Business, Widows, and King Joseph

So, it's winter in Zambia (yes Africa has winter!). The sun is still strong and the days warm up, but by night we huddle around fires with hot tea and try to burrow under wool blankets and sleeping bags in our tents to stay warm. It's great!

May brought two worthwhile stories to share. One is about business. The other is about King Joseph.

Throw a bunch of stuff at the wall and see what sticks
I've jumped head first into starting a small scale farmers cooperative (Lubemba.com). My time in Africa has shown me that long lasting impact comes from local ownership of projects and ideas. The most practical outlet I see for that is in small entrepreneurial initiatives utilizing local resources and local talent. There are a thousand problems and mistakes you'll make but in the end you just have to 'throw something at the wall and see what sticks'.
In our case we started working with vegetable producers because farming is the primary (read only) source of enterprise in rural Africa. Two weeks ago we had a success story.
We drove out for our weekly vegetable pickup from our farmers. As the morning wore on with weighing and writing receipts and negotiations I noticed a quiet woman waiting patiently with her produce. After her veg was weighed she came up to me with her receipt in hand for payment. It wasn't a large amount but it was something. I asked her to sign her copy of the receipt but she just stared back at me. The guy next to her told me that she could not read or write. So she just signed an X on the line. Then it hit me. Here was an illiterate woman coming by herself to sell her produce. That day all of the farmers were male except for her. It turns out that she was a widow and had children to support. So here was a woman who had little or no means of supporting herself or her family but found an opportunity with this cooperative!
It was a highlight. We've worked hand in hand with our Zambian farmers and management staff to create something that is giving previously non existent opportunities to rural villagers. We haven't relied on handouts, but through persistent collaboration have started a momentum for something that will last far longer than we'll be around.
And working in this cooperative is an open door into these farmers lives. They've never had anyone come out and take such vested interest in the things that are so close to their survival. Through these relationships (it's all about relationship everywhere, not just Africa) we've been able to share practical farming knowledge and impress on them that spiritual enrichment is infinitely more important than enriching their bank account. We share the Gospel of Jesus Christ with them and pray for them and their families.
I came to Africa for this reason. There is nothing more exciting than working with people from another culture and language to create positive lasting change.

Wisdom from Abe

The last two weeks of May I taught a course on Christian character development to our AMT class. My favorite verse we looked at in the course was from the story of Joseph in Genesis 45:7-8: And God sent me before you to preserve a posterity for you in the earth, and to save your lives by a great deliverance. So now it was not you who sent me here, but God; and He has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house, and ruler throughout all the land of Egypt.
In this scene, Joseph is speaking to his brothers who have traveled from their homeland because of a great famine. His brothers sold him into slavery 13 years prior. In that time Joseph endured incredible misery as a slave and prisoner but ultimately rose to the highest position in Egypt, the most powerful empire on earth at that time. His brothers are literally kneeling before him in a position of great weakness and vulnerability.
But what did Joseph do? Did he use his great power and authority to take vengeance? Just the opposite. He acknowledges God's gracious and loving hand on his life. Even through such great trials he knew God was with him for a specific purpose. So, he uses his authority to help them and then rebuilds the severed relationship in the family.
This is what Jesus did! He had all the power and authority in the universe but used that position to serve and love others instead of demanding what was rightfully his. The Kingdom of Heaven is upside down and reverse like that. It says that the greater the level of influence and authority the greater the responsibility to serve and sacrifice.
Abraham Lincoln said that most men can endure adversity but if you want to see his character give him power. Jesus set the example for us all to follow.

Love Doesn't Quit

Back in Zambia! Check out this radical story from the villages!

We traveled to a womens bible study in a far corner of Mukuni Chiefdom. An old Mango tree offered shade on the banks of a lazy stream as the small group of women slowly arrived with their children. We discussed the topic Christy prepared to share: a simple message of God’s love and affection for us. The meeting opened with the women sharing stories of God’s hand in their lives over the rainy season. As the women’s stories filtered through our translator one woman in particular shared a story that humbled us all.

She said that she had been through a divorce and in the ensuing arguments the husband forcibly took their daughter with him to live in town. The mother searched and inquired after the daughter. After the mother located the girl in town the father moved the child again, this time dropping the daughter off in a strange village a three hour drive from Livingstone. He left the girl with these strangers by telling them that her mother was dead.

Months passed and the Mother did not give up searching for her little girl. She asked local neighbors and walked hours into Livingstone to pin down any information about where her daughter might be. Finally she found her. Without money for bus fare or any means of transportation the mom walked four days in one direction and found the village where her daughter was abandoned. Mom found her little girl abused, weak, and scared, but she brought her back home.

