Fantas and Other Guilty Pleasures

Oren loves to do dare-devil stunts when Mommy and Daddy are working at home…and ignoring him.





In many ways I feel like this week is a vindication of last week. It is Saturday around noon right now and Rebecca and I just finished cleaning up the house (mostly small messes made by Oren in different locations) in preparation for having some guests over for dinner. The only thing left to do is to buy a case of Fantas (the honorary beverage of celebration here.) It is certainly a change from life in the US where colas are ubiquitous. Here, breaking out the Fantas is tantamount to opening bottles of champagne.


The occasion we are celebrating is my Birthday (49—really, not a repeat 49!). Nothing big, but we are inviting Zachee, Bridget and Timmy over. Rebecca, at Oren’s request has made a cake. She baked it in bread loaf pans and plans to make a train out of it. Oren really likes to bake, or pretend to bake. He likes to mix ingredients and assist in cooking things. I think his interest in this is thanks to the influence of his Gramma Jean and Grammy Bunny who often cooked with him.



This was a good week in many ways, especially as a contrast to some of the hair-raising experiences of the week before. To begin with, we are all recovering from our colds. This is not to say we had no doctor’s visits. Oren had a recurring low fever for several days this week along with his stuffy nose that concerned us. It is interesting how our perception of what is ailing us changes so much here. In the US a cold and stuffy nose is assumed to be a cold, or at worst the flu, and it would have to get pretty bad before we would see a doctor. Here we are immediately wondering if the illness is just a cold, or maybe typhoid, or malaria, or any number of other tropical illnesses. The fact is, though, there are a lot of run of the mill viruses here as well. And with Oren in pre-school he is exposed to them and is bringing them home.


Speaking of school, I want to give a report on Oren’s progress. In many ways we have been second guessing ourselves about sending him to the French language pre-school. On Thursday evening there were parent-teacher conferences scheduled. I went while Rebecca stayed home with the kids. I was preparing for the worst. Mdm. Cecille is renowned for her discipline and rigor. I expected that she would be telling me that Oren was belligerent and unteachable. In fact, she was quite complimentary. She said he was fairly strong-willed and sometimes resisted changing from one activity to another. But he was learning, and doing better, and was not a trouble-maker (aggressive, fighting other kids, etc.) She said he was beginning to understand the language, and although not speaking, was beginning to listen. I also saw many examples of his coloring, painting, and other crafts on display. I have to say, he has improved markedly in interesting ways. He has learned how to draw lines, circles, connect dots, and color pictures in completely, even staying in the lines. I am not saying it is brilliant, but I would not have thought he could do this at 3. He even holds the crayon right! (This is something I have noticed as I watch him color at home. Notice him doing so, in the picture!) –I have no doubt he is now on the fast track to a full scholarship at Harvard Medical School.


It is interesting that my initial reaction to the level of discipline in the Premiere Maternelle, was to bristle. It is not ‘very American’ to demand a lot of 3 year olds. I remember how surprised I was when we brought her some of his coloring homework and she shook her head, clicked her tongue and said: “Non, ce n’est pas bien fait.” Il faut colorer tout le dessin.” (Non, it is not done well, you must color the whole picture.) But he is really getting better when he is asked to do it.
Even more importantly, he seems to be getting used to it. He still is not happy that 5 days of the week are school days, but he does seem to be making friend there. This was evident on Friday. Parents were invited to come mid-morning and watch a Carnaval (Mardi Gras) parade. Oren and his class were ‘le soleil’ (the sun) and had made yellow masks. We were told to send him dressed in yellow that day.

(After the parade, a group of Oren's classmates came flocking around David in his carseat. Oren, the heroic big brother quickly charged up and shooed them away.)


When we went, all the classes had different costume themes and had a huge parade around the school yard. Afterwards they sang songs and then got to play and go home the rest of the morning. We met some other parents and some of Oren’s friends. It was very nice. And it was clear that Oren did like to do things at his school. We also felt very positively about the school community, as well as teachers and administrators. It is good to get to this point where Oren (and we) are beginning to overcome the shock of being back, and settling into routines, finding community, and making a life here. I should add that taking capoeira (see last week) from the director of the school creates an additional informal connection that has tied us closer to that community.

