The Long Journey Home

The Last moments with our SALTers at the airport before they left.  We followed them out of the country the next day.

Monday morning.  Jetlag completely prevented me from posting a post on Sunday evening despite my desire to catch up on recounting the events of the past week--a week that began in Bujumbura and ended in Baltimore MD.  

Last Monday, our arrival here seemed like it would be a very distant dream.  I almost refused let myself fantasize or count down the days, probably because I was keenly aware of the many hurdles we would have to overcome to get here.  Here is a brief recounting of the chronological events as I best remember them.

I mentioned last week that our SALTers had moved out of their host families houses, and Robyn and Yolanda were staying with us on Monday and Tuesday.  Jodi returned from a vacation so she joined us in Buj as well.  That meant we had quite a full house those 2 days.  We did some debriefing with all three SALTers, then on Tuesday morning we put them on a plane back to the US for debriefing at MCC headquarters in Akron PA.  

Departure was quite emotional for all of us and I know the SALTers must have felt a mix of sadness and giddy anticipation at returning home.  The SALT assignments are hard because of the extent of cultural immersion they must weather.  They live in Burundian families, travel by public transport, work in all Burundian workplaces, etc.  I have no doubt that there is some sense of relief in having this assignment completed.

I dont know if I mentioned this, but Yolanda will actually be coming back in the fall to work with us another 2 years, in Gitega.  (She will not be a SALT volunteer, but a regular service worker then.)  We are happy she will be coming back, especially since we got no new SALT volunteers for next year.

After the SALTers got on a plane we began packing.  We were to leave the next morning early.  Our housesitter, Spencer, came over on Wednesday night to learn how things work.  It was a fairly sleepless night for Rebecca and I as we packed until after 1am then had to get up at about 4:30 am.

On the way to the airport, we picked up Zachee, who was going to keep our car (and act as country rep. while we are gone).  Our first stop was Nairobi, Kenya where we planned to stay the night to make the trip a bit easier in terms of transit times.  The flight was only an hour and a half, and we stayed at the Mennonite Guest House in Nairobi.  

We had thought of going out in taxis to do fun things in Nairobi with the kids. Instead, when we got to the lovely guesthouse grounds, we decided to just stay put. There is a nice playground there and a play room with toys. It was such a relief to have some time to just focus on Oren and David and not be multi-tasking around them, like we had been doing for a while now. We had a relaxing Thursday as well, and even got to visit with Ruth and Krystan who are in Nairobi for the birth of their baby (should be arriving very shortly!)

We got on the next flight about 11:30 pm on Friday and went overnight to London.  The kids slept for the most part so it was not too bad.  After a 5 hour transit in London we got on the last leg, an 8 hour day flight to Dulles airport in Washington DC.  This was a flight we most feared because we doubted the kids would sleep much and another 8 hours seemed like a lot.  

The challenge proved to be all we feared and the first omen of trouble was, shortly after take off, the entertainment system which offered an individualized selection of about 100 movies (many for kids) ceased to operate.  We realized we would have to keep the kids entertained 'old school' and I wondered what my parents did on the long flights overseas with my brother and I in the 1960s.

Oren was OK and happy to occupy himself coloring, but David was dead set on running up and down the 2 aisles in the 'chockablock' full British Airways 747.  Rebecca and I took turns spending most of the flight following him around and doing our best to keep him out of First Class.  (He also liked to go up to random passengers and help himself to any food he saw on their tray tables--often unnoticed.)

The flight finally did end and we got to Dulles and moved swiftly through immigration to find all four of our parents waiting for us.  It was awesome!  The kids were very happy to see them and we took 2 cars back to Baltimore.  (The only disappointment was that we hit rush hour traffic in DC and Baltimore and it took us 3 hours to get from the airport back to my parents' house where we are staying.)

I did not mind the ride though.  I found myself appreciating the most mundane things--the smooth, well-constructed highways, the enormous variety of trees and forest surrounding the highway, drivers staying in their lanes in a bottleneck and not trying to drive on the median or on the other side of the highway to get in the front.  The only real negative was the 104 degree temperature on the day we arrived.  Of course we did not experience it in the comfort of the airconditioned Buick LeSabre.