And as the mom sat next to her little treasure, her girl, telling this story it was such a perfect picture of the Father’s heart for us; love at all costs, sacrifice for relationship, a desire to rescue from danger and heal all hurts. In the Gospels Jesus shares a parable of a shepherd leaving his flock and searching for his one lost sheep. Jesus did that for us on the cross. He gave the ultimate sacrifice to be in relationship with us like the mom sacrificed to be with her daughter. His love doesn’t stop searching for you no matter where you are in life or what situation you find yourself in. He wants to save you and love you and heal you.


The picture is of the girl while her mom was telling the story.

A Year and Some

Its been just over a year since I arrived in Africa. A year of glass bottle Coke, dusty roads, dodgy electricity, and young men in faded fatigues wielding Ak-47s with blood shot, malarial-yellow eyes. I’ve learned that the true meaning of TIA (this is Africa) is randomness and it’s a facet of life that needs to be embraced to maintain sanity. I’ve learned that Westerners have watches and Africans have time (think about it). But most of all my life has been shaped by the amazing people that have helped me, frustrated me, and taught me so much.
Bar none, the most satisfying aspect of life in Africa have been the connections I’ve made in the Burundian community. The temptation for a “mzungu” coming to Africa is to isolate themselves within the expatriate community, connecting only with people that share their culture. For a number of different reasons doors opened for me to create sincere and meaningful relationships with Burundians and other Africans on a scale I didn’t think possible. The experiences I’ve had and the lessons I’ve learned (at times painfully) have changed who I am and how I think for the better and are now a part of me.
Most people when they come to Africa say, “I’m going to change Africa”. But it’s true that you don’t change Africa, Africa changes you.

May
The first week of May I traveled to the province of Karusi to speak at a conference for pastors and church leaders. Karusi is located in the North East portion of the country and was visibly poorer than most other provinces of Burundi I had been in previously. Considering Burundi is the third poorest country in the world this is a significant feat. The roads are now being repaired and renewed but during the years of the war the route was nearly impassible. Karusi could be blocked off for weeks at a time before outside aid could get in, weeks that were filled with bloodshed and terror for the residents. Even the main city center in the province had few working lights and the poshest hotel in town didn’t have running water.
In spite of this lack, the people at the conference were remarkable. They asked insightful, challenging questions. Their eagerness to learn was evident. They even organized different church groups together to repair roads and participate in a goat sharing cooperative. The level of synergy within the different communities was like nothing I have seen in Burundi where the norm is division and squabbling over money and power.
A week later I assisted a dental team from South Carolina as they set up clinics in rural areas. Only basic teeth extractions and cleanings were performed, but the effort that these men and women put into Burundi won’t soon be forgotten by the local people. In two weeks the team saw 2000 patients. It was common for the students to pull 50-60 “tips” per day (each tooth has 4 tips?). According to them a normal student in the States wouldn’t do that in 4 years at dental school.
They worked themselves literally to exhaustion. We set up in two schools and a prison and they even opened a clinic in Bujumbura on the day of their departure. Amazing.

Zambia and the World Cup!!!!
Yes that’s right folks I was able to go to the World Cup!! I left June 3rd to fly down to Zambia and spend two weeks at our central African base of operations in Livingstone. Even though Burundi is only a few hundred miles away from Zambia the entire trip took 24 hours because of the lack of direct flights to or from Bujumbura (in fact when I was buying a ticket in Dubai in February the travel agent said he the computer system didn’t register Burundi as having an airport). TIA.
I was able to meet with the leadership of my organization and establish a solid plan of action for the next year (more on that later). It was a great break from routine in Burundi and a chance to re-connect with the great people that are employed by Overland Missions.
We had friends visit from Chicago, and while touring the breathtaking Victoria Falls park a baboon stole a bag containing chocolate, nuts, and my friends passport. Don’t worry, we were saved by 14 Dutchmen.
On Friday the 10th my brother, his wife Rachel, our friends Chad, Sean, and Kevin from Chicago and myself flew to Johannesburg. We arrived just in time for the opening match between South Africa and Mexico. What an experience! We found a rowdy little street in Johannesburg filled with pubs and restaurants watching the game. It was electrifying to be part of the energy and the tension as an entire nation came together and watched its team. People poured out onto the streets when South Africa scored first and suddenly the guy next to you who you’ve never met and who grew up in some random part of Africa became your best friend.
And that’s what struck me: a game had the power to bring together people from all over the world, who most likely didn’t speak the same language, but they had a common denominator to overcome any social barriers. Futbol.
Even arriving in the airport was an experience. They paid people to blow the infamous ‘vuvuzela’ horns inside the terminal. So you were surrounded by cheering and horns and chatter in 50 different languages. People even came off the plane dressed up in whatever national costume they had: Mexicans in sombreros, Algerians in long blue Burubur robes, Americans in cowboy hats, and Dutch people in Orange from head to foot.
And that was just the airport!
Quite simply, the World Cup was the greatest sporting event I’ve ever been to. A whole nation of people obsessed over one thing. I’ve never seen anything like it.
We had tickets to the England vs. USA match in Rustenburg. Normally, the drive took 1.5 hours but it took us 5 because of traffic. Along the way we stopped and aided a serious car accident victim. Thank God Rachel is a nurse because she literally held some drunk guys fractured skull together until an ambulance came. Although his brains were protruding slightly from his head he was coherent and kept saying “Well, you just got to look on the bright side…” but then never finished the sentence. I hope he’s ok.
The stadium was about 70% English fans and my initial trepidation of being shanked by a English “hooligan” was quickly dispersed. The atmosphere was positive and people generally enjoyed the game without letting their emotions and excessive alcohol consumption lead to too many tricky situations.
We were six rows off the field and when Altidore hit the post in the second half I was about 50 meters away. Again, unreal.
I could go on about it but I will stop here. Suffice it to say I am already looking for ways to get to Brazil for the 2014 World Cup. Want to join?
Peaceful Elections
So far things have been peaceful! Keep praying and tuning in to news here in Burundi. Email me for a more complete update if you are interested.

