Every time I visit the beautiful shores of Lake Kivu, southwestern Rwanda, I am overwhelmed by bewilderment!

When you have the chance of relaxing at the lakeside in the setting sun of the evening, the red, glistening calmness of the water gives you an eerie feeling, and matters are not improved by the haunting calls of the awakening owls.

Through the tall, bushy trees behind the hedge of your lodge, you can see the blinking yellow eyes of the owls in the gathering darkness, and a slight shiver runs down your spine. You are at one with Nature and yet you are scared.

Take the other African shores: you have been to Cairo; you have been to Mombasa, Dar es Salaam, Maputo or Cape Town.

The ocean may be quiet but there will never be that haunting hollowness of the existence of still life, of being alone in the jungle with silent beings that only occasionally whisper a comforting word.

On the ocean, in the distance you will always see bright, shining light, the waves rising and coming to lap at your feet as if inviting you to play, the stars dancing on the waves as if entertaining you.

Even when there is no human activity on the ocean, it will never be quiet, you can never be alone. Add to that the potential danger, when the ocean waters become violent without warning.

That, indeed, is the paradox of the human mind. What is amiss at the Kivu lakeshore is that lurking danger that tickles your quest for adventure, "that invites” you to play.

Go to any beach of the Island of Mauritius and you will never find a nook that is not swarmed by a noisy crowd of tourists with their attendant throng of taunting locals clamouring for crumbs.

Wherever possible, every inch of the island has been rid of the sugarcane plant to create a tourist attraction and the beaches are hedged in by chains of concrete slabs of hotels.

Millions of tourists are either playing in the beach sand or on the ocean water every minute of the day or night, in a water sport of one form or another.

It is that quest for adventure and the yearning of the tourist lucre that will tempt any development-conscious mind to turn the Kivu lakeshores into a contaminated tourist playground.

Sure, the area can be turned into a tourist haven: sand can be spread on the lakesides and beaches curved out of the adjoining hills, speedboats and even helicopters can be introduced to exploit the still waters for sport.

There can be many attractions: water-skiing pulled by speedboats or helicopters, diving into the waters from the high overhanging hills over Lake Kivu, fishing for ‘isambaza’ (tiny fish species), and various other sports.

In fact, I see all this and think of how we, as an impoverished country, are wasting a money-spinner. And yet, think of the people in those adjoining hills. There they are, calmly going about their business, which is that of eking out a living on their land.

For centuries, the hills in these areas have lived symbiotically with Lake Kivu, their rivers pouring their waters into the lake for conservation and the people profiting from that harmonious existence to perpetuate their survival.

The people, happy in the knowledge that this existence will prevail if no negative forces step in to interfere. The people, so pure in their existence down the centuries that even today, their language cannot accommodate any foreign influence.

I say this with the amused knowledge that came to me during a meeting that the peasants of Gashoma had one time with their national leaders.

A programme known as "Rural Sector Support Programme” (RSSP) meant to help in improving their living standards has been adopted into their Kinyarwanda language and is simply known as ‘Rusisipe’!

When I wondered loudly how in the end they would get to know the original meaning, someone versed in the working of languages assured me they would get to know, ‘all in good time’.

He lamented how, especially if the meaning was a bad habit, the people were capable of perfecting the marriage of word and meaning for better communication.

For instance, he intimated, the word ‘ruswa’ is not originally Kinyarwanda, nor its denoted habit. It is from the French ‘recevoir’ because whenever a Munyarwanda gave a bribe – of mostly eggs! – to a colonial master, he addressed him in French thus: "Reçois, Monsieur!”

And ‘reçois’ thus became ‘ruswa’ (Kinyarwanda word for ‘bribe’), with its acquired ugly ramifications. A people to whom bribery was alien have adopted a French word to denote their acquired culture of corruption.

Similar ramifications await the traditional state of Rwanda if it is to be turned into a tourist destination. It will mean the vulgarization of the Kinyarwanda language, of the Rwandan virgin forests, waters, landscape, game and people.

And yet the country has to feed her people, and therefore has to use all the ways possible to get the means. One of the ways is through attracting tourists, and the country has thus to be prepared to walk the tight rope over whether to stagnate in tradition and die in poverty or trample on tradition and go for development.

If that is not bewildering, I don’t know what is. The salvation may indeed lie, as the Rwandan government has realized, in eschewing ‘mass’ tourism and going for ‘choice’ tourism: welcoming only a few high-paying tourists.

Contact: ingina2@yahoo.co.uk