kigali’s sweltering pulse: a street artist’s fever dream
i woke up at 4 am to the stench of fried plantains and diesel fumes outside my guesthouse. the heat clung to my neck like a cheap plastic necklace. checked the forecast-27.45c and feels like 31.14. humidity at 83%. i muttered a prayer to the gods of sweat and grabbed my spray cans.
kigali is not a city you conquer. it’s a city that roasts you alive. i tried painting murals near Avenue Francisco Ntaje, but the paint dried faster than my grandma’s tofu at the 10am market. locals told me to ‘embrace the chaos,’ but chaos keeps stealing my tips. a kid offered me a chapati to chase away the cramps. i’m not sure if he was being kind or just really happy i was eating something
the neighbors here are a mixed bag. remember that old man who DJ’d his balcony every saturday with 90s reggae? he’s gone. replaced by a tech bro who blares techno loud enough to wake the dead. i heard from my neighbor’s parrot that the rwandese president’s son buys his cups of coffee from the same spot along Route du Colonel. weird flex.
overheard rumors in the hostel: ‘avoid the jazz bar on Monday nights unless you like dancing to saxophones played by guys who hate their lives,’ someone whispered over amasi yogurt. another yelp review said, ‘this place is a goldmine if you’re into ‘authentic’ experiences, but watch your bag.’ which is rwandan for ‘this place is a goldmine if you’re into ‘authentic’ experiences, but watch your bag.’
i linked to the local film spot for the vids, stayed in a guesthouse, and scribbled notes on my phone because every time i tried to use that sketchbook, a goat gnawed the corners.
the map below loads like my willpower does in taxis. click it to find the sad café where i drank weak coffee and stared at the clouds. the sun here doesn’t rise-it just slams the door and yells, ‘daytime now, baby.’
i’ll never forget the day i heard the city described as ‘a greenhouse with a pulse.’ turns out, so am i. temperatures here? stuck at 27.45. you’d think by now i’d adapt. turns out, sweat adapts. humans? not so much.
if you’re reading this, you’re either curious or trapped. either way, pack loose clothes, assume strangers will judge your art, and never trust a taxi driver’s directions. kigali is a vibe. it’s messy. it’s hot. it’s the kind of place that sticks to your skin like gum under the heat. ✳️