Cheers.

Somewhere in Between the Cape and Cairo....Love is in the Air

Beloved, I will try to offer you a recap of the last two months in Burundi with all its twists and turns. At best this blog is a random collection of anecdotes and themes that accurately describes the varied nature of my life as I attempt to lay the foundation for my organization. Enjoy!
Elections in East Africa
East/Central Africa is one of the most interesting places in the world right now. In a years time every country will have, at least, a presidential election. Sudan is having their first election in 23 years as I write this; Burundi is having its first popular election in 17 years (starting in April and going into September for all levels of the government); Rwanda in August; Uganda in early 2011; and I’ve heard that Tanzania , the DR Congo, and Kenya will each their own elections soon enough. Can anyone feel the love in the air?
I will refrain from making any scandalous remarks about governments in the area, but if history is any indicator of the future please pray and fast for peace! For real.
I was idling down the road in traffic next to a parade of people shouting slogans for a certain political party when one of the members spotted me and shouted “Mzungu!” (white man). Immediately, he inserted “Obama” in the chant they were shouting where previously the name of the desired leader had been. It took about 3 seconds for others to pick up on it. We all found it amusing and I had to restrain myself from pumping my fist out the window and shouting with them (just to rile them up more). They sure do love politics here.
It is my observation since being in Africa that the communal nature of society here makes being a part of a large group very attractive for the individual. Community means power and power means survival. The bigger the group you belong to the better. But at the same time this tendency creates the concept of “the other guy”, creating a de facto schism in most every aspect of society. This can be harmless or it can be terrifying, as the fractious history of Africa tells us.
But what do I know?
I am witness to a powerful hope and courage among the Burundian people right now. I see people who choose not to be weighed down by the past years of war and who push forward in faith believing that Burundi will turn a corner with these elections. True, there are many who are leaving the country, but streams of hope, radiating out like rivers of light, are visible among youthful spirits who believe that faith as small as a mustard seed can toss mountains into the sea. Join them! Join them in prayer and fasting. Proclaim that Burundi will be a blessing to the nations. I promise you you don’t want to miss out on this opportunity.
India and Dubai
Before I landed in Burundi I spent two and a half weeks in Dubai and India, mostly India. Dubai, how can I describe it? It’s brilliant in the fact that the Emirates turned a massive construction site into one of the hottest tourist destinations in the world.
I heard a saying about Monaco once: it’s a sunny place for shady people. That’s Dubai. It’s kind of like the Wisconsin Dells (a Midwest tourist trap) for Russian billionaires. Indeed there is a lot of money there despite the financial woes of the world economy and Dubai World. In the tourist areas people parade their Ferraris and Lamborghinis and Bentleys. One of my favorite memories of Dubai happened when I saw a guy in a million dollar Lamborghini who couldn’t parallel park into this huge space. I thought it was quite the picture of the whole place. Lots of money and no idea what to do.
But my dad treated me well, as always. I think I gained 10 lbs on the fabulous restaurants and leisurely life style in the three days we stayed. We saw lots of firsts: world’s tallest building, most expensive hotel, most expensive cocktail, etc. The most expensive shot was a particular single malt Scotch served on ice cubes made from water from Scotland. It was a billion dollars or something.
One aspect about Dubai my dad picked up on was that we rarely ever met anyone from Dubai. Most people were guest workers from Jordan, Kenya, or the Philippines. Maybe we needed to tool around in a Ferrari and make fifty point turns to parallel park to fit in.
And then we were off to India!
India is a bit different than Dubai to put it mildly. The main difference being the tremendous amount of people and the tremendous gap in wealth between the average citizen of the either country. The poverty and the density of people isn’t all that different from Burundi. If anything India is much more developed than Burundi but that doesn’t take away from the plight of the average Indian.
Our hotel had one of the most highly rated Indian restaurants in the world and let me tell you I still think about it to this day. Most of the cuisine was grilled meat, highly spiced served with an equally spicy brown stew that blew my mind. Lord have mercy!
We stayed in Delhi, saw such extravagantly historic sights as the Red Fort and the Taj Mahal (actually in Agra). The Taj Mahal itself was simply the most stunning man made structure I’ve ever seen in my life. The mathematical and structural detail that went into it cannot be overstated. The outer layer of marble is a special brew that absorbs whatever light is projected on it: at sunset and sunrise its pink, under a full moon its whitish blue. Precious stones from all over the world inlay the stonework and actually refract the sun and moon light, making it appear to light up like Christmas lights. Lord have Mercy!
