Week One

     Foremost, I feel I should apologize for the gap in posts about this week, I have not had a great deal of internet access or time to write, so what time I have spent writing has been used to get caught up on the posts that you have seen.  Take heart, though, for I assure you that I will bring you up to speed on what you may think you’ve missed.

     Every day here is pretty much the same: wake up much earlier than I want to, have breakfast with four or five cups of chai, go up to the chapel for a time of worship and prayer and a devotion given by J.D, then we split up.  The adults go into the conference room for the training seminars and the teens go back to the guest house to wash dishes from lunch.  After the dishes are finished, the teens walk all the way back up the compound to work on remortaring the inside of the wall that surrounds the compound.  It’s hot work, and there’s never any doubt about how hard they are working.  The training and time that the teens are to be working on the wall both end at the same time: lunchtime.  Everyone reconvenes at the guest house at the bottom of the compound for lunch.  After lunch, the teens wash dishes again and the adults go back up to the training. There’s a short break between dishes and when the kids arrive most days, but sometimes, dishes take so long that we only have time to finish the dishes, apply a healthy coat of sunscreen, and run out to meet the kids. Two and a half hours later, the teens and Chris are coated with the red Gitega dirt mixed with sweat and smiling wide as the adults walk down the hill with glass bottles in their hands that were once filled with soda.  Prearranged sharing of the dregs of Cokes and Citron Fantas occurs, as everyone goes back inside the guest house to wash up and relax from a hard day’s work.  Cold showers are had, there is much sitting and relaxing and laughing about funny things throughout the day, and J.D. usually shines his green laser at people on the mountains opposite the valley.  The teens have a devotional time just before the lights come on at about 6:30, and dinner is served an hour later.  We don’t last long after dinner, and we’re consistently all in bed when the lights go off at around 10:30 as far as I know; I always am.

     Every day this week has been like that, and every day this week has been spectacular.  I’ve sat in on a few lectures in the training, and they’ve been unbelievably interesting.  The questions that the trainees are asking are evidence that they’re learning and that they really care about the subject matter.  At the end of the first seminar, on Wednesday, a woman got up to speak on behalf of all of the trainees to say how grateful they all are and that what they are learning is already being applied in their minds.  She also said that they are excited to share what they’ve learned with colleagues back in all of the separate regions of Burundi.  That night, there was a celebration called nyamachoma in honor of the completion of the first round of classes.  They slaughtered a goat and a sheep and prepared the meat for us on a charcoal grill.  The meat was served on a stick and was absolutely delicious.

     It wouldn’t be Africa, though, unless there were the children.  Upwards of forty children all at once, kicking soccer balls high into the air and throwing Frisbees and tennis balls across the little field we confine them to.  They are truly a sight to behold.  I’m always struck by how much happier they are than most American children, and how much less entitled the African children act despite the fact that they have almost nothing.  That’s not an exaggeration, either.  They are members of the Twa tribe, the poorest tribe in the poorest region of Africa.  None of them have shoes and many of them don’t have pants either.  Their clothing is all stained the same color by constant exposure to the red Gitega dirt.  Even the soccer balls we’ve been using, only for four days, mind you, have turned the same color.  If American kids could learn to be happy with what they have like the Twa kids, their lives would be transformed, especially since we have so much to be grateful for.  I know of almost no American kids who could be outside in the hot sun for two and a half hours, running the whole time, with nothing but a couple soccer balls, a few tennis balls, and a Frisbee.  They’d get bored or uncomfortable or some such after a while and go find something else to do.  I know because I’ve been tempted to do just that almost every day. 

     The children have a magical quality about them, though. They love to touch our hair and skin and are fascinated by how hairy Chris’s arms are.  Julia’s hair is of particular interest because of how long it is: three quarters of the way down her back.  They’ve taught us games, one in particular involves tossing a tennis ball between the legs of a second person, to be caught by the third.  The one who threw then comes to the middle and the one who caught it throws, to be caught by the first jumper, and so the cycle continues.  There’s no winner or loser, but you certainly get yelled at if the ball doesn’t go under you and it’s your fault.  I speak from experience, trust me.