Finding the Fruits of Consolation Amidst the Briars

A view of our vegetable garden growing in a planter outside our house. We are enjoying eating lettuce and cilantro from it regularly now, and are expecting to have tomatoes and basil in the weeks ahead as well.


How soon does yesterday become last year? It is amazing how the past seems to fade into the distant past so quickly these days. One thing I like about writing something down weekly is that it gives some distinction to what in retrospect seems to be a vague continuum of weeks and months. It is good to remember the things that happened-- not just the big unforgettable events, but the small, nearly unnoticed things that can tell us so much about ourselves.

Today was particularly satisfying because Rebecca and I led worship at the afternoon English Fellowship and then taught Sunday School together. We really make a good team in this, and we were asked to do it again next week because people were so inspired and blessed by it. I was able to borrow a djembe and Rebecca played guitar. I think what was most satisfying about it, is how infrequently we do things like that here, despite the fact that this was something we did almost weekly before we moved here.

I am trying not to report only the bad news, so it is good to remember the times we were blessed because we certainly had our share of small hardships this week.

On Monday, despite some improvement in my health over last weekend, I found that the soreness in my throat had really not gotten any better. I had gone to the doctor the Saturday before and he has prescribed some antibiotics that did not seem to be doing anything. I should describe the doctor here. Dr. Raafat is an Egyptian pediatrician who has a clinic at the nearby Rainbow Center. We take our kids there, but often go ourselves because he is always available and we can get diagnosed and treated quite quickly there.

He said in his Egyptian accent, “Vell, ve can vait or we can start you on injectable antibiotics.” I cringed. The word ‘injectable’ is never something I like to hear a doctor to say. But ‘injectable antibiotic’ makes me think of WW II battlefield amputations, and grown men screaming in pain. I was hoping he would opt to wait, and I even suggested getting a culture or something before beginning, but he seemed set on going ahead as soon as possible. “a course of 5 should do to begin and we can decide whether to continue after that.”

My fears about pain were completely borne out when he pulled out a large syringe with an enormous needle and began mixing some powder and liquid in a sterile bottle then filling the syringe with an enormous dose of what looked like a mucousy glop. I knew that a needle that large was only going to go in one place and the only choice I was given was which side I wanted for dose #1. I can say, this daily trip to the doctor was something I only looked forward to getting over with the past 5 days. By day 3 my buttocks was hurting far more than my throat, which I took to be a sign of improvement/ I am happy to report that I received my last dose this morning, and my throat seems fine. I should be able to sit down comfortably by this Wednesday as well.

Because of the illness, I was not able to swim this past week either. It was sad to miss it, but Rebecca and I actually needed a lot of extra work time this week because of work. In our yearly planning cycle it was the deadline week for submitting concept papers for new projects that may be supported by certain dedicated funds at MCC. We did manage to get 5 of our partners to turn proposals in, though this meant a tremendous amount of revision and interpreting by us. We actually worked late into the night on Friday to get the last ones in. We did feel some sense of accomplishment in completing these projects; now we just have to wait and see.

We also had another very short-term visitor on Thursday. Joseph Sibusiso, a man from Swaziland was in Gitega teaching at a peace conference sponsored by one of our partners. On his way back home, passing through Bujumbura, he stayed the night with us. Despite the fact that we spent most of the evening sitting in darkness, he did share some interesting stories about life in Swaziland and his work as a peace-worker. We were glad to be able to provide him some hospitality and were thankful once more for our comfortable guestrooms.

Probably the worst news was the theft that happened in our car last Tuesday. I was feeling pretty bad in the afternoon, so Rebecca took the kids to the park without me. While there, she did not notice that one of the back windows was slightly open, just enough for a thief to reach in with something and open a door. Long story short, she came back to the car to find that a Leatherman tool and my ipod (with radio transmitter) were stolen as well as the console on the drivers’ armrest that controls power windows and locks. Because of the theft of the latter, all movement of windows was impossible.

The ipod was a particularly unfortunate loss for me, because you cannot replace something like that here AND I had just started using it for my ballet class. It was also nice for long trips and part of our arsenal of things to entertain the kids with when we were stuck in a long meeting somewhere.

The console is another story. We went to our mechanic to have it replaced the next day and he went to a used part shop, who in turn went to the black market district to look for a small specialty used part like this. Within a matter of hours we had bought back our own console for about $80. It is honestly hard to know what to do in this situation. To buy a new one would have been very expensive, and probably not available anywhere in Burundi, but to buy back one on the black market (especially the very one that was stolen) just supports the economy of crime that is growing around here rapidly. We are beginning to be more and more resigned to the fact that parts will be stolen off our car like gas caps, mirrors, etc. despite all our efforts to thwart the criminals. We have been victims of this kind of crime at least 7 times in the last year.

Despite the loss of the ipod, ballet went pretty well on Thursday. I burned a couple cds from itunes. I now have 27 students in the young kids class and about 15 in the older class. The former is a kind of barely controllable chaos, but I am handling it OK. The hard thing is the culture of childcare among Europeans and Burundians, which seems cavalier compared to how protective we are at home. Parents drop their kids off at the school gate (or send their drivers to do so). Most have not even gone in to see what I look like or where the class room is. They also come to pick up the kids late and don’t seem to care what they do after class is over. In the US, I feel like an unattended child doing their own thing for more than 5 minutes is a school emergency.