As splendid as the Taj was our journey to and from Agra was anything but. We rose to catch a 6am train, scheduled for an hour and a half ride. But apparently there is a problem with the fog during the winter in India and when our train finally rolled in around 9:30am it took another 6 hours on the train to get to Agra. Arriving so late we rushed to meet our guide and get into the area around the Taj before it closed at sunset. Our ride back was even more harrowing. Since the train schedule was now 9 hours off track we had to hire a car and drive back into Delhi. We grabbed a quick dinner, got served beer in a coffee pot (T.I. India?) and then spent 5 hours driving back through pea soup fog (a trip that normally takes 1.5 hours in good weather). Nill visibility coupled with fast moving cars took a toll on my dad’s nerves. I quickly decided that I would leave the matter in God’s hands, said a prayer for safety and tried to get some sleep. Needless to say after 14 hours in transit on Indian infrastructure we laid low the next few days in the hotel, not wanting to over indulge on such experiences all at once.
After a week in Delhi we flew south to Goa. Formerly a Portuguese colony, Goa has a flavor all its own. During the 60s and 70s it attracted a Bohemian, wandering, hippy crowd and still maintains the reputation. The palm trees and water seem to extract any tension from your system and you slide into the laid back beach culture without a second thought. We drank G&Ts and planned ways to avoid the midday heat. Goa offers an array of old church sites and plantations as well as picturesque beaches. All in all a great place to stay for a few days.
After Goa we flew back to Dubai and my dad and I parted ways. So thanks Dad for a brilliant trip!
The Water Cooler
Bits of February and March went by slowly. It was a processing time on how to establish Overland Missions as a legal entity in Burundi. The one thing I love about Africa is that anything is possible. The one thing that frustrates work in Africa is that anything is possible.
I’ve realized one of the hardest things in life is getting momentum. It’s like I have to put three or four times the effort into any given task because I have to figure it out from scratch each time. In French.
Really its all about meeting the right people, trust worthy people, who can navigate you through the labyrinth of social networks (remember the only way to move bureaucracy is from the top down) in a foreign place, language, and culture. I thank God for opening doors to the right partners. Now that a basic network has been established the questions are: what is the best move for the organization? That is, how can OM best achieve its goals as to maximize benefit for the people of Burundi? And as any good business plan, its flexible, changing- it’s a boat being built at sea.
One goal I have here is to have all projects OM undertakes funded by in-country enterprises. In a word: sustainable. Of course the greatest limiting factor here is the lack of finances. The de facto posture is to receive, and rely, on western donors. Okay, I see that this is necessary to get people on their feet but long term does it make sense to rely on others? No- evidenced by the recent financial crisis and the collapse of so many projects here. I think there is a difference between development and relief. I am not an expert on development but it just seems logical that for long term development a people have to support themselves. Is this too western? Too naive? We’ll see.
So with that in mind I am researching various business ventures. Because I also think this: what if its done right? What if business and politics and everything else was done right here in Burundi and East/Central Africa? History tells me that it hasn’t up till this point. Someone once said that if you don’t know history you’re doomed to repeat it. No one is perfect, no one country or region has it completely right but if you don’t see flaws in any system you’re not looking hard enough. And if you don’t want to improve on those flaws you won’t be much use to anyone.
What is “right” then? I think if there was an easy answer we would have found it, but my version (conveniently plagiarized from the Bible) goes something like this: love God and love your neighbor as yourself. Trust that God is really the one that will provide for you and care for you because He has such great love for you. Then you won’t have to strive and manipulate and worry to survive. Memorize Luke 12:22-34.
So, my work in short has been arduous but its sharpening me.
And in April I helped act as a guide with teams from the UK and from the US with some local partners here. They were a great encouragement and it was amazing to see them used by God in such powerful ways.
World Cup??
I think I have a ticket to the World Cup!!!!!!!! The US England game on June 12! I will travel down to Zambia in early June to help out with AMT and other efforts on OMs base in Livingstone, Zambia and then fly to South Africa for two days to see the game. This will be such a fantastic break. I can’t wait.
Life Lessons
I felt like I’ve already sermonized enough but I’ll leave you with some quick life lessons that have been impressed on me: 1) Perseverance. When life is hard, when its not ideal and you feel alone, keep going. You can rationalize a million good reasons to quit but keep going. Successful people in life are the ones that keep faith even when it’s not convenient. 2) The only thing that truly changes people is the Grace of God expressed through the person of Jesus Christ over time. Relentless grace, that is grace and love over time, will change even the hardest of people. That seems to be what the Bible is about. Argumentation, no matter how polished or rational, doesn’t change hearts.
That is all.

