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.

Church and The Road to Gitega

     We got up early this morning to attend the Evangelical Friends Church of Bujumbura.  After four or five cups of chai, I was ready to go.  When we arrived, the first sermon had already begun.  We were provided interpreters about ten minutes after our arrival, much to all of our relief.  After the first sermon, a woman gave her testimony and it was announced, I believe, that the offering from today would be going to her or her cause; I was unclear about what she said.  The offering was taken and the worship team got up on stage.  There was a drum kit, an acoustic guitar on rhythm, a bass guitar, a regular ol’ guitar, a choir of about 20 people, and a relatively small man leading it all and singing a separate part from the choir.  It was just as you’d expect it to be: absolutely astounding. The element that made it the most immersive was the volume to which everything coming through the sound system was turned.  The first bass drum kick felt like a blow to the chest, and it was a beautiful thing.   The choir, the band, the worship leader all worked together to produce this glorious ocean of rich, rich music.  Music truly is the universal language; it made no difference that the lyrics were all in Kirundi, they conveyed what they were meant to perfectly.  After a couple of songs, a bunch of children from about five to eleven years old came onto the stage and sang with the band and danced.  Our entire group was transfixed by how cute they were.  When they’d sung their songs, the children and the worship team got off of the stage, another sermon began, this one about God’s purpose for us.  It was amazing how I felt that it was meant for me, and it’s been a long while since I’ve felt that close to God.

     After church, we headed back to the Swedish Guest House to have lunch and pack our things for the two-hour road trip to Gitega.

     The first vehicle to arrive was a white Toyota Land Cruiser piloted by a funny little man named Robert.  After all of the suitcases (all), were packed like Tetris pieces into the back of the Land Cruiser, Robert announced that he had one seat, so who would be sacrificed as tribute to join him for the trip?  I hesitantly volunteered, and we shortly departed to get a head start on the other drivers, David Nyonzima and Kwa Imani, both of whom were driving fifteen passenger vans.  Robert, he explained, was a slow driver compared to them and didn’t want to fall behind too far, but predicted that they would pass us. 

     The road to Gitega is a beautiful place, perhaps the most beautiful drive I’ve ever made.  This is no small notion, considering my extensive experience in travelling in the U.S.  The drive was made even more exciting by a few factors.  Primarily, the driving in Burundi is a sight to behold.  Organized chaos is the paradox that comes to mind, and it is a perfect description for how smoothly the roads operate here.  Everything has its proper place, and if it gets into a bigger vehicle’s way, it gets honked at and moves back to its place.  Easy as that.  Because of the chaos that seems to ensue, Burundi drivers know the dimensions of their vehicle within an inch. I once witnessed Kwa Imani’s side view mirror come that close to a bicyclist’s head, and neither the biker nor Kwa Imani batted an eyelash.  So too does Robert know the dimensions of his Land Cruiser.  I felt as though we threaded needles time and time again as oncoming vehicles barreled around curves at us.  Another element of the drive that made the two hours go by with amazing speed is the sheer beauty of Burundi’s mountains.  Think of Sedona, Arizona’s red dirt, now make it deeper and more red than orange.  That is the color of Gitega’s soil, and everything slowly adopts that color.  It contrasts nicely with the lush green of the tropical vegetation, making for spectacular vistas as you look across valleys at mountains.  The final thing that made my car trip very enjoyable was Robert himself.  We conversed for the entire trip with maybe five minutes of any kind of quiet total.  He and I have gotten along famously since.

Welcome to Burundi

From Addis, we caught a flight to Nairobi, Kenya. Lydia and Julia pulled the lucky tickets to sit at the emergency exit row, and were asked to move, so that they could switch with “someone more qualified to operate the door.”  In other words, they were too small.  Other than that, the flight went without a hitch.  My biggest issue was that my seat back decided that it was happy where it was and nothing could move it, despite the emergency exit row being directly behind me, giving the people in the next row extra leg room anyway. 