As we approached our house I found myself marveling at the fact that I could see the houses and gardens.  I realized that for David and Oren, driving through a neighborhood has meant passing between high walls and gates.  The gardens and houses are well hidden from public scrutiny.  I realize what a privilege it is to live in a place that is secure enough, in terms of non-corrupt law enforcement and a social safety net that help the most desperate, that we can live here without fortifying our personal domiciles.  I had honestly forgotten how strange it is to live in a kind of prison with 8 foot high walls and razor wire on top and a night guard that stays on the property 7 nights per week.

I am happy that the culture shock I have been experiencing has been good rather than bad.  It can be tempting to see only the excess, but not the good values reflected in the way we live.   What most impressed me here is that Americans like forests, trees, parkland, grass, and cleanliness.  It is also amazing to not see streets littered with trash and people throwing anything on the ground, or smelling the constant smell of burning in the neighborhood as people burn their garbage every day.  AND there is no dust here!

Friday evening, right when we arrived, we had a birthday party for Oren and Rebecca, who had their birthdays in Burundi recently.  Rebecca's brother's family joined us with her parents at my parents house.  We had pizza, fresh salad, a real Birthday cake in the shape of a crab, AND homemade ice cream. It was totally American. I can't tell you how long it has been since we have had good ice cream.  It was the perfect homecoming meal.  

Rebecca and I did some shopping on Saturday and even though it was familiar in the past, we were stunned by the amount of things in a supermarket.  Definitely too many choices, but I do appreciate the creativity behind the various products, having come from a place where there is no spirit of entrepreneurship or any attempt to offer choices.  (For example, there are still basically 3 soft drinks--Coke, Sprite, and Fanta orange.)  I know there would be a market for other choices, but it seems no one is motivated to exploit it.  (Unless they could get a grant from someone to do so.)  We bought the things we really missed--salmon, blueberries, cherries, sweet corn, ice cream.

I think the other thing we enjoyed about going out shopping was being anonymous--not followed by gawkers and children shouting "mzungu!"begging for money, or vendors aggressively shoving produce in your face and shouting prices at you.  No one even noticed us or gave us a second glance, it was great.

We went to church with my parents on Sunday (Valley Baptist in Towson) and shared the work we were doing with a Sunday school class and as a missions moment in the service.  It was good to speak to many who pray for us and even keep up with this blog.

We spent the afternoon at Rebecca's parents. They have a sort of a "suburban farm" and Rebecca's mom decreed that our dinner would be made of what we could harvest from the garden. So we went out and found green beans, potatoes, zucchini, tomatoes, black berries, swiss chard, apples and basil. Our supper was delicious and fresh and healthy. The kids enjoyed running around their yard, swinging on the swing set and taking a walk around the block. Little David, at 1.8 years, walked almost the whole way himself: it is such a new experience for him to be walking unconfined by walls and gates.  I can't imagine what he must think of it all.  Oren also loved the opportunity to revisit all the old toys we had stored at Gramma Jean's house. Oren certainly feels like he has come home, while for David, everyone and everything must seem totally new.

I am trying my best to savor every moment here and enjoy the things we really miss.  Surprisingly it is not the material things or food.  We really miss hiking, going on walks in neighborhoods, playing with the kids in public parks, and generally enjoying the outdoors and public places in relative anonymity.

The other thing we will savor is the time with family and friends.  It is funny, I remember as a child, coming back on home leave in the summer every 2 years from Bangladesh.  I remember being met by my grandparents in Oklahoma City, who took us home in the scorching heat in Cherokee, 2 hours away, in their airconditioned Buick.  I remember loving their cozy, clean, carpeted, airconditioned house. It was full of old toys and games, all neatly kept waiting for Grandkids.  I remember how much I loved the carpeting, even in the bathrooms, and the cool air, and then running around outdoors in the heat on the farm with my cousins.  