As always thanks for reading if you made it this far. Please send updates if you can. They are always an encouragement

Everything is Green and Inviting

I've returned to Burundi! I spent nearly two months in the States and got to see Dubai, India, and Morocco whilst in transit. While in America I drove 4500 miles to see family and friends and for work. Whew!
Again, I am so grateful for particular aspects of American culture: efficiency and honesty among others. For example; one of my daily struggles in Burundi was trying to get our truck fixed. It took nearly four months and I was pressured to buy a cow as a bribe. In America, my car had problems in Nashville. In 24 hours I had parts, an honest mechanic, and was on my way shortly thereafter.
I will share with you the rather dramatic story of re-entering Burundi. Here's the set up: To enter most countries you need 1) a Visa and 2) a return ticket. I had neither, reasoning that I could just buy my visa at the airport and thinking that they wouldn't care about the return ticket. Here's how it went down.
It was 4am and I was running on 6 hours sleep in two days. I showed up at the airport in Dubai worrying that they wouldn't issue visas at the airport in Burundi because of an email my friend sent me. What turned out to be a bigger problem was that I didn't have a return ticket. Ethiopian airlines wouldn't let me on the flight! So I rushed to get on the internet, ended up going to the ticket counter to buy a flight home but the guy couldn't find Bujumbura on his computer as having an airport! So I told him to book me one from Kigali(Rwanda borders Burundi). I thought it was close enough. I ran to the ticket counter with ten minutes to spare. But they said the ticket wasn't valid because it was not out of Bujumbura. Makes sense. So I begged mercy and they let me one the flight. BUT I had to sign a paper that said "You're an idiot and if they refuse you at the border you have to pay a 5000 Euro fine". I had 30 seconds to make a decision. And you know what? I had no idea what to do, not even an inkling. There was a small voice in my head that said "this is where God wants you", but to be honest it wasn't very loud or convincing. I figured I needed to get to Burundi so I went ahead and signed the paper with trembling hands.
I rushed to my gate and got my laptop out to find a flight from Bujumbura to Kigali as quick as I could (theoretically to complete my return ticket). The plane was actually boarding when I arrived and the connection was slow. Then a shouting match broke out at the ticket counter which delayed everyone. I was sweating, staring at the screen that says "processing request" as people were walking on the plane and they made the last call for the flight. But I found one! I booked a flight the last minute and got on the plane.
I was somewhat relieved but my stomach was still in knots the next ten hours thinking they might not have visas at the airport which would leave me liable for the fine. It was not a pleasant time. Just sitting and waiting for something to happen.
I experienced a slight calm as the plane descended into Burundi. Ducking below the thick clouds I saw the green wet-season mountains and high grass. There's something about green vegetation I find inviting and comforting. When I arrived at the airport I walked in and saw that they were selling visas! Hallelujah! So I got in and felt the weight of all the stress slowly unwind from my stomach, chest, and head.

So that's how I got back in. It's kind of a picture of my time in Burundi. That is, chaos, scrambling, and hot nerves followed by a Grace that smooths it all over.
I will post a brief blog about my travels in Dubi, India, and Morocco when I get the chance. And I have a camera now! So I will battle with the slow internet to post pictures to make the reading a bit more interesting.
Cheers!

Life Away From High Fructose Corn Syrup

Till this point I feel I have only shared with you the highlights of my time in Africa. Big events, like my trip up here overland or seeing Mugabe, add sweetness to life but they are not the substance. It’s the everyday routines, pressures and encounters that are the ‘space-time’ of life (sorry reading The Fabric of the Cosmos by Brian Greene just now. Love it. Such a nerd).
The other day a friend asked me “so what do you get paid to do?” Other similar questions come up frequently, and in all honesty I never have a straight answer. I call myself a missionary, but what does that mean? In this part of Africa, the traditional role of a missionary is a thing of the past. Churches are everywhere. One of the two channels I get on TV is broadcasting preachers and the like constantly. And yet I feel I have ‘accomplished’ a lot since I’ve been here.
Most broadly, I am opening an office here for Overland Missions. Previously, our presence here was not permanent and tied into strictly humanitarian aid projects. Since, my arrival this has shifted. My role ,as I see, is to lay the foundation for the long term presence and effectiveness of Overland Missions (OM). On a practical level this means I am meeting anyone and everyone I can while learning as much as possible about the local ‘scene’ to see where I (OM at this point in time) can be most useful. Recently, I spoke to an American missionary that advised me to spend at least a year ‘shaking hands’ and getting to know people! Luckily, Bujumbura is a small town and everyone knows everyone so after a few months at this I feel my time ‘networking’ has been potent. I have started some small projects but these only in the early stages of planning.
Everyday I try to plan as many meetings as possible with different NGOs or ministries or whoever. I usually spend the lunch break (from 11:30-2:30) working with a group of street kids at a bible study. My job is not hard per se but it’s the conditions in which I work that usually send the average westerner packing their bags after a year or so (and I have not reached that threshold yet…). In Tom Petty’s words, it’s the waiting that’s the hardest part. The saying here in Africa is ‘hurry up and wait’. If you approach anything with the rushed attitude so common in the west you get no where, and will most likely stop dead in your tracks.
Often, working as an international organization requires working with bureaucracy. Bureaucracy only works when pushed from the top. That is, you have to find the right person who knows the right someone who sits above the a-hole holding your application, waiting for a bribe. Logically its not that hard to figure out. So, patience, a good attitude, a smile, and the ability to make conversation go a long way. Navigating the social paradigms of Africa takes a savvy that comes with time. Always time.
I leave Burundi in mid November and will return mid January. I will take the time away to evaluate the opportunities that have presented themselves and commit to more full time work when I return. I have to say that I am very optimistic about the positive impact that my time in Burundi will yield. Praise God!