Something else worth mentioning honestly makes me feel guilty, is the recent establishment of an Indian restaurant here. And when I say Indian restaurant, I don’t just mean any Indian restaurant. Khana Khazana is the same restaurant that we go to in Rwanda. Rebecca and I are connoisseurs of Indian food having spent our childhood in South Asia and I can say with authority that it is a 100% pucca (5 star) Indian restaurant. I honestly can’t believe it is here. It is a beautiful place with a fountain right in the restaurant, great service and awesome food. My reason for feeling guilty is that it makes Burundi much less of a hardship to have such a great restaurant here. The cost is also far cheaper than the US. Entrées are $6 apiece, rather than $14 or $15 for comparable food at home.


We went for the first time last Sunday with our friends the Carrs. (the Scottish family.) We really enjoy them and their 3 boys, although quite a bit older than Oren, really play well with him, and Oren loves that. That same night we saw a lot of our other friends from the expatriate community. Here is a picture I took outside the restaurant with Isaac on his motorcycle as well as other people from our church. It was like mzungu night at Khana Khazana, but then I thought probably every night there is mzungu night since word has spread quickly about the place.


Rebecca and I are continuing to make progress in language. Her French is markedly better and she is able to understand meetings with our partners without translation. Speaking is coming more slowly of course. My Kirundi is coming far more slowly and I have been frustrated by getting bogged down in a lot of grammatical rules when I lack a lot of vocabulary and practice in making simple conversation. Last week, at my request we read a Kirundi comic book (produced by former MCC rep. Deanna Hiebert). It was a teaching tool about respecting others, particularly inter-ethnically and has a sort of Good Samaritan theme with a twa boy helping another boy who had treated him badly when the latter was beaten up. It was great to be able to see what I could understand and to get some more conversational kind of vocabulary. I still feel quite ignorant, but I do actually find I can understand more Kirundi when I overhear it, and I am able to communicate reasonably well with our gardener who does not speak French or English.

This weekend we are getting ready for another trip to Rwanda. We have a lot of preparations to do for an MCC regional meeting that we are hosting. The challenge will be to find things for the several children coming to do who will be there with their parents. We will report our success next week, in the meantime, look for us on Skype if you have it.

Hippos and Other Road Hazards

Zachee with David at dinner last Sunday

If this blog entry is short this week, it is not because there is a lack of things to write about, but rather that this is the busiest week of work of the entire year. That is because we must turn in all of our strategic plans for the coming year as well as the annual reports for the last year. In short, we are translating tons of partnership plans and reports and putting them into the database. It is a lot of work but it will not need to be done for another year once we are finished.

The week was quite full of activities. Last weekend we went out and visited a local ‘game park’, it comprised a small area of land next to a river bed feeds into Lake Tanganyika and it is full of hippos. It is not really like going to Busch Gardens. Burundi has little left in the way of wildlife as pretty much everything has been eaten by people, but Lake Tanganyika still has hippos and crocs. We stopped at the entrance where we picked up a guide and an armed guard, paid a fee of about $5, then headed down to the river edge. The first place we stopped, the hippos were quite active, and making a lot of noise. I felt like we were very close to them, and could hear some others in nearby reeds that we could not see. I was hoping one would not come crashing through and surprise us. We also saw many migratory birds, but no crocodiles. Since then I have seen quite a few hippos out in the Lake right down the road from our house and by a restaurant we like to go to. One of our friends told us they were eating there one evening and a hippo came out of the lake and was grazing about 5 feet from their car when they left. I don’t know if it is because this is the rainy season, but hippo sightings have been very frequent in the last week, most recently on the way to church this morning.

I would be lying if I were to say this has not been a hard week for other reasons besides work. The culprit? Illness. All of us have been sick to varying degrees and have needed medical attention. We are all currently suffering from what I would describe as the flu.

The worst health crisis we had though, involved David last Monday. That is the day we all take our antimalarial medication. When Rebecca gave David his dose, (1/8th of a tablet) he began wretching and gagging and salivating profusely. It seemed like he was going to choke to death on his own mucous and saliva. It was about 9:30pm but we called an Egyptian doctor we knew was a pediatrician and asked him to meet us immediately at the Rainbow Center. I was doing my best not to panic and to keep David’s airway clear (I am thankful I had been trained and worked as an EMT years ago). Rebecca was definitely more in panic mode.