I don't know when or how parents turn into grandparents, but our parents seem to have instinctively recreated the same thing for our children.  Oren is already aware of it and could not wait to get to Grandpa Grammy's house to play with a certain train set and watch Dumbo and the Little Engine that Could.  And to go to Grandma Jean and Pappa Dave's house to pick veggies, berries and apples in the garden.  I see how these indelible memories are created and I remember how especially poignant they are when visits are few and far between, coming back, as a child, from a culture not one's own.  

As hard as it is to be away for so long, it makes the time together that much sweeter and memorable.

Last Week for SALTers and a Birthday for Rebecca

Oren and David seeing and playing with a puppy for the first time.  The Horst's gardener brought one for them to help guard the house when it grows up.  I brought the kids over to play with it while they are out of town.


Wow, I completely failed to start this Sunday evening because of a late dinner we had.  The dinner was in celebration of the final day that our SALTers spent with their host families.  After church I went and picked up Robin and Yolanda at their respective homes and brought them and their things to our house.  (They will spend their lat 2 nights with us so we can debrief before they leave.)  Then we spent the afternoon cleaning the house to get ready for the families to have dinner with us.  (We have no staff working on the weekends so I was down on my knees scrubbing the floors prior to their arrival.)

We decided to prepare them a spaghetti dinner.  They arrived and we had a lovely evening together reminiscing over the touching and funny times they spent together.  Jodi was serendipitously with us as well as she was returning from vacation in Uganda that day and passing through Bujumbura.

Among the things said was my mentioning that this SALT program has taught me much about what it means to be a donor organization.  I explained that it is usually the mentality of those of us who give foreign aid, that we are the givers and those in other countries are the receivers.  There is nothing that receipients in poor countries have that we need, so the relationship is very one way. 

This has, I believe, a psychological impact on countries who receive as well as donors who give, and it is unhealthy.  SALT, I explained, changed that mentality for me.  We had, by requirements of the program, find families in Burundi to accept volunteers, and care for them as family members for a year.  This is not the same as renting a room, in fact there was an expectation that the families would, for the most part take care of all the SALTers needs, and they would not pay rent. 

I admitted to the families that I was dubious about the possibility of finding such families in Burundi and was not even very comfortable with asking a Burundian family to make a sacrificial committment to care for a rich mzungu.  But I am glad we did this.  It was quite amazing to find that there were families who were willing to do this.  I think it helped to humble me, but also raise the self-esteem of some here who saw themselves as being able to really give to us, and not just be recipients of aid.  (Granted, I think it was more of a mental shift for me, but it was good to share this.  It is something that I admire about MCC, our philosophy of accompaniment rather than 'giving aid' I think, builds the self esteem of those we work with.  That is probably the only really sustainable thing we do.)

 Here is a picture of the cake we had for the dinner.  Fortunately what you can't see in the photos were the thousands of ants that were covering it when we brought it out.  (It is a pain that we get so many in our kitchen.)  But we ate it any way.  The story behind the cake, though is interesting.  It was actually meant to be for Rebecca's Birthday the day before.  We had arranged to have a small gathering with some or our missionary friends at Ubuntu restaurant as well as Zachee, Bridget, and Tim.  I had asked a baker to make a small cake.  (I said 15,000 fbu) on the phone (about $12).  He misunderstood me and made a 3 layer 50,000 fbu cake!  It was like a giant colorful wedding cake and way to big to bring to the restaurant for a small gathering.  So we decided to save it for the party with the SALTers which had a lot more people.  There was also plenty left over to pass on to the families of our staff.  (Not to mention the bits that were enjoyed by the ants.)

Last night we had a fairly crowded house as Jodi, Robyn, and Yolanda stayed the night with us.  (Brandon is still staying at the Horsts.)

So that was Sunday.  The rest of the week was fairly normal, although many of our activities were related to preparing for leaving town for 4 weeks.  Yes, it is finally here, vacation for us begins this Wednesday.  I have not really allowed myself to think about or even anticipate it.  One reason is because we have had to do so much traveling and programming the past 3 weeks, that it would have been a distraction.  But now we have passed our final Thursday through Sunday here and I can begin to get excited about seeing family and friends in the US. 

