy,
Kirundo is the best border of all borders. As a Kenyan living in Burundi, trust me Burundi is so beautiful a country with so hospitable folks. Looking at what that policeman asked from you, surely is negligible. If you had hired a tour guide, in police uniform, you would have bled your cash through the nose. Festus had to leave his duty station to give you company and safety. He is a true Burundian. Kirundo is an efficient border, quiet, stress free with policemen who understand their role. The thorough checking is normal. Infact they frisk and question Burundians more than foreigners. It also seems you were interested in affordable tourism and you got it. Having travelled all these countries, you needed to survey on what lied ahead of you. I assure you RWANDESE POLICEMEN ARE NAUSEATING 10 TIMES MORE THAN BURUNDIAN can be thought off. The Rwandese will harass you even at the airport (especially the thin ones who cannot even afford a taxi into the airport…..not to mention a flight ticket) My suggestions:
1. Before visiting a country, make a survey and have a rough idea of what lies ahead.
2. As a tourist, always make professional tour guides priority number 1.
3. Any other time you visit, identify your host. Use public means to avoid being on the spot ofcourse with a known company. Be careful with drivers and policemen who offer to help. Or any unfamiliar face that rushes to be friendly. As a rule, I don’t talk to anybody whom I don’t know in a foreign land. I only do that to policemen…..limited.
4. Get to know the exchange rates. Have local currencies on you. Decide what you are willing to part with. Refuse the company of a police officer….unknown and new to you.
Burundi may be having trouble but Those troubles don’t affect foreigners apart from RWANDESE. Otherwise to me, you had the best trip. You just spent less for a VIP treatment in a remote village.
Thank you so much for the feedback and the tips. It was definitely a learning experience, and I really appreciate communication like yours. All the best.
I am a Burundian Police officer myself and I am from in this region you toured ( Kirundo), I know every single place you mentionned. The Police officer behaved like a begger to you as many africans believe white people have much money, but he had no criminal intention at all. As I was reading this story, I had to call the provincial police commissionner ( in Kirundo) to find out how truth this can be. The police officer has missconducted some how and infringed the code of deontology and code of conduct and the commissionner in charge of police in Kirundo has been instructed to deal with this isolated behavior. I am happy to know nothing wrong happened to you and you saw how the locals were very happy with you apart from the fear you were feeling because of wrong information you have heard before you even come in country. I however, have to say I don’t agree with you on the comparison you are trying to make between Rwanda and Burundi since you sound like Burundi should follow Rwanda’s path because you are far disconnected from the truth and history of these two countries. You should also mention or know that since the political problem started in 2015 in Burundi, no single foreigner has lost life on Burundi territory or fears to. I would advise any person who visits Burundi to seek guidance, help or information from the official services and not from isolated individuals as you did with the police officer since he was not on his official duty even if he was in uniform.
Once again, welcome back to Burundi, we love foreigners. Feel free to contact me from my email as well
Wow, how nice to hear from you and thank you for contacting me. I’m going to send you an email, please let me know if you don’t receive it. Talk soon.
Thanks Randy, for the information ,in my experience l would say your travel agent did not do the work professionally and looks like never provided you with a tour guide. In most countries in Africa security agents ask for “kitu kidogo” something small basically because most governments pay peanuts. For example in Burundi the said police officer could be earning a salary of not more than $50 per month. Yet the house his leaving in if he has a family would be costing him $60,per month. That’s where in situations like yours they try by all means to extract a penny by doing all sort of service as a guest taking advantage of the situation. Certainly with the current situation in the country they would love to makesure any foreigner is secure, to keep the countries image, because the issues in the country are purely internal, they have nothing to do with foreigners. Rwanda and Burundi have almost similar history that’s why they are always at longheads, one ethnic group once to dominate the other and it all goes on how the ethnic group works on its PR. The one that knows how to do good PR will be looked at as a perfect one and one with zero PR will be looked at negatively. Burundi still has a long way to go to promote it’s countries lmage especially if it’s going to attract tourists who would bring in the desparately needed foreign currency. By the way how did you manage to get the visa to Burundi, had you applied for it from the embassy in America or you had an official invitation allowing you to pay on arrival, because entry visa to foreigners is becoming a nightmare despite the challenges in the country, they are not doing enough to attract people to come and see realities on ground.