     In any event, we landed in Nairobi and relaxed in the plane while it was refueled and new passengers got on.  Luckily for us, about seven people got on, leaving a great deal of room for everyone.  I know Ginger took an entire row to herself; I sat in the seat right next to the emergency exit so that I would have leg room and a window.  The leg room did wonders; I fell asleep as soon as we were in the air.  I awoke to the left side of my body chilled beyond belief.  Cold air from outside the plane was leaking through the emergency door, and I was very uncomfortable.  I had no time to move away before the fasten seat belt light came on and I was stuck in that seat.  

     After we landed, I found that Ginger, Lydia, Julia, Chris (Champion, the Beam one is Christopher for our purposes), Kim, Vickie, and Lizzie all awoke with a jolt when the plane hit, not touched, the ground.  I've been hearing about that landing from them since.

     Because I was not expecting to fall asleep, my rude awakening at the hands of low temperature put me in a bit of a sour mood.  I realized it, though, and once we finished filling out our cards about who we are and why we want entry to Burundi, I kicked myself back into gear and helped get our twenty-three suitcases onto carts to bring to our transportation to the Swedish Guest House, where we're staying for the first two nights and our last night in Burundi.  The driving rules here are crazy, but they make perfect sense.  Everything has its proper place.  If it's not in its place, it gets honked at.  It's that simple.

   Today has been a very full day, and it's still not over.  First thing in my morning, not necessarily everyone else's, the two present Willettses decided to go take a closer look at a pair of pet monkeys tied to a tree a few hundred yards from our rooms. From what I've heard, I was still asleep, they loved J.D.  They were tossing seeds to them, and one monkey was quite friendly.  J.D. held out a handful of seeds, and one came out of the tree to grab a handful and climb back up.  The second came over from the ground and, while he ate none, felt J.D's arm and hugged it, then ran off.  Lydia saw that they seemed friendly enough and took some seed to give it a try.  She held out her hand, he gave the seed some interested sniffs.  He must have smelled something good, because he took her wrist and bit down on her hand.  In the words of J.D, "[Lydia] squealed, [the monkey] squealed, and everyone got worked up."  On our way to spot some hippos at Lake Tanganyika, we stopped at the local hospital for Lydia to get some just-in-case shots and her bite wound cleaned.  

   For a snack at the "yacht club," where we watched for hippos, David brought us plates of fried whole minnows with lime, tomato, and onions.  We all enjoyed them greatly, except, of course, for Kim, who despises the very notion of eating anything that previously lived in water, no matter how fried.  As we got up to leave, David spotted a hippo, so we all rushed back to watch the hippo and finish our snack.  It was then that Gagnam Style came on.  Ginger, Lizzie, and even Kim danced to it. The workers at the club were so entertained that they played the song two more times.  The second time it played, J.D. joined in.  

     After the lake, we went to see the site where Livingston met Stanley.  It's a beautiful precipice overlooking the plain upon which sits Bujumbura, the capital of Burundi.  To the west, or left if you’re facing Buja, is Lake Tanganyika.  Directly to the south, between the sheer cliff and Buja, runs a river.  Because the rainy season was over, the river was very low, but it was apparent that it floods during the wet season.  To the east were huge, gorgeous mountains that rose up suddenly out of the plain.  The rock was interesting.  It was, as Christopher complained on the way there, just a rock (he’d been there before), but the vista was well worth the drive.

     After a quick lunch and rest, we went to a “museum,” which turned out to be more of a zoo.  Our guide told us about three crocodiles on display and the differences between them and then took us to a cage housing a lone chimpanzee.  J.D. had clearly not gotten his primate fill for the day, because he excitedly shook hands and high-fived her.  Our guide told us that she was depressed recently after her family died of disease.  The actual museum portion was a replica of pre-colonial Burundian housing.  After the tour of the grass huts, we passed a crocodile being fed. We, of course, crowded around the cage to see it chomping around a still-moving unidentifiable rodent.   The next cage over was the one where people were getting pictures taken holding the tail of a live crocodile.  Except for Gretchen, Christopher, and Kim, we all got our pictures taken holding its tail.  One of us was even photographed fleeing in terror after the crocodile decided to flick its tail.  I’ll not name names, but I will say that while she had it, she held the tail quite gingerly.  We then went to the house of snakes.  Lydia, ever adventurous even after squaring off with a monkey, held a few, along with the rest of us.  On our way out, J.D. had another tangle with the chimp, who refused to let go of his arms.