I am also going to glad to have a short break from Burundi given the security concerns.  Although the US embassy sent out notification that grenade attacks have dropped significantly, we have a new threat.  Al Shabob, the Alqaida connected Somalian rebel group blew up several suicide bombs in Kampala Uganda that killed 60 world cup fans watching the final game.  What is scary for us, is that they warned Uganda and Burundi that they would be attacking the two countries.  This is because these two countries have security forces in Somalia.  So now people are sitting very uneasily in Buj. waiting for a terrorist attack on Burundi.   Despite this, I do have to say that having officially crossed the 2 year mark of living here, I do feel that Burundi is home.  I will enjoy a visit back the US but I am already aware of things and people I will miss while we are away.

I need to leave this morning to drop Oren off at summer school and take a swim before a debriefing meeting with the SALTers.  I am very happy to report that it seems something has changed for him psychologically.  He is speaking french to his little Burundian friends.  (He is the only mzungu in summer school and it makes us feel like pretty hard core missionaries to still be here while most of the other mzungus have cleared out for the summer.)  Oren loves school though and likes to go there and play.  But he was also a gracious host with the Burundian kids from the SALTers families who were over here last night.

I hope he can retain his French over the break.  That it is for now, the next blog I post will be sent from Baltimore!!

Postscript:  I wanted to share an amusing anecdote that definitely falls in the "Africa wins again" category.  It has been an unfolding saga that we have been watching outside our front gate.  They are apparently grading (and maybe eventually cobblestoning) our road.  It has been a cause of some consternation because it has stirred up a lot of dust in an already dry season.  But what I am finding most perplexing and amusing in terms of strategy is this ongoing competition between ditch digging and road grading. 

The process began when about 50 ditch diggers came with shovels and cleared out the large gutter that runs next to our road for the flood waters of the rainy season.  (Most roads have a 2 to 6 foot deep 3 foot wide trench on one or both sides here.)  The ditch diggers cleared the ditch and put all the dirt, several feet high all down the road, on the road.  3 days later a roadgrader came and graded the road and pushed it back in the ditch.  3 days later the ditch diggers dug it out and 3 days after that the grader pushed it back in.  This has happened for about 5 or 6 times.  The grader seems to be winning because the road gets lower and lower and now our concrete driveway is about a one foot drop-off above the road. 

I don't know how this will end or whether it will be done by the time we get back.  But I do not understand what the strategy is beyond employing a lot of people to dig ditches and fill them back in.  Maybe it is because the road graders, donated by some country no doubt, look like they are being driven by people who are learning to use them on-the-job.  I am going to be optimistic that we will come back to our house and find a new road and an empty ditch.

World Cup Fever and Cruel Schools

David helping Marcelline with the chores.


I am writing this as we are watching the final match of the World Cup.  I am not sure who I am rooting for, but we do have at least one Dutch missionary friend here, but I personally believe Spain will prevail. 

I am also hoping I do not run out of steam here.  We had a fairly sleepless night last night as David had a fever.  When we awoke I had to get ready to preach at Odifax's (one of our staff) church.  The service began at 9 am and ended at 1:30 pm.  Despite the length of time, and the fact that David's fever did spike again during the service, it went pretty well.  I used the Ezekiel 37 passage, Valley of Dry Bones vision to talk about the importance not separating faith from action.  That is, one cannot preach the Gospel without ministering the the physical needs of people, or addressing social injustice in a society.  I warned of the dangers of an excessive focus on saving the soul at the expense of ministering to the body.

The extreme example of this I cited was based on my experience last year of visiting a Ghanian fort on the coast last year (in Ghana) where slaves were brought and held for shipment to Europe.  Thousands of slaves passed through there.  But what I said was most prominent in this fort was the very large Cathedral where the slavers went to pray and worship.  "What" I asked does a slaver pray before he beats and loads people into ships?"  "What passages in the Bible does he read?"  I also asked what praise songs a Christian Genosider might have sung in Rwanda before he goes out to kill all night?

My point was, that if we separate our faith from our works we run the risk of being like those people.  Christians on church on Sunday, but not living out our faith the rest of the week--confessing a Gospel that has no power to transform ourselves, and certainly not our communities or countries.

