The first time I visited Karongi, I chartered a boat and set sail for Amahoro Island—though at the time, I didn’t know I was chasing a long-lost acquaintance. Years before I set foot on the said island, it had already claimed a spot in my life as my computer screensaver. I admired that image daily, letting it quietly win over my heart, even though I had absolutely no idea where on earth it was.
To be fair, I can’t take credit for choosing that screensaver. It came pre-installed by the computer’s previous owner. Fittingly, my first island adventure on Lake Kivu was also someone else’s idea. This was during my very first trip as a travel writer, when I asked my boat operator to take me to an island—any island. He suggested Amahoro. The name meant nothing to me at the time, but I nodded along, trusting the wisdom of someone who knows the lake like the back of his hand.
As we glided across the water and the island drew closer, a strange sense of familiarity crept in. It took a few moments—okay, several—to connect the dots between memory and reality. Then it hit me: my screensaver had come to life. That quiet moment of recognition felt monumental, like stumbling upon the source of the Nile after years of staring at it in textbooks.
Reality, however, came with a few plot twists. Upon arrival, I noticed broken utensils, collapsed roofs, and volleyball nets that had clearly retired long ago. The three-hectare island looked abandoned. My guide explained that a bar once operated there, though even he couldn’t quite say why it closed, or why it eventually vanished altogether.
Nature, it seems, has been busy reclaiming the space. Amahoro is draped in riparian forest vegetation, attracting a variety of bird species. Vines creep where walls once stood, and birdsong now replaces the chatter of past visitors. It feels as though the island made a quiet decision to return to its natural rhythm—and has never looked back.
True to its name—Amahoro means peace—the island exudes a deep, unbothered calm. It feels like a sanctuary for anyone in need of pressing life’s reset button. Dr. Diana Perdue, founder of Rimwe Educational Resources, once described Amahoro as a little slice of heaven, and standing there, it’s hard to argue. The island has a way of awakening quiet dreams of paradise.
I wandered its paths, greeted by birds of different species going about their business. Along the shore, tree branches leaned toward the lake, as though eavesdropping on its secrets. At sunset, the water shimmered, the sky blushed, and Lake Kivu put on one of its finest performances. It’s the kind of sunset that doesn’t just end the day—it politely insists that you remember it.