The food alone is worth the trip!
The title of this section is taken from a line in Chris Farley’s last movie, “Almost Heroes”. You need to see it.
Do words like “organic”, “all natural”, and “local” make you want to pay double for a product at the supermarket? Well if they do you should come to Burundi!! Everything is organic, natural, and local! Indeed, the food here is quite wholesome. There are no crazy artificial chemical sweeteners or additives that we find on the packaging of food in the west. Now you ask, “ Dave, how do you know if it’s local or organic?” Because often times the place you eat is next to the garden or field where the food on your plate comes from. Most commonly Burundians eat beans and rice or rice and beans or any combination of the two. There are also green bananas, regular bananas, pineapples, mangoes, and, thank God, they love French fries. Every meal is pretty much the same but it’s satisfying. You also get viande, or a cube of marinated meat, on your rice for a little extra. One negative aspect of the cooking is the amount of palm oil used, but on the whole the diet here will more than sustain if you get enough of it (a major problem here). And it’s eons better than the food in Zambia and most of the surrounding countries whose staple is a corn meal porridge cruelly resembling, but not tasting anything like, mashed potatoes (ugali, n’shema, pup, or, as westerners call it “oh this sucks”).
Even the Coke here is made with real sugar, supposedly, instead of high fructose corn syrup. For some reason I have developed this thing against high fructose corn syrup. To me it’s symbolic of the negative characteristics of life in America- quick satisfaction but unfulfilling and damaging in the long run.
Fact: high fructose corn syrup is the leading cause of HIV/Aids and H1N1 flu in the world today*.

*Not a fact.
Ain’t it funny how time slips away..
It’s silly how fast my time has gone in Burundi. Even though I have a long road ahead of me I can see myself saying that at the end of my two years here. I am so looking forward to going back and seeing friends and family, looking forward to cold weather and not putting on SPF 50 sun block everyday. I plan on getting a camera while back in the States so as not to deprive you of the beautiful scenery here for too much longer (and to make blogs more interesting to read). Burundi has provided me with great stories and has some amazing people. I look forward to sharing more of my time here with you and appreciate you all taking the time to read this.
Please don’t be a stranger. Send me an update, attach a photo if you can.
Peace!