It was a pretty intense teaching, but well received.  I also was able to do at least a few things in Kirundi including reading part of the passage.   Rebecca watched the kids and was even able to make a doctor appointment for David, go to it, and come back long before the service ended.  I had heard about super long services here but 4 hours is a first for me.  It was a charismatic church so among the morning worship activities was a long session of singing and dancing, an excorcism, and 3 sermons.


I was surprisingly touched by a gesture at the end in which the pastor invited people up to make a love offering.  This was basically a payment to me.  What touched me is that they all knew that I was not poor, but a rich mzungu.  Yet many of them gave something.  I thought of the passage in the Bible where Jesus sees the widow giving at the temple and comments that her offering is the greatest there because others were giving out of their wealth, but she gave out of her poverty.  I received about $ 10 and I am trying to think of what would be a good thing to do with it that would please God and represent an investment in the future of this country.  (I will probably ask Jodi is there is a place they can use it at the Hope School for the Batwa.)


That brings me to the beginning of the week.  We started the week with a trip upcountry--a night in Gitega then another in Burasera with Jodi.  We were going to Gitega to meet with partners but also to take Yolanda (our SALTer) up to look at some potential houses for staying there next year.  (Yolanda has decided to extend her term for 2 more years and will be working with a partner in Gitega.)


The day was productive although we did not make any decisions on a house.  (She actually does not move up until September.)  We stayed the night with a couple who we recently met who is doing pastoral training at a church in Gitega.  It was nice to stay with someone and not at a guesthouse.  As much as I try, I am not a big fan of the town of Gitega, although since it is in the hills it is considerably cooler than Bujumbura.


We headed out the next day (Tuesday) to Burasira.  We had gone about 5 minutes down the dirt road when the battery light went on.  We knew we had a 2 hour drive ahead of us where there would be absolutely no services, gas, etc. and did not want to get stuck.  We turned around and went back to Gitega.  Fortunately I called one of our partner's Innocent who told us where we could get a car fixed in Gitega.


There is no garage per se in Gitega.  We pulled off on the side of a dirt road near some shops that sold various auto parts and met a mechanic who worked on the car outside.  A mechanic here would rarely have a shop, or really many more tools than a se of wrenches.  They are all 'shade tree' mechanics only without the shade tree.  (They work right out in the hot sun.)  The mechanic found the problem quickly, a broken alternator belt, and fixed it in just over an hour.  I was thankful we did not try to make the drive to Burasira and back before solving this problem.


The drive on dirt was extremely dusty, but that is way it is everywhere right now in dry season.  I swear at our house it feels like we are living in volcanic ash.  Every 2 days every surface--floor, tables chairs, books, is covered with fine red dust.  I will be happy when this season is over.  Ironically it is cooler than other time of year, but so dry.

We got to Jodi's house quite covered in dirt.   She had just finished teachng for the academic year and was full of stories about kids who had succeeded or failed their year.  As a westerner it is quite frustrating for her to deal with the Burundian school system--a vestige of colonialism--that finds just about any reason to fail kids and keep from continuing their education.  (It is the the diametric opposite of "no child left behind")


I think she stunned many of the teachers when she told her students at the beginning of the academic year in her English class that she would absolutely not let anyone fail their english class.  Not because she was easy, but because she was committed to do extra tutorials etc.   This is quite a contrast to other teachers who are basically trying to design tests that will trip up even the wisest students or give sufficient numbers of demerits for dress code, absences, etc. to warrant failure of the course.  (This is how the teachers were educated so it is what they know.)


The most appalling rule, and this is Burundian law, is that if a student misses any final exam in any class for any reason whatsoever, they fail the entire academic year and must repeat it, EVEN if they are the first ranked student in the class.  (Incidentally students are aware of their class ranking as early as preschool.)  There is NO opportunity to take a make up exam!  If you miss the day of the test for any reason you fail and repear the class and must repeat the entire academic year in every subject.  That is the law!

