Day 11 – Reflections, Farewells & Kigali Memorial

My final morning began in Kabale, where we’d returned the previous evening and stayed overnight at Cephas Inn. I woke with a heavy heart, knowing it was my last day in this complex, generous country. As I sat in stillness, I gave thanks for this beautiful place; and to Alex and Alphonse, for their friendship, faith and generosity. Alphonse carries such a grounded sense of calm, shaped by deep personal faith. Alex is fiercely caring, having fought hard to build a life of meaning and purpose. Together, they are a force for good.

Walking Through the Marketplace

The morning began with a visit to the Amatsiko Tours office, and then it was off to the market with Robert as my guide. He was wonderful, helping me navigate rows of fresh fruit and veg, kindling stacked next to cooking bananas, and women shelling beans with children at their feet. Everywhere I looked, there was life – mothers carrying newborns wrapped on their backs, toddlers clinging to skirts, kids playing and laughing. One little girl of about 2 years old grabbed my hand and started twirling around before dragging me over to her mum.

We picked up bananas for the teachers and headed back to Amatsiko Preparatory School, where seven teachers and their children were already in the staff room. One teacher cradled her six-week-old baby boy. I’d also bought sweets at the supermarket to give to the children as a parting gift.

Saying Goodbye To Every Class

We started in P7 and worked our way down through every classroom, handing out a lolly to each child and teacher. I explained that I was leaving, said my goodbyes. When we reached the Baby Class, we walked in on a song—and they kept singing, verse after verse. Then Alex blew bubbles, and the little ones went wild with delight. We left the bubbles with the teachers to keep the fun going.

I don’t know if I did enough. I felt like I could or should have done more. But at least all the girls have three pairs of period pants now—and the female teachers, too. When the headteacher asked if some could be given to his wife, it just confirmed what I already knew: access to dignity shouldn’t be a privilege. The rest will be sent out in September.

Crossing Borders and Memories

From there, we set off towards the Rwanda border. The scenery shifted again—cattle gave way to rice paddies, then neat rows of tea plantations. At the border, we went through the usual checks: bags inspected, suitcases opened, passports stamped. Once through, the contrast hit immediately—Rwanda is clean and orderly, with tarmac roads and speed cameras. No one drops litter. On the last Saturday of every month, everything stops for Umuganda, a national day of community service. Thilda, our Rwandan guide, told us more.

The Genocide Memorial: Bearing Witness

We arrived at the Kigali Genocide Memorial, and although entrance is free, the weight of what you witness inside is immeasurable. The first room had me in tears—interviews with orphan survivors, now grown. Then came the facts, the photographs, the clothing, the bones. Too much to take in. Upstairs, there were rooms dedicated to other genocides, and others labelled for children. I couldn’t go in. It was too much.

Leaving Something Behind

At the airport, the goodbyes came too fast. We unloaded bags, passed through security, and then it was time.

As I rearranged my luggage, I tucked away the beautiful parting gifts: a carved elephant, a gorilla and baby, a woven basket with a lid, and a snow globe. I couldn’t stop crying. Maybe it was the sadness of leaving behind this place—this beauty and love. Or maybe it was the weight of the memorial, of lives lost and stories still echoing.

But I do know this: a piece of my heart is now rooted here. And I know I’ll be back.

Because Uganda has changed me.

And I want others to experience it too.

Ready to experience Uganda for yourself?

If you’re dreaming of travel with purpose—where every step supports communities and every encounter leaves a mark—then I wholeheartedly recommend Amatsiko Tours. It’s not just a safari. It’s a connection.

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