Thanks so much for the kind words and the insight. Even more than traveling to Burundi, publishing this article and reading all the comments has become such a great learning experience. I thank you for taking the time to explain and discuss my experience with me and others here on the web page. I really appreciate it.
Regarding the visa, yes, I applied for and was granted one in advance, from the Burundian embassy in Washington DC.
Thanks again.
Hey comrades, i kindly request you not to make this issue more political between the two countries that have been mentioned over and over, in the previous comments, if not mistaken Mr, Randy in the whole article never weighed the political relations between Burundi and Rwanda all he was trying, is to share his experience on Burundi tour-trip, But it came to my surprise to see comments from Harushimana trying to comfort him, while telling “naked lies” so was that burundi police officer Festus being ordered by any of rwandan official to ask for bribe and beers? So was Mr, Randy paying allthat amount just for security reasons? I think every sovereign country has to protect her natives and foreigners so if Burundi fails don’t blame it on Rwanda. But all i can assure Mr, Randy not all the Burundians are “infected with corruption disease”.
Better Mr,Randy has traveled to many countries so he knows which is which.
Mr, Randy sorry for some of inconveniences caused by some individuals.
Ronnie, it’s great to know you and thank you for chiming in. I’ve met some really nice people due to publishing this article, but am saddened that it has offended or angered others. I just love to travel and I write honest accounts of my experiences good or bad. This whole thing has been a great learning lesson and I’ve learned so much, from the comments alone. Thank you so much for yours!
Also, thanks for being a kind and rational peacekeeper! A little love and understanding goes a long way, as you already know!
What a pessimistic analysis!!
That is what we call a husty generalization. You are the first gringo to say this about my beloved country. Visiting Kirundo the poorest province doesn’t allow you to say this.
Me gustaria mucho encontrarte y mostrarte mi pais.
Did you come without any contact here?
I live at Ngozi, a nearest province of Kirundo I speak English, Spanish and French.
I didn’t really appreciate what you wrote.
If ever you trip ended there, never say again that you went to Burundi.
I recognize that it is not a developped country but never understimate once againmy country at that extent.
¡Hasta la vista señor!
Hi Karim, nice to meet you!
A pessimistic analysis? Not really…honest yes. If anything, optimistic, as I think I was able to see some of the true beauty in Burundi despite my challenges with the police.
Karim, I just write about my experiences traveling, what happens, and how it makes me feel at the moment. Some visits are very uneventful, like Singapore, and I say so. Others scare the hell out of me, like Burundi.
I didn’t come without proper preparation, nor a guide. I spoke with “Burundi Tours” at least six times before my arrival. And when I did arrive, I was polite, courteous and gracious–it’s how I behave everywhere–at home, or abroad.
My intention was not to insult Burundians–just tell the story of my trip there…right or wrong, I just write about my experience and feelings at the time. I am in no way generalizing all Burundians, just explaining what happened on my one night there.
Randy, I am really glad I found your blog. I live in the United States now but used to go through Kirundo when travelling to Kigali, Rwanda for school. Watching your short videos and pictures made me reminisce about my times back home. So thanks again, it was a pleasure watching those.
Like many already said, Burundi is not very safe. The people claiming safety probably belong to the ruling political party.
In Burundi, only two sets of people can have a peace of mind: people who belong to the ruling party or people who will see wrongdoings and say nothing. I have relatives who belong to opposition parties and this has been their very fact that landed them in jail.
My hope is that one day, Burundi will be safe for ALL BURUNDIANS so we can have more foreigners come visit and experience its true beauty.
Karl, this comment made my day. If this article/blog brought even one ounce of joy to someone, I did my job. I’m so glad they the videos and pictures jogged good memories for you. The country certainly was beautiful and most of the people wonderful.
Where are you now Karl?
I live in Salt Lake City. What’s your hometown?
Awesome! Did you know my radio show airs in Salt Lake City??? I’m on Sunday nights from 8PM-12M on U92FM…will you tune in? The show is called Sunday Night Slow Jams. I am based in California.
