Somewhere between fear and laughter

When they told us we were going on a team outing to Nyungwe national park, my first reaction was pure excitement. The kind that makes you smile without realizing it. My second reaction came later that night, staring at the ceiling, wide awake. Why was I this excited? What exactly was I excited about? I didn’t even know. I just knew sleep was not happening.

A few days before the outing, they explained how rooms would be assigned. No choosing. Just folded papers. I remember standing there, waiting my turn, quietly negotiating with God. Please let it be in a single room. When I opened my paper and saw I got it, I didn’t celebrate out loud. I just smiled to myself. Okay… this is already a good start. It was my first time away for days, especially to Nyungwe, and having that single room meant I could feel the excitement fully. Scream, sing, or just shout if I wanted, without anyone noticing.

Travel day arrived and suddenly, we were all on the bus together. Not work-us. Just us. Music played, conversations overlapped, laughter came easily. Somewhere along the road, the bus turned into chaos in the best way. Then came the headphone challenge. You know when someone sings with full confidence and every lyric is wrong? That happened. More than once. I was crying from laughter.

We stopped in Kamonyi for breakfast and celebrated Alaine’s birthday, and somehow everything started to feel softer. At some point, I stopped checking how far we still had to go. The journey didn’t feel long. It felt full.

When we arrived in Gisakura, where we would be staying, the cold hit first. Later, a traditional dance troupe welcomed us, and I felt present in a way that’s hard to explain. That first night moved quickly. Popcorn, a movie, shared laughter. I remember thinking, Already?

Day two was the main day. Early in the morning, we left Gisakura and drove to Uwinka, deeper into Nyungwe Forest, where most of the activities take place. Standing near the zipline, listening to instructions and jokes about getting stuck mid-air, my fear slowly awoke. I am very afraid of heights. What if I froze?

One by one we went. Some screamed, some laughed, and some were brave. When my turn came, I stepped forward before I could change my mind. The wind rushed, the forest opened beneath me, and suddenly fear was no longer louder than the moment.

After the zipline, we did the canopy walk. The bridge shook with every step and my thoughts raced, but I kept telling myself: one step, just one more…. And somehow, I crossed.

After lunch we returned to Gisakura for the rope course. One look at it, and I questioned my life choices. My hands shook and my palms burned, but I reached the end. The first thing I felt wasn’t relief. It was pride. Quiet pride.

That evening felt gentle. Games, music, laughter, comfortable silence. I remember looking around and wondering: “Is this what being present actually feels like?”

Nyungwe stayed with me. Not just the forest, but the way I finally felt present in my own moments. For those three days, I wasn’t thinking ahead and I wasn’t looking back. I was just there. Laughing, scared, happy, alive. And maybe that was the real adventure: being exactly where my feet were.

Salua Umurerwa