Dear Dad,
On a Sunday morning, I am seated here on a stone bench near the Kigali Heights roundabout, still catching my breath while the morning sun begins to warm the hills of our beautiful home.
I started my run from the house at exactly 6:45 am—an 8.6km journey that felt more like a pilgrimage than a workout. By the time I arrived here, my body was humming, perfectly warmed up for the hour of aerobics that followed.
I wish you could have been running beside me today, Dad. There is a specific, quiet magic in seeing our city stripped of its engines and exhaust, replaced entirely by the rhythmic pulse of human footsteps and the vibrant energy of a community in motion.
The rhythm of a city that cares:
Kigali Car Free Day has become so much more than a “sport event” or a mark on the calendar. It is a living, breathing testament to the green Rwanda we always talked about when I was younger.
For these few hours, the tarmac belongs to us. There is a profound beauty in the silence of the streets; without the roar of cars or the smell of gasoline, you can actually hear the city breathe.
You can hear the laughter of children, the encouragement of strangers, and the collective exhale of thousands of people moving in unison.
It is a moment where our status as a “green city” is not just a policy or a slogan, but a physical reality we feel deep in our lungs. The air is crisp, the hills seem a deeper shade of bright green, and for a moment, the world feels balanced and intentional.
But what would move you most, Dad, is the way this event has evolved into an “all-in-one” sanctuary for people. It is not just about the sweat or the distance covered; it is about soul, service, and survival.
Today, after my run, I walked over to a medical tent and received a free screening for non-communicable diseases. It is a powerful thing to see a government bring healthcare directly to the pavement, meeting people where they are, in their sneakers and sweat-wicking shirts.
And just a few meters away, the sound of the Ingoma was calling. I stopped to watch for a while—there was no age limit, no judgment. I saw a young boy and an elderly man sharing the same rhythm, learning the grace of our traditional dance together.
It reminded me of what you always taught me: that our culture is the thread that holds our modern progress together.
A vision of progress and its growing pains:
I also took a significant step into our digital future today. Right there on the street, amidst the stretching and the music, I registered for the new e-Indangamuntu – Rwanda’s new Single Digital Identity (SDID) system.
It is a marvel of convenience, yet, Dad, I noticed something that I know your disciplined mind would want corrected.
The NIDA team on the ground was exceptionally hospitable; they greeted everyone with the genuine warmth and Agaciro that defines our people. However, the information-gathering process felt uncoordinated among these young men and women inside the tent.
There was a sense of confusion in how data was being captured and a lack of synergy between the team members. It is such a brilliant, forward-thinking initiative, but the execution lacked the seamless rhythm of the aerobics happening just a few meters away.
They have the spirit of service, but they need the harmony of coordination to truly honor the time and effort of the citizens they are serving.
As I looked around at the thousands of Rwandans gathered here at the roundabout, I felt a deep, swelling sense of pride.
We are a nation that chooses to wake up early to chase health, a nation that shuts down its busiest roads to let the earth breathe, and a nation that preserves its ancient dances while registering for electronic IDs.
It is a rare and beautiful embroidery of life that you rarely find anywhere else. I headed home, my muscles tired but my spirit light. This Car Free Day has reminded me that we are not just building a city of stone and glass, but a community of health, culture, and shared responsibility.
I wish you were around dad so that perhaps, next time, we run those 8.6 kilometers together.
With all my love and admiration,
Your son,
Still writing to you.