We got Oren (who was having a very bad evening in terms of tantrums), and loaded him in the car and we all headed over to Rainbow Center clinic—David wretching, Rebecca praying, Oren sobbing, and me driving down the unlit dirt roads of our neighborhood to the clinic. By the time we arrived, David’s condition was improved somewhat. He was not choking anymore. We explained what had happened and the doctor listened to his lungs and told us they were clear and the reaction had been in his mouth and perhaps sinuses.

On the way home we, concluded that David probably had reacted to the extremely bitter taste that may not have been dissolved in the milk. We are not sure, however, whether we want to risk getting the same reaction again and are considering taking him off antimalarials altogether. This of course, increases his risk significantly of contracting malaria. Not an easy choice to make. Please keep him and our decisions in prayer.

The next morning (Wednesday) we were not given much time to recover. After school, we all got in the car and headed up-country to Gitega to meet with partners, then Mutaho to see Jodi and the Hope School for the Batwa. (I should note that getting permission to take Oren out of nursery school for 2 days in a row was a major ordeal and Oren’s teacher chastened us severely about her concern for his development. He is apparently behind in coloring in the lines, and proper holding of a crayon. But we took our chances :-)

The drive up was not bad. I am definitely getting good at the treacherous drive up along the narrow winding roads frequented by large double trailer tanker trucks coming from Dar Es Salaam.

We stopped in Gitega and met with some partners, (Oren was quite patient) then headed on the unpaved very rough road to Mutaho. Two hours later we met Jodi at her house by the seminary. It is quite nice and we opted to sleep there rather than the seminary where we usually stay. We did stop in there and have dinner with the priests though and they were delighted to see us with our new baby. Oren, of course, was thrilled to see the monkey again.

Staying at Jodi’s was a nice idea in theory, but in practice there were problems. The main problem was that there were fleas in the guest bed and tons of mosquitos and no nets. I stayed in one guest bed with Oren, and Rebecca stayed in another. I cannot explain this but the next morning Oren was covered from head to toe with flea and mosquito bites and I did not have one…and we had slept in the same bed! The poor little guy has been itching them like crazy and looks like he has small pox.

The next morning we got up for the main event and the reason why we had decided to come up to see Jodi this week. There was a graduation ceremony for 8 sixth graders at the Hope School. (Just a reminder, this is the school for Twa children who are very marginalized in Burundi. This was the first matriculating class of 6th graders who had come up in the school since kindergarten. (The school is 6 years old.) These students will be able to go on to the secondary school that just opened there last year.

It was a huge event and many VIPS (like our family) other sponsors, local govt. officials, priests from the seminary, were all invited to give speeches. Interspersed between the speeches the children did an extensive program of singing, poetry and dance. (I am putting up some video of one of the dances.) I was not able to find out much about the dance, though it intrigued me. I am not sure if it was traditional Burundian or perhaps Batwa traditional dance. It was great to watch the kids to it though.

Another amusing part of the program was a skit showing the value of staying in school. What I found intriguing was the way the ‘bad influence’ kids dressed,--sunglasses upside down, red bandanas, low slung pants, and other markers of hip-hop gangsta’ culture. I mused that in a remote village, in a remote country in Afica, they still have some exposure to mainstream about pop culture.

The program, like all such programs here was exceedingly long and required all of Oren’s patience. (We mzungus were put front and center to watch it all even though it was mostly in Kirundi.) It lasted about 3 ½ hours. Oren and David did surprisingly well and I was amazed at his developing patience. Oren did tell me later that it was too long for him. Several times he took a break and ran around with the batwa school kids, but I know he was very happy to return to Jodi’s house.

We left Mutaho on Friday morning, taking on one extra passenger, Jodi’s housekeeper who had a sick child in Bujumbura that she wanted to see. The trip was uneventful and it was good to be home.

I was glad we had returned on time Friday for me to go to the weekly capoeira class at Oren’s school. It was a good way to get exercise although my knees were exceedingly sore after last week. The trip home however was most unforgettable: When I pulled out onto the main road at 7:30 pm I saw that traffic was not moving. I decided to cut through some neighborhoods to an alternate route. The roads were not paved but passable in the land cruiser, and there was no one on them. I crossed an intersection when what I took to be an insane old woman ran out in front of me and started screaming and pounding on the car. I really did think she was crazy and considered speeding up to try and get by her. But I did, for some reason, decide to step out and see what was going on. To my horror I discovered that on the other side of the intersection I was crossing they had excavated the road and left an enormous hole directly in my path where the road should have been. (About 12 feet deep and 10 feet wide and 20 feet long. I would have crashed into it and probably died or been seriously injured. There was absolutely no marker anywhere or barrier. The road I was on continued around to the left of the hole, but required a serious jag around the obstacle—something you would only do if you knew about it in advance.