Nice! That’s a hip hop and R&B station. And I think I might have listened to the show a couple times. Well, now I’ll pay more attention to it. So are you on a sabbatical or retired? How are you able to take so much time away from work?
I look forward to you checking out my show and letting me know what you think! I’m not retired nor on sabbatical…in fact, I work an insane amount of hours. But I just used every single vacation day to travel!
Thanks for sharing your short visit to beautiful Burundi you are a very lucky man to have not been jailed despite having a rwandese stamp in your passport☺
The police here is suspious of not only whites as Chris Spencer mentioned but also on all Burundians mainly those who are not member of the leading political party.
Many people are killed on a daily basis by that same police that was escorting you.
Burundians are paying of their lives for bad narcissist and paranoia leadership.
Hope it ends soon so life can go back to normal and tourism can florish again
Cheers
It is good to see that Ngabishengera Sadate Steven,ACP commented on this post i think it would be good if your police can reimburse Mr Randy the 300$ (not to mention his time) and apologize to him(is the least you ca do). Mr Karim speaking many languages does not allow you to call someone a pessimistic analyst,how dare you? and your comments are inappropriate.Am glad you reached Rwanda safely. What a trip!
Thanks Sarkozy! I love Africa, and every country…even Burundi, despite the challenges on my trip there. Thanks for checking in friend.
i feel sorry to what happened to you Randy…. at the first time you arrived at RAMA hotel I saw you but didn’t knwow you’re having an awful experience with the policer agent. i really apprecieted the fact that in your arcticle you didn’t judge all the country relating to the experience you had…. hoping you’re coming again. burundian people are kind as many people mentioned it.
Thank you so much for the note! Did we meet? I thought Kirundo was beautiful and my main fears were of the unknown. I enjoyed my stay at The Rama.
My neighbour is from Burundi and although she moved here to Canada years ago, she always goes back home to visit family in her native country. I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about this part of Africa – beautiful scenery, friendly people, interesting culture, etc.
Obviously, what you experienced was an isolated incident as it is not typical of Burundi. Unless they outright took your Passport and kept it in exchange for money, I would have just refused to pay bribes. Just make sure you do your research in the future for common scams and political issues so you don’t run into the same problem again.
Actually, at least from what other Burundians told me, the bribes and shakedowns ARE common there. I placed my confidence in hiring a guide and he was worthless.
Regarding your friend from Burundi, yes–so many Burundians from Canada have reached out to me regarding the article, I think that is so cool! Would be interested to see what your neighbor thinks of the article–her take.
It is Lake Wehenda
Thanks Trevor!
Hi Randy,
You should have used the Kanyaru border from Kigali. It’s much much more safer and active. I can relate to most of the things you just wrote about the country but I also think that for you to fully experience a new country, 24 hours is not enough. I just came back from Burundi after a whole week’s tour of the capital and other provinces of the country.
Anyways, wish you happy travels with less drama.
Cheers
Hey Tina! Kanyaru border? I wished my tour company was as knowledgeable as you! I put trust in a tour company and guide to keep me out of trouble, and sadly they disappointed me. I usually like to always stay longer in a country, but often I don’t have enough time away from work. I look forward to returning to Burundi one day, and thank you for coming by Tina!
Yeah, Kanyaru border is mostly used by travelers. Tour companies are actually the worst travel advisers. I find them alarmists for no reason. Ooh man, I wish you researched more about the Rwanda-Burundi feud so you’d have first-hand information. I knew about this prior to going and I was also told by some Rwandese while in Kigali.
We were almost scammed into getting a direct ride from Kigali to Bujumbura. While the Rwandese knew too well that they cannot cross the border into Burundi with a vehicle with Rwandese plate number, they still insisted that they would take us all the way. On further consultation, we were told that this is how they scam travelers. They take you all the way to the border but as you get your passports stamped at the immigration, they take off. I’m glad nothing of the sort happened to you.
But after a whole week touring different provinces, I loved Burundi’s experience but I don’t think I will go back. But you should.
Ps. I read the post on South Sudan, heheheh. Well, I had a different experience. However, your remarks on Kenya were nice. Made me feel nice about my country.
Cheers