Jodi had several heartbreaking stories about several very bright batwa kids who, due to malaria or typhoid, missed a single exam and failed their year.  Two were at the top of the class and were already bored with the year.  She doubts they will come back if they have to repeat the whole year.


By contrast she told us of a few kids who came to the exams and barely passed because they were almost too sick to stand up.  One kid had an infected abssess that had to be drained by making a cut down his side from elbow down to his hip.  Despite this he was in the class for his french exam barely able to sit in a seat.


It is sad that as a foreigner, it is easy to see so many ways in which this country is shooting itself in the foot.  I know it is because in many ways it has inherited a legacy of failure and cruelty, but even 50 years after colonialism it is sad to see the education system has not significantly changed.

We left Burasira Wednesday morning with Jodi in tow as she is beginning her vacation.


On Thursday we went to a farewell celebration for Brandon and Robyn with World Outreach Initiatives, our partner where they are secunded.  It was a nice celebration remembering the year.  The partners were effusive about how valuable their contribution was and how much they would be missed.  There were many calls to have them stay another year.  I sense that despite how singular this experience was for them, they will be happy to go back to the US.  They have really been troopers, living with Burundian families, riding public transport and working in a very Burundian context.


The SALTers will leave Burundi on July 20th.  We had a brunch with them and Jodi and Bridget and Zachee on Saturday morning.

Well the World Cup is over, Spain won and I need to get ready for work.  Oren is going to get to go to summer school today so he is happy.



I am sorry about the lack of relevant pictures, I will probably go back midweek and post a few pix of the aforementioned events. 

4th of July in Bujumbura

The boys and I at the 4th of July picnic at the US Marine House in Bujumbura.

I feel I can get off a little this evening because Rebecca wrote a midweek report about the Presidential election.  As she noted, they went fairly smoothly and the current President won a whopping 85% majority in the country.  Of course he was the sole candidate so that makes it a bit easier.  Although we still hear reports of grenade attacks from time to time, it does not seem that anyone is in an uproar.  

Actually the current obsession is the World Cup.  It honestly seems as if everyone has stopped doing everything in order to watch it.  Even Rebecca and I turn it on most evenings and anytime a goal is scored we hear loud shouts from all over the city wafting into our windows.

The defeat of Ghana was quite surprising as far as experiencing here what I would call an "African" psychology.  I have not really sensed any consciousness in Burundi of people seeing themselves as "Africans".  In fact, they seem far more interested in parsing differences between Hutu, Tutsi, Twa, etc.  But when Ghana was playing Uruguay and was ultimately defeated I sensed in the city, everywhere, a sense of deep sadness and disappointment.  Ghana, the only African team left in the quarter finals was the great African hope, and the loss was palpable here.  

(It was interesting listening to the game here in French and then hearing Burundian commentary afterward, the word Uruguay sounds phonetically like the Kirundi Uragwaye which means "You are sick." Or Uragoye "You are annoying". )  Anyway, Uruguay did not please anyone in Africa on Friday night.

One thing I should mention in this blog is the weather.  It is the dry season, and although it is a bit cooler than other times of year, it is so dry and dusty.  This is exasperated by the fact that our road is being fixed.  This involves pushing a lot of dirt around with road graders.  We have about a quarter inch of dust on the porch and in the house every other day.  It is like living in volcanic ash I suppose.  Our poor cleaner, Odifax has to work extremely hard to keep the place clean.  

This also means the kids are constantly filthy.  They really seem to like to roll in the dirt, often they play at home in the hose so the dust turn to a sort of fine mud that covers their clothes and bodies.  Despite this, David and Oren are great playmates these days, especially that Oren is out of school.

Oren still complains about missing school and asks daily if it is beginning again soon, but he does find things to do at home, and we have devised a series of projects that are like things he does at school.  The other problem is that most all of his school friends have left town for the summer (and elections.)  We have gone to Club du Lac T from time time and have found it eerily quiet, no kids running around and playing in the pool.  There are a few dads left, but everyone else is gone.