I have to say, I would appreciate a bit more parental interest for the sake of order if nothing else.

I am enjoying the teaching as a divertissement though, and this week I taught the older girls a short variation from Swan Lake.

I mentioned Friday being the day we finished the concept papers late into the evening, and Saturday a quiet day of rest which included our bi-weekly luncheon with our other missionary friends. We were at Stephan and Tanja’s house this week, our German friends.

By Saturday evening Oren was running a high fever, so we had a family movie night at home. Sunday we also spent at home taking care of Oren. We are hoping he will be feeling better by tomorrow; otherwise it is off to the doctor for malaria tests.


I mentioned last week that Rebecca would fill you in a bit about the ‘dot’ she attended and what the ceremony was about. Keep us in prayer as we work through these few weeks of difficulties.


Paul mentioned that I attended a “Dot” ceremony (pronounced Daught, meaning Dowry) last weekend. I wanted to describe this fascinating tradition a little. We have known for some months now that our young friends Jean Claude and Francine intended to get married. But normally, here in Burundi, there is not much publicity about a dating relationship until the couple in question knows they want to marry. The Dot is an important milestone: asking for the permission of the families. According to tradition, the young man would go with his father and other family representatives to visit the family of the girl. The girl’s family would receive them graciously and offer them drinks (usually banana beer). And then they would embark on an elaborate, circuitous discussion about the purpose of this visit. Usually there was some discourse concerning the merits of a fine cow, aka, the sought-after daughter of the household. “You are most welcome, and we hope you will feel comfortable and stay as long as you wish. But is there anything that you would like from us?” “No, we just appreciate visiting you…” “But really, can’t we give you anything as a gift while you are here?” “Well, we have seen a certain beautiful cow in your family’s pasture…” “Is it this one? Are you sure you didn’t mean a different one, etc…” An urban Dot is not a spontaneous visit, but a well-planned and orchestrated ceremony, modeled after the traditional rural custom. I picked up our three SALT volunteers, and we helped to represent Jean Claude’s family. First we waited for him, along with other “Kinsmen” at the new home he will share with Francine. We had a big vehicle, so we chauffeured three young ladies and six huge baskets filled with the traditional gifts Claude’s family was bringing to sweeten his request for Francine’s hand. The baskets contained beans, grains, sugar and other staples. Then we drove to a location near Francine’s big sister’s house and waited for the call to know that they were ready to welcome us. When we arrived, we found a large canopy set up completely blocking the street in front of the house. On the inside, two sets of couches and tables were set up facing each other, and one wall of the tent was decorated with fabric, animal skin rugs and baskets. Francine’s ‘family’ was all seated in rows of chairs facing us. We sat down in opposite rows of chairs, and almost immediately, young men came with crates of fantas and we all enjoyed a cold drink. Next the series of speeches began and the exchange unfolded over the course of nearly an hour. Jean Claude’s representative was another young family member (his father died while he was a baby), and essentially he expressed that Jean Claude had been suffering from a great sickness lately, which would only be cured if he could come and ask to marry Francine. The gift baskets were presented. Various dances and songs were interspersed between episodes of the discussion. Finally, several young ladies came out of the house, the last one being Francine. There was an amusing episode, where the family tried to marry another sister off to Jean Claude, but he persisted, and he gave his big monetary gift to the counterfeit bride, in order to be able to finally greet Francine. Now the prospective couple was allowed to sit together. Symbolic gifts were exchanged: a ring for Francine and a cane and Bible for Jean Claude. Gourds of banana beer were passed around, and the guests took turns taking a sip from straws. Alcohol seals the deal in this culture. Actually to be honest, I wasn’t able to take a sip, so I don’t really know what was in the gourds. At the moment they were being passed, I was struggling with David, trying to get him tied onto my back, without totally dismantling the imvutano dress I was wearing for the occasion. I do know that Claude and Francine worked very hard to make this Dot as much of a teetotalers event as possible, because of their convictions, but it’s possible they couldn’t totally rule out the sipping-from-gourd ritual. All in all, this was a fairly short ceremony by Burundian standards. We were done by 7:30 pm. But as part of Claude’s “family,” and as the appointed transporters of gift baskets (which had been returned filled with similar but different staple foods), we were “implicated” (as we say in French), up until the very end. So, we joined the extended family for a final festive drink at a local cabaret. As Jean Claude explained, he prevailed on his family to keep the Amstels away from the actual Dot ceremony, but he couldn’t totally prevent them from enjoying a beer after the festive occasion. Actually, I was glad to be involved in this final stop of the evening. I would never have gone into a local beer garden like this one for any other reason. And it also gave me a chance to hear about Claude’s hard work to include his father’s extended family in the event (he had just become acquainted with them) without alientating the relatives of his late mother who raised him. It’s beautiful to see how this new marriage has brought about the work of reconciliation from old wounds. So now, with parents’ permission in hand, the wedding is planned for November 7th.