3 Davids and a trip to Kigali

Oren found the camera this week and took some photos, here is a good one.


Last week I wrote in a state of mind affected by my inability to cope with the constant reminder of dire poverty here. I really tried to do better this week in the face of what I identified as “Kingdom priorities.” I had my first chance on Wednesday when my language teacher arrived. I met him at the gate. He told me there was a young boy lying outside the gate who was refusing to move because he was hungry. I went out with him (my teacher, named Jean Baptiste) and we began to talk to the boy, who looked to be about 13. He told us he was a Congolese refugee who had fled to Burundi two weeks ago with his mother and younger brother. Their father was in Tanzaniya. The mother and his brother and him were on their way to a refugee camp in Burundi, not far away. I asked why he fled and he explained that soldiers had entered his village and chased them out. I asked if he wanted some rice and beans, he said yes, so I invited him in the gate and I went in to get him some food. When he sat down with his food, I asked him his name, he said his name was David.

I was glad that I did make the effort to ‘be interrupted’ from my daily routine. The language lesson started late, but I had done something for a stranger at the gate. As I said last week, it is so easy to look at the faces of poverty as anonymous hoards, and not see individuals, or be in complete despair about how little onc could do, and do nothing. I did not provide any lasting solution to David’s problems, but I did not do nothing or ignore him, or look away. I was able to look him in the eye, and offer him something because I could see he was a person, in need.

We had talked about my self critique (of last weeks blog) in our small group, and I realize how good it is to be accountable to, and encouraged by, others. One of our friends told me about Mother Theresa’s famous quote. “We can do no great things, only small things with great love.” I really understood what that meant in the encounter with David from Congo.

That was my first encounter with a David that week, but not the last.


The second David I met was a 2 year old at a funeral. He was the son of a woman who died of pre-eclampsyia, a complication of pregnancy. She was the wife of a friend of ours and someone we work with frequently. David was one of 4 children left behind for this young man to care for. At the funeral, David was in his father’s arms looking at the burial site. He did not want to leave because he new his mother was there. It was hard to imagine the extent to which his life was so suddenly and drastically changed by this tragedy.

This was the first Burundian funeral I had attended. It lasted about 6 hours and included a service, a drive to the burial site and service there, then a ‘reception’ where those attending were invited to sit and have a fanta. A collection was taken at that time.

Although it was in Kirundi, the service was beautiful, and Burundian church choirs are wonderful, singing and dancing even at an event as somber as a funeral.

Among the many things that went through my mind at the funeral, was how much we in America take for granted about pregnancy and childbirth. While there is some risk, the fact is, I do not know of any woman in the US who died as a result of pregnancy or childbirth. (Granted I have the privilege of being in a professional social class.) But since I have been here, less than a year, I know of wives of 3 colleagues who have died of complication related to pregnancy. They were all relatively well to do, so the problem was access to good healthcare. It is really painful to see this, and to realize the risk that women accept in order to have children. It goes without saying that the fact that Burundians like large families adds to the risk.

The third David I spent time with this week is my own 4 month old son. He is truly a happy child and a very sage air about him, even at this age. Zachee gave him the nickname Mutama, which means ‘old man’ in Kirundi. But it refers to a venerable old man. It seems to fit him, because he so often looks like a little wise old man, with his funny face and joyful smile. I had a lot of quality time with David on Thursday and even took him to the doctor here for some vaccinations. I thought about how lucky this little David was to have the care that he has, the love of 2 parents, and the blessing of good health and access to food.

As I considered the other 2 Davids, one whose life has been ravaged by war, and the other who lost his mother at such a young age, I could not help but wonder about the challenges, the crises, that would shape the life of my young son. Granted, he has so many advantages by accident of birth over these two children—access to good health care and citizenship in a country that is not in a constant state of war, but I don’t believe I can protect him from all bad circumstances. I am realizing how vital the mission of giving him a good faith foundation, that will protect him through circumstances I cannot protect him from. I am once again reminded here, of how fragile and in need of a savior we are.
“My soul finds rest in God alone. My Salvation comes from him. He alone is my rock and my foundation He is my mighty fortress, I shall not be shaken.” --Psalm 63:1

(The other important David in my son’s life is his grandfather David of course who I hope will be a major influence on him. David Sack is recovering from cancer surgery. We skpyed him last night and he reported that he was improving, but has been frustrated by how slow the progress is.)

We are in Kigali Rwanda again this week for the conference I have written about previously. It is hard to believe that we have moved from the role of newcomers to the role of hosts for a conference of MCC representatives in our region.

On Saturday, Rebecca, Oren, David, and I, along with Zachee and Timmy, got in the Landcruiser and drove to Kigali. (Oren and Timmy will miss a week of school.) This trip keeps getting easier as the border guards now all recognize us. We get by quite easily. We are hosing the conference in the Africa New Life Ministries guesthouse, where Rebecca and I love to stay. I picked up arrivals from the airport in several trips on Sunday.

Our reps from Burkina Faso, Chad, Nigeria and Congo were pleasantly surprised, but stunned to find how cold it is here this time of year. Up in the hills in the rainy season it can be in the 50s at night. We played volleyball with the kids when they arrived, then had an icebreaker contradance. We did the Virgina Reel among other dances, and the African staff at the guesthouse enjoyed seeing some American traditional dance. (I can’t say we were stellar performers of it though.) A couple of them even participated.

This may have been an even bigger cultural shock to the Mennonite reps, as Mennonites have a heritage of not dancing at all. (Too fleshy!) But we had a lot of fun.

One of the perks of having a conference is the arrival of visitors from the US. We usually ask visitors to bring us all sorts of things from our families. Melody Rupley, our area director, had received a care package from our families to deliver. Among the items, including epi-pins and other meds, was a favorite subway car of Oren's that had been left in Baltimore. He was, needless to say, thrilled to be reunited with it. I tried to capture his initial reaction in a photo.

We will be in Kigali until next Saturday when we return to Bujumbura, where, happily, my father wil be paying us a visit. He is teaching in Ethiopia right now and thought he would pay us a visit as long as he is on the continent. (Oren is thrilled and counting on Grammy sending him with chocolate chips--we are hoping so too!!) More on that next week.



Bonus photo: For anyone who complains about the time it takes to mow a lawn in the US. Here is how it is done in Burundi, with a machete. It usually takes a whole day for our gardner to ours.