     From the zooseum, we went to the THARS office in Buja to use the wifi, and then to David and Felicite’s house for dinner.  They showed us around their gardens and rabbit cages.  They were not, mind you, pet rabbits.

A link to J.D’s blog for a decidedly different take on things: www.psychopastor.com

We're In!

6/20/13-6/21/13

     Wow.  I'm no stranger to late nights, early mornings, or long-distance travel, but I had not prepared myself mentally to lose a day.  Because of my unique sleep schedule, I don't consider 4 AM on Monday to be Monday yet if I haven't gone to sleep for what's left of the night.  In my mind, it would still be Sunday.  So, then, imagine how my brain would short circuit if I were to not sleep Wednesday night and then travel, albeit for twelve hours, to somewhere where it was Friday morning.  It was a bit of a rough transition, to say the least.
     But enough about time.  We arrived at Dulles International Airport with twenty-three bags we wanted to check and two carry-ons apiece.  Now, before you get any ideas, the luggage was filled with all different kinds of thhings we brought specifically to donate to THARS, the organization we're travelling to help.  We plan to leave it all here, including the suitcases we packed all of it in.  The clothes, the printer and ink, the sports equipment, the office and art supplies, we're going to donate all of it.
     It took three trips to get all of our luggage to the check-in area, but once we did, our team suddenly developed into a finely tuned, well oiled machine.  The slowest part of each step was at the hands of the man checking our passports and weighing our luggage.  Which, if you ask me, is the way that it should be.  Our team was so cohesive and efficient, we checked all twenty-three bags in about a half an hour.  From there, we had just enough time to get to our gate and board our flight.
     All things considered, it was a very good flight.  They ran out of Coke about twenty minutes in and my audio port for watching movies was broken, but I brought enough things (books, laptop, Chris, Lizzie) to keep me occupied all twelve hours.  Sleep, I'll admit, was a huge part of passing the time.  We arrived in Addis Ababa early, and had a four hour layover to endure.
     Addis Ababa Bole International Airport is a very unique blend of cultures from most corners of the earth.  Westerners huddled in pale groups; men and women, African and otherwise, bowing toward Mecca and washing their faces, hands, and feet in the bathroom sinks; Asians perusing the selection at gift shops; western-dressed black men and women speaking Swahili and Afrikaans and Kirundi; and all hurrying to get to their gates and trying not to lose the little ones they have in tow.  Addis Ababa Bole International Airport has a distinctly different flavor from another great melting pot we all think of, and we were only a part of the bigger picture.

T Minus 4 Hours to Departure

     The time has almost come.  I don't plan on sleeping tonight, night owl that I am, in favor of simply staying up until our 4:30 departure from home sweet home.  Roughly 24 hours of travel await me, alongside the rest of the team.  In all likelihood, we're going to be a sorry bunch by the time we touch down in Bujumbura, Burundi.
     Burundi.  To quote a particularly annoying sect of modern American pop culture, "you've probably never heard of it."  Click here to get a better view of the image behind this text; Burundi is in red.  Surprisingly, it isn't even the smallest country in Africa, such countries as Lesotho, Djibouti, and Swaziland, along with a few island nations, compete for that distinction.  It was colonized by the Germans originally, but was taken by the Belgians during World War I.  The Belgians introduced French, which, alongside Kirundi, is still spoken there today.  As with Rwanda, Burundi's history is riddled with tribal warfare and genocide.  Detailed information can be found here.
     Governmental efforts to quell violence have been tenuous in the past, and so despite the fear that violence might break out again, peace efforts are growing.
     Development and Research Innovations (DRI) has partnered with Trauma Healing and Reconciliation Services (THARS) in the hopes that with education and training, the animosity that exists as a result of the last genocide will not lead to another.