Africa Wins Again!

OK…where to begin. For those of you who follow this regularly, you know I am publishing late this week. I will try to describe the last week to you and the reason for that. I do want to start by saying that I am not a complainer, and I have a pretty good attitude about the challenges that life in Central Africa brings, but I was definitely tested to the limit this week.

It probably began Monday when Zachee and I started to move our office. We have been needing to change locales for a while so we signed a lease with the Friends Church (Eglise Evangelique des Amis) to rent space. We were told we could move in anytime and stopped by Monday morning to have a look. No one was around but the office was open and I noticed that they had left us some furniture too. We went back to our office, rented a truck (and driver plus three helpers) in the market and loaded everything into it. When we got back to the new office with all our stuff in tow, low and behold, it was full of people working! A perplexed man asked what we were doing with all the furniture and files and we explained that we were moving in. Imagine his shock, since he had not even been informed that his organization was being evicted. AWKWARD!! Apparently that was a small oversight on the part of our landlord.

On Thursday I went to Rwanda with Brandon, an MCC worker, and Isaac my housemate. I had to meet and interview some partners about programs they were doing and wanted Brandon to do some photography for me. (Isaac came up to see the work of his organization, World Relief, in Kigali.) The drive up was uneventful and the border crossing was fairly quick (no buses ahead of us.) When we got to Kigali, we stopped at an internet café for some coffee then went to our guesthouse. The next morning I went to see our partner org. called Friends Peace House. We support, through them, quite an amazing prisoner reintegration program. It involves inviting recently released prisoners, (held for 14 years or more) for crimes against humanity committed during the 1994 genocide to a 2 week workshop. Also invited to the workshop are victims of genocide (survivors). Together they learn about conflict resolution, share testimonies and have an opportunity to be reconciled, ask for forgiveness, forgive, and most importantly dispel the ignorance and fear the two groups have for each other. (Prisoners fear retribution, victims fear another attack.) After each workshop, the group chooses two of the most vulnerable families, and together the whole group builds 2 houses for them. Sharing together in a work project solidifies the relationships in the group. It is a real trust building exercise. MCC supports the project by paying for the tin roofs ($1000 each). If anyone is interested in supporting the project let me know.

I interviewed several ex-prisoners and victims about their experience in the workshop and Brandon took pictures. It was a very moving experience. Among the more quotable quotes was from from a young man named Claude, a child during the crisis who saw his family killed. He lived his life up to the time of the workshop tormented by fear. He said he learned that finding peace was not a private matter. He had to confront his enemies and be reconciled to them. “If I am to have peace, all must be at peace!” was his revelation. He was very surprised to find that returning prisoners were as fearful as he was and completely destitute when they came out of prison. He has since been reconciled to the killer of his family and they have become friends. With forgiveness and reconciliation to his enemy he has completely lost all fear in his life. Together he and his new friend even feel empowered to fight the real enemies that stalk their country: poverty, ignorance, and despair.

In the afternoon, Brandon and I went out to visit some of the families and houses that have been built. I had hoped they were close to town, but they were not. We drove about an hour out of town on the good road before we turned onto the bad road. We visited 4 houses, each presenting a more difficult driving challenge. It was great to see families making lives in these houses and hear what it meant to them to be supported by their fellow participants in this way. They were all very happy. I have some pictures here of the 4 houses for your interest.

By the time we got back that evening I was wiped out. I had not spoken English all day and had had hours of intense conversation, I was also fried from the driving on all of the dreadful roads. (foot paths). We stopped and picked up Isaac in town and were really looking forward to an Indian meal to enjoy and unwind. We decided that the last thing we would do before dinner and rest was to get some gas in the car so we could leave early the next morning.

We stopped at the gas station and Brandon and Isaac jumped out of the car to change some money nearby. I was by the car but opened the hood to check the oil. 2 minutes later they came back and Brandon looked in and said, “Did you leave the car?’
I said “No, I have been right here next to it.”

“Then where did our bags go?” ...