Passing by New Jerusalem Big Big Shoe Shine, Part Deux

**A reminder that the first half of the story is located one entry below**

The main struggle with living abroad is in the clash of cultures. The more you are around one the more it seeps into your unconscious mind and all the way down your spine until its in your bones. Your body reacts to it, initially with curious awe. Then upon realizing it’s not stopping, that it wants to get deep inside you, your body fights back. You get angry and upset. You demand your ‘rights’ that are no rights at all, only empty words that get you blank stares. Time is on its side. Your body only fights for so long before it passes your defenses and settles. This, as I see it, is the “travel cycle” (the emotions you go through whilst away from your home environment).
One part that most westerners fight with is the lack of control. We ask; when? How? Why? How much? For how long? Frequently, I find none of those issues resolved. As I sat on the bus I realized a few months ago I would have been put off by the mayhem we had just gone through, but at some point my mind accepted it as inevitable, almost normal (almost), and so I sat back. I let the bus toss me around while my mine wandered. Our helper/guardian angel, Molita, figured out a route for us to take as we hustled our way over to the bus. She wrote it down on a piece of paper, names of cities I’d never heard of, and told us the bus was heading to a city called Mpanda. So Mpanda it was!
I had no idea how long it would take or which stop along the way it was. I figured we would ride it as long as we were headed in the right direction.
About 10 hours later the bus pulled to a stop in a small, dirt station. It was, in fact, not Mpanda but a city called Sumbawanga. And once again we were met by someone who spoke enough English to tell us where we were and how to get to the next place we wanted to go (you’ll notice a pattern). The bus to Mpanda headed out the next morning we were told.
The look of a lost tourist to a taxi driver is like a shark smelling blood in the water. Drivers came up and motioned for our bags. The young man who helped us sorted out the nonsense and connected us with a guy that offered a fair price. Soon enough we communicated via hand motions and broken Swahili we needed a place to stay the night. The driver rattled off names of places to stay and I just said “the first one”. What a great choice!
We spent the night in a Catholic mission. Them Catholics know how to live it up! Well not really but it was very quaint. Well kept, clean rooms. Great food that didn’t give us hepatitis.
We spent the afternoon and the night exploring the town. I do love the east African culture. You can meander down the narrow walks in the colorful markets or just find a shady tree to sit and watch people watch you. And do they watch you! Outsiders rarely make it to such towns as Sumbawanga, little transit towns in between bigger towns with more important things going on. Such places remind me of the town my dad grew up in rural America: Life moves a bit slower and they cater to the needs of the passerby as best they know how. This means lots of small snack stands, lots of bars, street food, and a decent restaurant or two.
The people stare at you with an unabashed interest. They continue to stare at you, unblinking, even as you meet their gaze. It seems you could stare back forever without a word shared. When you walk on the street they look you up and down, not trying to hide it like we do in the West. You see them eye your fancy shoes or any interesting items you might have in your pockets. When their eyes finally rise back up they meet you again with that stare. The African stare I call it.
We indulged in our first beer in months. Taking in the afternoon sun, making casual conversation with the regulars at the small shack we stopped in. We killed time until dusk when we strolled easily back to the mission, helping push start a battered old pick up along the way.
After having nothing but an apple and orange for the previous few days we feasted like kings on the nuns home cooking. They do fried chicken right.
We started out early the next morning for our bus. We decided to stop at the ATM along the way just in case we needed extra cash. Little did we know that it was the last ATM we would access until Bujumbura.
The road to Mapanda wound through the mountains of a national park. Giraffe and elephant stared at the bus rumbling by. Northern Tanzania is gorgeous country, Lion King country, and the trip flew by. It helped me appreciate Tanzania. At the sacrifice of personal comfort we found ourselves swept up in a current of beautiful landscapes and memorable experiences. Not so long after that we rolled into Mapanda.
Mpanda continued the pattern of small transit towns in Tanzania: dusty roads winding between markets, houses, and guest houses. At the center of town a half finished Lutheran Cathedral interrupted the amoebic conglomerate of sagging shack-shops, massed together that was the city skyline.
Another one of our guardian angels met us just as we stepped off the bus; another lone English speaker able to guide us towards a guest house and relay the inevitable news that our travel plans would yet again change drastically. For three days this time. No buses or trains left for at least that long.
We checked into, what I was convinced at the time was, a quasi brothel. Long dark, concrete hall ways led us to our single bed room with a bucket shower that doubled as a toilet. At least the roaches were kind enough to scurry out of sight when we stepped in. The first night we barricaded the door with our luggage against the drunks outside.
The next day we took to the task of finding a way out of town. Walking by the so-African shacks with names like ‘New Jerusalem Big Big Shoe Shine’, ‘G Unit Haircutz’, and ‘Kalifornia’ we asked about trains and buses and anything else we could think of that would get us farther North. Each new possibility led to a dead end, but seek and ye shall find. And find we did.
We were able to connect with a young black market Chinese medicine dealer who spoke excellent English. Dr. Samuel Mpanda I called him, although he was not a doctor. We had heard that the UN made daily trips up to Kigoma, our intended destination, and took passengers for a small transit fee. On our way to the office Samuel intercepted us and struck up a conversation. We spent the day with him and treated him to dinner.
I found that Tanzanians will bend over backwards to help you out. For a fee (it’s a quirky, almost endearing trait, that puts a smile on your face. Then I realized: on the local level this is somewhat cute but on a national level probably rots the country from within with corruption. This further cemented in my head that bad governance is one of the greatest factors hindering development the world round). Working through Samuel and other friends we met on the street we found that the owner of our guest house heard of our plight and offered to take us all the way into Burundi for a fraction of what others offered us.