I can tell you that it took a while to realize how shaken I was. On the one hand the drive home was completely uneventful, nothing bad happened. On the other hand, I was about 2 feet from being hurt badly or killed. And what stood between me and that was an old woman whom I thought was crazy and almost ignored. (I’m sure she was thinking the same thing about me.)

I’m not sure there is a moral here, but what I would say in regards to the hazards of living in a third world country: Most people in the US who expressed concerned about our safety, were thinking in terms of security. They seemed to have in the back of their minds, vague anxieties about turbaned terrorists speaking Arabic and carrying automatic weapons. The reality is that the real hazards we face are a result of the assumptions we make. The entitlement we as Americans have about public safety for instance. We generally operate under the assumption that our food and water is not contaminated, that the products we use are safe, that our wires won’t electrocute us, that we can walk on sidewalks and cross streets without being run over, that a stairway of a 2 story building will not collapse, that our children’s medicine is not made with antifreeze, or that a giant excavation in the middle of a dark road will be marked in some way. The entitlements of public safety simply do not exist here, those who live here never believed they did and are appropriately skeptical. But those of us coming from places where we are protected are in for some rude surprises. The only chance we have is to heed the old women shaking their fists at us and screaming.

Batwa Children's Dance

Humbled By Hospitality

This was not a terribly eventful week as far as trips or unusual happenings, but trying to give a sense of the exotic ordinary can be interesting and a challenge as well. We are getting used to a way of life here that certainly differs from our life in the USA, but which has much to recommend it.

Probably the most striking difference is the weather. Coming back to Burundi in the middle of winter (in the USA) was quite a change. Seasons here are more subtle, but quite distinct. We first arrived in July, the middle of the dry season. I remember being struck by how hot and hazy the city seemed. Everything seemed dusty and polluted. I was a bit disappointed because our predecessors described Burundi as the Switzerland of Africa. I could not imagine what they meant. There was nothing that seemed terribly picturesque even though Bujumbura sits at the bottom of foothills on the edge of Lake Tanganyika.

January, however, is an entirely different season. It is the rainy season here and the air is very clear. It’s pleasantly warm instead of oppressively hot. As I mentioned last week, with the dust out of the air the mountain ranges of Congo rise across the lake, and the foothills of the Burundian countryside surround the city. It does have the look of Switzerland (although the mountains are not snowcapped.) I am appreciating the beauty of this place at this time of year.

It is nice to be able to walk about in our backyard and see flowers in bloom perpetually. We have many tropical blooms (see photos), palm, and fruit trees as well (papaya, mango, and guava). We have planted a vegetable garden where we have already harvested lettuce and a constant supply of basil. We just added summer squash, and will add spinach and broccoli soon.

Work was very busy once again this week as we are in the last two crucial weeks of strategic planning and budgeting. We have been meeting with our partners quite frequently to negotiate the grants we give them (with the inevitable cuts.) It is sad to make cuts because I appreciate how effectively they use the money donated by so many in the US and Canada, on behalf of those who really need it, in the form of programs that really change lives. Their commitment is really inspiring.

Onesphore, who directs Moisson Pour Christ (Harvest for Christ), is one example. His group is primarily evangelical, but has been doing some amazing work upcountry with a community income generating project (shared farm), that brings tutsi, hutus, and twa (pygmy people) together to work and share the fruits of their labor. This work is so important. It builds bonds between tutsi and hutu, but also with the twa, who are an extremely marginalized group, considered to be little more than animals by the other two ethnic groups. To get these communities to begin to share in common goals and mutual respect is really an astounding feat. Onesphore has even convinced the tutsi and hutu community members to help build better houses for their twa neighbors, an unheard-of idea! He is also setting up a twa primary school and even envisions a seminary for twa pastors at some time in the future.

