The Shortcut and Home Alone

“The longest distance between two points is a shortcut.” --Corollary to Murphy's Law

Most of us have a shortcut story and this one deserves a good recounting: As you may know, Rebecca'a Mom has been here this week visiting. She is here to take Rebecca and Oren back to the USA ahead of me for the birth of our son. So our scene opens in a crowded Landcruiser on the way to a remote village called Burasera. The players are:
1)Grandma Jean (my Mother-in-law)
2)Rebecca (the pregnant wife)
3)Oren (the cantankerous 3 year old)
4)Jodi (the intrepid missionary ready to spend 3 years teaching in a remote village)
5)Our fearless (not) leader--(that's me)

The landcruiser is packed to the gills and roofrack with stuff for Jodi's new home in Burasera. It has just finished raining and we are heading into the mountains ready for adventure. It is exciting to be able to take Grandma Jean on this trip to see one of our projects and show her the beauty of the high country. Although I have only been to Burasera four times, I feel competent enough about the route to risk a shortcut that I noticed on the map and seemed to cut a considerable number of kilometers off of our trip. The road would not be paved but we trusted the Landcruiser could handle it. We turned off the main road near a genocide memorial in Kabimba and headed down a small rough road. It looked bad, but the map indicated that our destination was only a short 16K away. As we drove the road continued to get worse. Often it ran close to a drop off, other times it climbed at a grade that is made for burro travel, not cars, and some of the bumps were more akin to bouldering than driving.

When we came to a fork in the road we had to make a choice. We asked a passing bicyclist and he told us (in Kirundi) that both prongs went to Burasera. We asked which was shorter and he said the left one, BUT he volunteered that the right one was 'neza' (good). We weighed the options and decided on the shorter one.

Very quickly I realized this was going to be very difficult. The road quickly dwindled to little more than a footpath, and branched often to different villages making the main route difficult to discern. The road also dipped and rose with the terrain. In my mind, I had the idea that if it ever got to a point where I did not feel I could continue, I would turn around (or back up) and go back the other way. …

Scene 2: The Slippery Slope
There are different types of paths we take in life. Some you can try and then change your mind, reverse course and take a new way. But many, at a certain place have a 'point of no return.' beyond which a reversal of course is impossible. At about the 4 km mark we hit a 'slippery slope'. (Not a metaphor!) This was a downhill that looked fairly promising. The road seemed a bit wider and less bumpy. As soon as we started down I realized the problem. The road was mud. Soon our wheels were caked and the vehicle began sliding right no matter how I steered. To engage the 4wd you have to stop and get out of the vehicle to turn a lock on the hub of the front wheels. We did this (and got muddy feet). This helped us control the direction of our descent somewhat, but at the bottom of the hill the road arrived at what could best be described as a tdouble width foot bridge. I knew at this point, that we could not go back up the hill so our only hope was to cross. For the safety of all, everyone got out while I drove across. Here are some pictures of the bridge and Rebecca and Oren crossing after the landcruiser.

We only hoped we had seen the worst of the 16k shortcut, and by the grace of God, the other side of the valley was more rocky than muddy. We climbed out and within a short distance rejoined the wider road to Burasera.

I wanted to show my mother-in -law the intriguing aspects of our work, but it was more of an adventure than I had bargained for. The seminary at Burasera never looked better (see picture). It is quite a place, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, where they generate their own electricity, and have orchards, a dairy, chickens and eggs, a vineyard, make their own furniture from their own trees that they replant as well. They also run a guest house. It is like a self contained little world, and the Diocesan Priests who work there are incredibly hospitable, and got a big kick out of Jean and Oren (who loves their pet monkey.)

The trip went very well and Jodi is now living there and began teaching school this past Monday. We returned to Bujumbura with minimal incidents except a race against time to beat the 5pm military roadblocks on the way down the mountain.

The rest of the week is somewhat of a blur. We crammed in too much that all needed to be done before Rebecca left. We had many friends visit and wish us well. I did my best to have enough time with Oren (more for me than him). I did not succeed. I can only describe the experience of packing them up and putting them on a plane this morning as agonizing. I can say that this next month will be harder than any I have had here thus far, because I am here alone. I do not feel up to the task either--professionally or emotionally. Nonetheless, 3 hours after they left, I was on a plane to Rwanda, and I am currently writing this blog from an internet cafe in Kigali. (I am putting it up Thursday because I might be in a very remote place tomorrow to visit a project of one of our partners.) I will get back to Bujumbura Sunday, then I will be off to Ghana next Thursday. I am hoping that the travel will take my mind off the feeling of having my right hand and heart ripped out (emotionally).

Here is a picture from Grandma's Jean's repertoire of Oren and Pacifique our gardner. I think Pacifique will really miss Oren as Pacifique enjoyed hosing Oren down as he ran around in the yard almost as much as Oren enjoyed it.

I again leave you with a small character portrait. Before leaving, Rebecca asked our guard, Gaspar if he was going to go home to visit his family over the next 2 months. He said he probably would not, because travel is expensive and he was saving his money to buy his 4 children a mattress to sleep on. (I think he was working up the courage to ask for a loan to buy one.) When I heard this, I was truly convicted—living comfortably in the four bedroom house he guards, where most of the rooms are empty much of time. I went out and told him that when I get back we would go out and shop for mattresses for his children. I don't know if there was a more 'capacity building' way of helping him out, but his need was a harsh reminder of what the disparity between rich and poor looks like outside the USA.