Probably the most interesting day of the week was Sunday.  It began with Rebecca and the kids going to  our regular church service while I went to visit a local "Mennonite" church here.  I put Mennonite in quotations because it is not a church recognized in any way by the Mennonite World Conference, it is just a church registered by a Burundian pastor here as the Burundian Mennonite Church in hopes of getting some money from MCC or other Mennonite groups.  

It was not an easy visit.  I generally do not like to go on 'field visits' because of the artifice surrounding such events.  I am always put in a place of honor and it always seems as if the entire event is a performance for me.  It is then followed by a giant meal in my honor.

This was no different, and in fact I was seated on a platform directly behind the pastor, basically in the place at the front of the church where one hangs a crucifix or cross.  If I had extended my arms out I would have made a good substitute Jesus, and that is exactly how I felt.

It does annoy me when I feel like, as a white person, we are perceived to be saviors here, it is a mentality here that particularly grieves me, and a peception that is particularly hard to break.  I generally need to sit quietly in such spectacles and be gracious and polite.

Later, I privately explained for the 100th time to the pastor that MCC does not support churches and would not be providing them with a new church building or a new vehicle at any time in the future.  I did manage to leave after being with them about three and a half hours.

Sunday afternoon was far better.   All of the US citizens in Burundi were invited to a party at the marine house (place where US marines who guard the embassy live--there are 6 of them I think) for a 4th of July picnic.  It was a lot of fun.  I was not surprised to see that basically every American in Burundi could fit in a backyard.  The food was awesome!  It was a potluck featuring a lot of American picnic food like deviled eggs, potato salad, baked beans, enchiladas, apple pie, brownies, etc.  

What struck me was the diversity of careers and political persuasions represented there, conservative Christians, University students doing research, military and diplomatic personnel,  heads of NGOs (liberals),  even a few Jehovahs Witnesses.  But there was no feeling of "Red and Blue" here.  There was no political bitterness between us all.  We were all really happy to be together with other Americans regardless of who they were.  It was a particularly meaningful 4th of July.  

Among the things we did besides swim and chat, was hear a speech from Obama read, and watch a ceremony of a marine being promoted. 

After the picnic we went over to the English fellowship where Rebecca preached the last sermon of that service for the summer.  We came home pretty exhausted and Rebecca in the kids went to bed right after dinner.

Afterthought:

I am thinking, after spending time with other Americans on July 4th, about our country.  I am grateful to be an American, especially when I think about the ideals our country was built on.  But I do skim daily, reports about the bitter political and idealogical battles being waged over 'liberal' and 'conservative' issues regarding the economy, social, and other defining issues.

It is interesting to see Burundi through the lens of some of these debates.  Here, for instance, is a 2nd Ammendment's fan's paradise.  Everyone seems to have the right to bear arms and form militias to oppose the government and they do!  Small arms and hand grenades are readily available on the black market for as little as $1 each.  Consequently political differences that we might settle or argue about in a newspaper, are discussed here with randomly lobbed grenades.  (Grenades are also used to settle other disputes like being dumped by your girlfriend.  I guess that is a hazard of having them readily available for political discourse.)

I am pretty desensitized but I think visitors are a bit alarmed to see most every police man wielding an m-16, AK-47 or other automatic weapon ( and there are 100s of police in town everywhere you go.)  But with everyone having access to a weapon, law enforcement needs a lot of them too.  We are very used to hearing automatic weapon fire and grenades going off every night and are told that it is not a war, just criminals breaking and entering houses to rob people.  (Probably being met with return fire.)

Abortion is also illegal here and family planning is not promoted (except abstinence only).  The average family size is about 7 children and more than 50% of the country is under 17.  There is not sufficient money for education or any plan about what will happen to future generations.  Food security is a serious problem as well.  People just keep having more and more babies with a faith that God will take of them.  (Most of them leave it up to God because parents rarely survive beyond the age of 45)

Homosexuality, of course. is illegal as well, and in neighboring Uganda there is legislation in Parliament to make homosexuality punishable by death.  I think Burundi would find support to follow suit.

So I guess it depends on what you want.  In some ways it seems like there are those in our country that would like to see us look a bit more like Burundi with a lot of militias and gun wielding citizens, more babies, and a lot less homosexuals.