He is a passionate evangelist and I asked him about his divergence into sustainable development as a focus in this project. He smiled and told me that although he has not been preaching the gospel with words, the actions are speaking volumes. “We cannot preach to them if we are not willing to show them Christ’s love in tangible ways.” Many of the twa, who have such low self-esteem that they will not even in eat in the homes of tutsi and hutu, were astounded that Moisson Pour Christ has been reaching out to them in love with a commitment to make their lives better. One twa woman asked him: “Who are you that you would care about us??” She was sobbing with joy and amazement.

It is hard to tell Onesphore that we cannot do more for him, as far as money goes. We have such respect for his work. But the global financial crisis and rising unemployment in the US is affecting MCC’s work quite directly. We are feeling the pain, and so are our partners. I am praying that as people in the US must reevaluate their lifestyles, that there might be a real desire to simplify, and not to sacrifice generosity first, before other things are put aside.

Speaking of lifestyles, Rebecca and I had a fairly humbling experience ourselves last week. My language teacher Jean-Baptiste and his wife had a baby recently. Rebecca and I decided, after my lesson last week, that we would go to his home to see the new baby. Jean-Baptiste was delighted. We drove with him to Kanyosha, a community on the outskirts of Bujumbura. Jean-Baptiste and his wife might be, in the US, a middle class family: he is a college graduate and a certified secondary school teacher with a good job; his wife works as an administrator at a hospital in the city.

Their whole house, however was about the size of our living room. With the dirt yard it would have fit in our living and dining room. But what really shocked me was the number of people in it: he and his wife, their two children, his brother and his two children, and about four other ‘orphans’ of relatives whose parents had died during the civil war, or as a result of disease. Taking care of orphans is the responsibility of pretty much every family in Burundi, as there are so many children without parents. So there were 9-10 people living in a house the size of my living room, and this was what I would consider a well-to-do professional class family. (They did have a tv in the room which was about the only thing besides the furniture).

They were, of course, hospitable to a fault while we were there. They brought us orange Fantas (the celebratory beverage of choice) as well as maracouja (passionfruit juice) and peanuts. I was aware that none of the children were given any of this. Only the honored ‘mzungu’ guests, and Jean Baptiste got the juice, fanta, and nuts until we offered them to the kids. We ate and drank sparingly because I was aware that anything we finished would be immediately replaced by a new one, something that would have been very difficult to afford. Hospitality is a value held above most others here and I know we blessed them by visiting, but I was also reminded, once again, of just what the level of disparity in our lifestyles looks like. In short, we are paid a lot more for the work that we do than he and his wife are. Living simply is a Mennonite value, and Burundi is a place where Rebecca and I are feeling motivated to explore it more fully.

Another lesson about hospitality: On Sunday, just as we were about to go out and meet some friends, we got a call from Denise, Oren’s nanny. She asked if she could stop by because she was nearby. We said that was fine, but ended up waiting for her for almost half an hour. We were getting annoyed and assumed that she was dropping by on a non-work day because she needed a loan or something. When she finally appeared, she was carrying a big straw basket filled to the brim with fresh green peas in their pods! She had just come back from a visit to her mother up-country, and her mother sent her down with this produce from the farm. We were humbled by her generosity. And we enjoyed Burundian peas and rice for lunch all week.

Oren had school this past week and got a mixed report from his teacher. Some days he was fine, but he also had some rough patches. During coloring period on Wednesday, Oren did not want to sit and draw. When they insisted, he threw his crayons and shoes all around the room (according to the teacher’s report.) When I asked Oren about it, he told us he took off his pants and threw them around as well. I am not sure if that was an exaggeration, or something the teacher deferentially did not mention to me. (Nor do I plan to inquire further :-) On Friday he woke up with a sore stomach and I was told that he vomited in class that morning, but apparently was fine the rest of the time.

I am working with him at home on drawing and writing skills to try to encourage him to be better about sitting still and working. He does seem to be more interested in French and has asked us how to say some words. He also announced to us that he has a ‘girlfriend’ in his class.

Something amusing: He acknowledged, for the first time last week, that he was aware of differences in race. We have not ever mentioned it at all. But when he was talking to us about Denise, his caretaker, he told us she was ‘purple’. I asked what he meant, he said “Denise is a purple person.” I asked what color our cook Marcelline and his friend Timmy were and he said purple as well. When asked what color he was, he said he was golden.