I know most of you have had that experience. That fateful moment when a direction has been chosen for you. Maybe deliberately, or as a result of a moment of carelessness, but with irreversible consequences. We stared at each other, stunned, panicked, horrified. Indeed Brandon’s bag with his $3000 Mac computer (with all his photos on it) was gone along with Isaac’s bag which had a $700 camera and ipod in it. We asked around, phoned the police—back to French again--and still struggled to understand what to do. Finally we decided to find a ‘mzungu’ with connections who could help us. We knew the director of World Relief, Phil, lived near the US embassy. It was already very dark and we were not sure how to get there but we set off. Long story short, we eventually found it and he sent one of his Rwandan staff to help us at the police station. (He and his wife were also great at the trauma healing work that was necessary when we arrived there unannounced.)

We proceeded to the police station to file a report. We discovered to our great relief that all of us had our passports on us and not in the bags, so we would be able to leave the country. Brandon’s computer was insured so all we needed to do was file a police report and get a receipt to give to the insurance company. We felt that was the best we could hope for, and went to file the report. Here is where everything took a distinctly African turn…

Rwanda is a police state. That is to say, it is highly regulated and the police have a lot of power. We went to file a report that evening at the central police station in the city. It was nearly deserted, nonetheless, there was no sense of urgency about helping us. Finally the officer at the desk deigned to acknowledge us and opened a large book and laboriously filled in numerous columns with details from our statements. Watching him write was like watching a movie in slow motion. The process seemed to take hours. When he was done, we asked for some kind of copy of the police report. He told us htat he was not authorized to give us a copy, only the ‘commandant’ could give us that and we need to come back the next morning. We told him we were rushing to leave town but he assured us the commandant would be there at 8am and he would already have everything he needed from what was written in the book. The process would be quick.

That night we did go out for Indian food it was fabulous and well worth the wait, eventhough we did not get to eat until after 10pm. It made us feel better about the whole evening too. We got back to the guesthouse around 11:30.

At 8am the next day, we came back to the police station (knowing full well that we had been told what we wanted to hear, not what the facts were, but really having no other choices.) The commandant was, of course, not there, and no one knew of his whereabouts. Someone said he had heard he was in Uganda. Neither the officer we talked to before nor his book was anywhere to be found either. We explained what we needed to about 10 other policiers and after much fussing, someone finally came and took our statements down meticulously again. When he was done we asked him for a copy of the paper for the insurance company and he said in surprise “Oh no, only the commandant can sign that!” We again, with growing impatience, said we had to leave town that morning in order to get through the roadblocks before dark in Burundi. He eventually sent us to another officer who also, in a completely different book, took down our statements in great detail. (This time with carbon paper!) Again, when we asked him for a copy he said matter of factly that we could have a copy as soon as the commandant came and signed it, and that perhaps we should come back tomorrow.

For those of you who have read Kafka’s The Trial, I can only imagine that he had had some experience with an Franco-African bureaucracy. At this point I pulled out all the stoppers and told the man that my pregnant wife was about to give birth in the US and I would miss my flight if we did not get back to Bujumbura by nightfall. (only a slight exaggeration of the facts.) Eventually someone was given permission to sign after numerous telephone calls followed by tedious minutes of paper straightening, and stapling.

We got our forms and drove furiously back to Bujumbura that day (leaving a mere 3 hours later than planned). Brandon drove and despite the loss of time we got back to Bujumbura that evening.

Generally, in our ride home we were fairly philosophical about the whole thing, accepting God’s will in everything that happened, and realizing how fortunate we were in so many ways. We mused over the expression that our World Relief friends used for the types of bureaucratic obdurance, cultural misunderstandings, petty crime, and frequent frustrations that we mzungus encounter here: AFRICA WINS AGAIN.

As I said at the beginning of this blog entry, I do my best do avoid complaining about life here. I have one more night before I make the 20 hour flight back to the USA for the birth of my son. (The birth will happen this Wednesday.) Due to internet problems I have not been able to talk to Rebecca so I really miss her and will be glad to see them.

I am truly blessed to have an amazing wife and (soon) two sons whom I will see in 36 hours! BUT…


This morning I woke up with a high fever and diarrhea (something from the Indian restaurant): D’OH Africa Wins Again!





By the way, the photos above were all taken by Brandon Theissen who is one of our MCCers out here from Canada. He works with a partner called Help Channel on reforestation, but moonlights as a photographer, and is a great person to have on our team. (Here is a picture of him (taken by Rebecca, I think.)