I guess after living here, I am appreciating more the great diversity and tolerance our great society allows.  I appreciate the protection our government offers all its citizens, and especially the many good social things our taxes pay for like social security, schools, good roads, national parks, social services, sewage systems, garbage collection, and protection from being poisoned by food we eat, water we drink, etc.

It is in light of all of this that I can say with pride and happiness "God Bless America".  I hope that Burundi might strive to resemble us at our best, and we would not strive to resemble Burundi at its worst.

Midweek Update--Two visions of Burundi: malaria and the mango tree

Rebecca writing tonight: We wanted to write a brief mid-week update to all of you, because we know that many of you have been praying for Burundi especially hard during this week of presidential elections. People woke up very fearful on Monday morning, election day. Rumors abounded about violence which would be planned to prevent voters from going to the polls. But things were quiet all morning. By 9 am, people in the polling stations were breathing a little easier every time a motorcycle drove by. (Lately, grenades have often been thrown by the passengers of motorcycle taxis). 

By the middle of the day, we were getting reports that “people were voting in security” all over the country. There were no reports of significant violence. People were able to get to the polls and express themselves, as much as is possible in a one-man race. Turnout was much higher outside of Bujumbura than in the capital city. People in this urban area show a lot more diversity in their political affiliations; and also they have been living under a lot more fear, of late. Evidently, the current president won over 90% approval from the people who chose to vote. I haven’t heard statistics about the percentage turnout compared to the number of voters registered. 

At the end of the day on Monday I was responsible for driving some of our international observers back to their lodgings. I felt fine at that point driving them home and was so thankful that we didn’t have to endure overt violence. It was interesting to hear about their impressions in an informal way: overall, they felt that the staff at the polling stations really made an effort to be professional. But people were tired. I felt an intense weariness myself which was hard to explain in any other way than by this sense of preparing for the worst, and then finally letting go of anxiety.

Actually, that sense of extreme exhaustion reminded me a lot of what I felt once the symptoms of malaria finally wore off. And it struck me that these elections are a lot like a severe, recurring case of psycho-malaria, suffered by the whole country. Every night, as an election draws near, the symptoms of fear get worse, you loose you bearings as you start to worry about various scenarios, you can’t sleep, grenades and gunfire disturb your dreams. And then during the day, you feel a bit more normal, almost as if you could do all the normal things. And the cycle gets worse right up to election day when finally the “fever” breaks. But you’re left depleted and exhausted. So Burundi has now suffered two malaria episodes. People are really tired. And we’ve got at least three more rounds of election days to go. Malaria isn’t usually fatal on it’s own—but the exhausted patient suffering repeated episodes of a resistant strain might not make it. Please just keep praying for Burundi, for people’s stamina here. 

I spent two hours on the election day joining a 24 hour prayer vigil. I think most folks poured themselves out praying all Sunday night, so I was part of the relief party on Monday morning. I was thankful that God gave me another picture of Burundi in the midst of all the anxiety here. I found myself thinking of a mango tree as a metaphor. The tree was set on fire 17 years ago. But now the tree is now covered with flowers, and even a few good-sized fruits have already formed. Yes, it’s a bit dusty, but there is so much potential for a rich crop. Yet around the base of the tree, ill-behaved children are fighting one another to claim ownership of the tree. One thinks, “I’ll chop down the tree if I can’t have it.” Another says, “I’ll set the fire around the tree to get it.” One boy is bigger than the rest, and easily knocks down the others. 

And the parents? Where are they? They are the church, huddled, seeking shelter, not knowing what to do about such behavior. But now some are realizing, we do not need to be afraid. We are the parents. We can tell these boys, “NO! You may not set this tree on fire again. For the sake of all of us and our children, you need to guard this tree well so that it can bear fruit for all of us.” 

Please pray for Christians here in Burundi that they will know the right response to all that is happening in this country. Pray for the church not to be manipulated by human powers on one side or another. Pray for courage to follow Jesus and to speak and act in ways that are fitting for the citizens of the Kingdom of God. And thank you for your prayers.