Landing in Kigali, Rwanda, after more than 24 hours of travel, I wasn't sure I heard the flight attendant correctly:
"Plastic bags are not allowed in Rwanda. Please remove any belongings, including duty-free shopping, from their plastic bags and leave the bags on board."
Um, what?
I looked around and saw plastic bags being tucked into the pockets of my fellow passengers' seats. I removed the T-shirt that I'd bought at Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam and left its plastic shopping bag behind.
After waiting in line to purchase my Rwandan visa, then waiting in a second line to have my passport stamped, I finally reached the immigration desk, where the officer handed the passport back to me with a big smile and said, "Welcome to Rwanda."
All I could think about was the genocide of 20 years ago — and yet, somehow, I felt like I'd just been welcomed by the concierge of an eco-friendly resort.
Waiting at the luggage carousel, I saw a man selling cloth bags. I was extremely jet-lagged and wasn't overthinking anything at that point. I simply observed, albeit with a foggy brain and a great thirst for water — or some other clear beverage with a slice of lime in it.
On the drive from the airport to my hotel, I noticed how incredibly clean the streets were. I have spent enough time in other African cities — littered with plastic bags, bottles and tall mounds of trash — and had never seen anything as cleanly swept as the well-paved streets of Kigali.