Rebecca and I are trying to find a good rhythm for work and parenting. Having Oren at school from 8-12 every day gives us plenty of time for work in the morning. We take David to the office with us. But in the afternoons we feel we need to make sure Oren gets parent time as well as time with Denise. We are trying out a “mommy day” on Tuesdays, where Rebecca takes care of Oren exclusively after lunch while Denise watches David, and a “daddy day” on Thursdays where he spends the day after lunch with me. We, of course, have our weekends and evenings together. It is tricky to be intentional about all of this when we share a job, and also have childcare options available, but it is clear he needs some help.

This past Thursday I put David and him in the jogging stroller and took them over to a small play area at the Rainbow Center. Rainbow Center is a small orphanage and health clinic where he can ride a tricycle and play on some swings. Usually a few of the orphaned children play with him. Here he is on tricycles with Dani and Anna.

David is still relatively low maintenance thanks to his lack of mobility. We are trying to set up his room better though, and last week we set up a crib loaned to us by Zachee. It is made out of very heavy wood, screwed together, and would be, by hyper-legalistic US safety standards ‘rickety’. But it does have a mosquito net which is de rigeur in Burundi.

As a footnote I would add that I am slowly but surely getting back into an exercise routine that currently features CAPOEIRA! Capoeira is an Afro-Brazilian martial art that is danced (historically as a way to disguise its practice on slave plantations.) Much of break-dancing acrobatics evolved from it. What is cool is that I used to study it in New York City when I was a dancer. It is great to be able to do it again! The teacher is Belgian, and happens to be the director of L’Ecole Belge, where Oren goes to school. I played last night and I am sore this morning, but very happy for the chance to be able to do something physical and dancey.

The Sublime and the Haggis

I am a fan of Immanuel Kant, particularly his discussion of beauty and the sublime in his Critique of Judgment. While he describes both as a stimulation of the senses, he distinguishes between these two particular types of experience by describing beauty as inciting pure pleasure, and the sublime as a inciting a sense of awe—a mixture of aesthetic pleasure and terror. (An experience of seeing, say, a tidal wave or a tornado at a safe distance.)

That is how I would describe the view of the mountains of Eastern Congo rising up on the far side of Lake Tanganyika. In the rainy season the sky is quite clear (not dusty) and we can look across the lake at a large, spectacular range rising on the other side. It is gorgeous at sunset, but terrifying as well, in my mind. Eastern Congo remains as untamed as it was 100 years ago. As I read daily news reports of the wars fought and the blood shed for its myriad resources, I get a feeling that it is still the 'dark heart' of this continent. Its daunting landscape seems to give form to its brutal history, a sight majestic and terrifying to those of us who have the privilege of seeing it—from a distance.

We are just back from Kigali, Rwanda today. We drove up on Wednesday to meet with partners. We went as a family because we thought it would be nice to introduce our partners to David. If we had not gone together, I would have had to go alone. We left Wednesday after Oren’s school. (He was very pleased to find he would not have to go on Thursday and Friday.)

The trip took about 6 hours to get to Kigali and an hour once we got to the city, to crawl along with traffic to our guest house. We got there about 7 pm. The border was about as good as it can be with four foreigners and a car leaving one country and entering another. We did try to hurry things along by having David out when he began to cry. I think the sight of a family traveling with two little kids in tow did garner sympathy from the immigrations and customs officials. One Rwandan border guard plucked David out of Rebecca’s arms and proceeded to take several photos of herself with the mzungu baby on her cell phone. But it still takes time as they have to enter all of our information, individually in at least 3 separate books. (This is done by hand in pen and ink, no computers here yet.)

We stayed at the Africa New Life Missions guest house in Kigali, a place we like to stay because it is great for kids, AND has wireless internet in the house! (Hey, you all need to keep your Skypes on!)

Thursday morning we met with our partners at Friends Peace House. We had to go over their strategic plans for next year and the realities of our budget for next year. We felt a bit like the bearers of grim news as we are having to tell them just how tight funds are for next year, and they are already surviving on a shoestring.

They also told us that Rwanda has imposed, rather suddenly, a requirement that English, rather than French, become the official second language of the country. Immediately French study is ended in schools and all teachers who could not speak or teach English were fired. This has made our partners very nervous as they fear the NGOs will be next, with a requirement that all official correspondence be in English. They have asked us for assistance with language study.