Thus began our Saga with Moussa. Moussa was the owner of our guest house (which after one day there, I realized it was no brothel and the staff endeared us). Moussa showed up in a small Suzuki SUV with his wife and child along for the ride. Problem: Our bags weighed more than his wife and child combined and took up three times the space. It was then I was reminded of the old joke “how many people can you fit in an African bus? One more!” And so we did. Moussa’s wife and child sat up front in the passenger seat while JJ and I worked our way amongst the bags stacked to the ceiling in the back.
Within two minutes JJ and I were praying as Moussa put the pedal to the floor and tried to make up time for starting out late. The little Suzuki bounced off ruts and bottomed out on rocks. But the car wouldn’t die. No matter how much Moussa pounded that thing and broke every rule in the book on how to drive off road, it would not die or puncture or fade. It was beyond natural—supernatural. No other way to explain how or why that little early 90s 4x4 didn’t leave us on the side of those lonesome roads.
Day turned to night; hills turned to mountains; and Swahili turned to Kirundi as we meandered our way towards the border. We stopped at one point along a ridge line. The air was surprising cool. We looked out over the horizon and the mountains disappeared into mist. Just beyond the haze lay Burundi. Quite a poetic beginning to my time in Burundi, I thought: I couldn’t see what lie ahead, it was a haze, unclear, but I knew that there were mountains to climb.
We pulled up to the border as they were closing the doors. Great we made it! Oh what’s that Moussa? You didn’t tell us you didn’t have a passport? And oh what else are you worried about? That they’ll find your pistol? For real.
Our driver had headed towards the border in full knowledge that he had no passport, and headed into a newly established post conflict zone with a concealed weapon. Somehow we passed through the gates with both issues being resolved. I was relieved that we wouldn’t have to spend the night in the shady border town on the Tanzanian side.
Driving through the gates we wound down a steep mountain side with pine forests, more resembling Switzerland than central Africa. The trees held a reassuring quiet and an eternal lightness that I wished would not end.
From the fairy tale forest we emerged and quickly parked at the concrete block of a checkpoint. I saw the gateman headed to lower the bar for the night as we walked into the office. In that office Moussa earned every penny we paid him. He sat and softened up the young man behind the desk, sitting there with a sly grin on his face, who knew he had us in a desperate situation. Moussa spoke no less than 3 languages in the twenty minute conversation he had with the border guard, and soon enough he had them all laughing easy.
When it seemed like we were in the clear, and all we had to do was pay, the TIA factor kicked in and our last remaining currency, that old hundred dollar bill, was laughably out of date. Moussa just looked at us. He dropped his hands to his sides and said we came all that way and you don’t even have money? I wanted to yell at him, yell at the border guard ‘of course we have money! You don’t even know why you don’t take ‘old’ bills! You frickin’ idiots!’ But that would have done me no good. After twelve hours in the hot car with little food I decided to keep my mouth shut. Thankfully, JJ found the situation more humorous than I and engaged the border guard enough through Moussa that they allowed us to pass through on the promise that we would find the nearest immigration office and try to work out the details there.
As it turned out the nearest town inland, about 30 kms, had no working ATM. Again, Moussa earned his weight in gold by finding us a room and negotiating with the manager that we could catch a ride into Bujumbura, find an ATM, and pay them the following day. At the guest house I borrowed a guys phone to call my boss in the country to see if he could help us out. I finally reached him after several desperate attempts. I quickly explained that we had no money and asked if he could drive up to get us the following or somehow get us money. Instantly, I heard him start laughing on the other end of the line. And then the phone went dead. Great, I thought.
After an awkward encounter with the town psycho posing as a police officer, trying to get in our room, we inhaled our remaining food, a pineapple, and slept through the night. Waking the next morning we found that no one had come to knock on our door as they said they would and the mini bus arranged for us to take into town had gone. But shortly after leaving the front door of the guest house to try and find another ride the van randomly showed up, unscrewed one of the bench seats inside and loaded our massive luggage on board.
I’m sure our mini bus ride into Bujumbura is on some video game. The speeds we reached going into the steep mountain curves defied physics (did you know that you don’t have to slow down going into curves, you can actually accelerate into them as a way of gaining speed? Fun things you learn in Africa). The minibus creaked and groaned against the centrifugal forces pulling against it, but somehow held together as we weaved around potholes and bikes loaded with goods bound for the market (side note: youtube “Burundi bikers” and you can find an amazing documentary on these guys that go up to 60mph without brakes getting their products to Bujumbura from the mountains).
The bus stopped at a number of police/military check points. Nervously, JJ and I either played ‘dumb tourist’ by giving the officers big smiles and thumbs up or just avoided eye contact all together. Anything to get around the fact that we had nearly made it to the capital city of the country without any visas in our passports. Our silent prayers worked a miracle as we never were asked for any ID or never had our large tempting bags searched.
We rolled out of the mountains and followed the coast into Bujumbura. The driver graciously helped me find a SIM card and dropped us off at a respectable looking hotel. I contacted my boss and shortly thereafter we sat waiting for our colleagues to pick us up.
JJ and I sat at a table in the hotel restaurant tired, wired, and slightly at a loss for words after a solid week of travel to get to Bujumbura. We had endured and survived countless hours on bumpy African busses. We made it with all our luggage, no money, and technically as illegal aliens in Burundi (crossing the border without visas). Along the way we met some strange, curious, and altogether helpful people, without whom, our journey would have taken much longer or had a much less cheery outcome. I will never forget it, and I will never take the convenience of modern transportation for granted again.
And that’s the story about how JJ and I saved Spring Break.
The End. Rakoze chana (thank you very much).