We also did some interviews of kids who are part of one of the programs we support called Mwana N’shuti. It is a program that provides schooling and technical training to street kids and orphans. They receive education in reading, speaking English, peace and reconciliation, public health (AIDS prevention), as well as trades like sewing, hair cutting, and farming. Here is a picture of a sewing class. The interviews were very informative and also reminded me just how different our standards of living are. Many of these kids were living off of garbage in the streets for food before they came to the Mwana N’shuti program. (They are put into foster care and given full time care and education by the program.) They had no or only one parent (because of war or disease). When I asked them what they wanted to do when they finished, most said they wanted to get work using their skills in order to send money to their impoverished surviving parent or siblings. Some hope, beyond that, to be able to afford the tuition for secondary school (Grade 7-12).

Besides meeting partners, we also took an opportunity to shop at NAKUMATT, a large supermarket/department store where we are able to get many things we can’t get in Burundi. We bought long life light bulbs, dish soap, and less expensive DIAPERS among other things.

We also stopped and bought ice cream at least twice during our time there.

I am including some pictures to try to give an impression of Kigali. Here are some street shots—you can see it is a modern city.


These are taxis. (They do provide you with a helmet, but no insurance!)

The men dressed in pink are a fairly normal sight. They are work crews of Gucaca (guh-cha-cha) prisoners. These are people who have been put in prison as part of the post genocide attempt at restorative justice. Try to imagine putting on trial half the population of a country for crimes against humanity. How do you do it? What does justice look like? Primarily what survivors receive is an opportunity to face and accuse their assailants. Their stories are heard and a people’s court made up of community judges imposes a sentence based on whether the accused was a leader or a follower. Most of the sentences are a combination of prison and community service lasting 10-14 years. Also, many are part of these crews who are still, after 14 years, awaiting a time to have a trial. The process is slow because of the unbelievably large numbers of victims and perpetrators.

We left Saturday morning quite exhausted after many meetings over 2 days. The report on trying to do all of this together, with family in tow, is mixed. We did get some help with babysitting the first day, but other times David AND Oren were with us. Oren has some difficulty and needed a lot of attention. He had at least 2 tantrums at some inopportune moments there. We are definitely being schooled by him in 3-year-old parenting.

We were back Saturday afternoon in good time (4pm) but found when we arrived that our guard Gaspard looked really bad. Sure enough he was battling malaria. Sadly he had contracted it 3 days before we left and had already had a round of treatment that did not work. Often the malaria is resistant. So he has been very seriously ill for nearly a week. (I should add that the treatment is really almost as bad as the illness, with pretty devastating side-effects like nausea, headache and dizziness.) Please pray for him. I am sending him back to the doctor on Monday if he is not better tonight.

On the good side, we were back in time to go to a really unique event. The Carrs, a Scottish family who are part of our small group, were having a CEILIDH (A Scottish Country Dance night) in honor of Robert Burns day. We arrived at 7 and soon were joined by just about every expatriate in the mission/ NGO community and many Burundians from our church and related Christian organizations. We learned some Scottish country dances, did Scottish trivia, and even had a Scottish dinner featuring—you guessed it—HAGGIS. For those of you who don’t know what haggis is, it is a kind of porridge made with just about every part of an animal, but particularly the entrails, traditionally cooked inside of a sheep stomach—an acquired taste to be sure. Part of the ritual of eating haggis is a blessing upon it, known as “Addressing the Haggis,” a kind of ode to the haggis.

Fortunately we had just the man to do such a deed in a high Scottish brogue. It was Simon, one of our missionary friends. (His family—wife Lizzie, son Zack and daughter Grace are play partners for Oren). Simon, a compatriot of the UK was as Sco’ish as the day is long for the presentation (actually he’s English). I think it was funny, although I could barely understand a word of it. I thought the whole evening must have been highly peculiar to our Burundian friends. But everyone seemed to have a lot of fun.

The kids? They came with us. Oren loves to go there because the Carrs brought a trampoline with them from Scotland and have it set up in their garage. About 10 kids were on it simultaneously and when I peeked in it looked like a gladiator free for all. Miraculously no one got hurt. Oren had a great time and fell dead asleep in the car on the way home.

Last news flash: Oren now loves mangoes!