A Day in the Life

We've received a few requests for "a day in the life" post, so I will do my best to make it sound interesting. Sarah has been spoiling you with her writing style. Mine is not so nice. Consider yourself warned.

We wake up in the morning around 9ish. We like sleeping in. There's usually a 50% chance that our house will not have water on any given morning. We live in a relatively new neighborhood, and the is the kinks are still being worked out in the facilities infrastructure department, so water from the city is intermittent. We have backup tanks of water on the outside of our house that we can access by turning on an electric pump if the city water is off.

We usually don't eat breakfast, which may come as a huge surprise to those of you who know Sarah. Breakfast is usually by far her favorite meal of the day. After waking up, we usually head up to the rooftop patio to see if we have internet today. If the internet is available, we'll catch up on emails and do any work that needs to get done on the computer.

Some mornings we have obligations in town, though most of the time we usually try to schedule our "obligations" for the afternoon. Sleep is important. We've been meeting recently with members of the Mennonite Central Committee (MCC) and World Relief to see if we can get involved with some of their projects.

After meetings, we may run errands or stop in to a local hotel or restaurant which we know has internet. By this time it's usually almost early evening. Any number of things happen then, one being I just joined a local soccer team, which practices a few evenings a week. Unfortunately I missed the first game because of a particular nasty scrape I suffered during practice the week before.

We usually eat dinner at home. That consists of some combination of rice, french fries, plantains, peas, tomato sauce, and meat. As Sarah excitedly mentioned in an earlier blog post, we now have a nice selection of fresh vegetables to choose from at most meals as well. We just eat them plain with salt and pepper, and they are delicious.

Evenings after dinner are often spent on our roof playing Scrabble or Phase 10 (Memo to the Clements: Watch out. We are practicing up. Down to Chinatown.), reading, or visiting with friends.

Tomorrow we are heading to Uganda, where we will be for the week. We are seeing some folks from home and attending the Amahoro Institute in Kampala. Our internet is slow tonight and isn't conducive to uploading pictures, so when we get back we promise we will update you with some photos from Uganda.

I just made an entire blog post without using an exclamation point, something which Sarah would never be able to do. So that is my small victory for today.

A Picture, Finally!

Out to dinner to celebrate one year!

I Still Do

Today is our first wedding anniversary! We are planning to celebrate by going to a restaurant in town that has - get this - lasagna. Brilliant!

Last year on our honeymoon, we kept a travel journal. We read through it this morning to take a trip down memory lane, and I'm going to share the entry from our time in Venice:

"Our last day in Venice, we had an incident which Ron considers regrettable but which will always stand out in my mind as a shining example of nature's sense of humor.

In the morning and early afternoon we spent a pleasant few hours people-watching in Piazza San Marco, Venice's famous square. It's quite beautiful, but completely overrun by pigeons, which Ron and I each consider to be mildly disgusting creatures. Ron joked the whole time about having a wild irrational impulse to kick some of these birds. They were definitely city-bred pigeons - brash and self-assured - and they wouldn't move out of your way until you practically stepped on them.

Anyway as we were walking out of the square, a pigeon almost ran right into Ron's foot and he gave the bird a judicious little nudge. The bird went into a frenzy of flapping and squawking - right into my leg. Which sent me into a frenzy of flapping and squawking. I tried to look dignified but couldn't quite manage it. After I had regained my aplomb, I chastised Ron for being so mean to the pigeons, and told him I thought pigeons always have the last laugh, one way or the other.

Well.

Later on that day, we were sitting on some steps eating gelato when Ron suddenly yelled and made a lot of commotion. He felt some warm liquid from above drop onto his head and neck, and when he looked up to see where it came from, he found himself looking at none other than a vindictive little pigeon butt. He had pigeon droppings all over his neck in the back.

I swear I believe in karma!"

What a great first year!

Potassium Pomegranate

Today two monumental things happened:

1. I took a shower where I actually got wet all over at the same time. (Hey, after a month here, it's the little things.)

2. We got water disinfectant so that we will be able to eat fresh vegetables.

The diet here is unvarying. The food is quite good, but every meal is the same: rice, fried potatoes, peas and meat in sauce. So at this point in our trip, we're all really craving crunchy foods and fresh produce. We're pretty much salad junkies at home, and it's been a rough adjustment. Ron has even been threatening to eat a tomato. For those of you fortunate enough to know Ron, that's like Bill Clinton posing for a glamour shot with Monica Lewinsky. They have lots of veggies here, but our delicate mzungu systems can't handle it and they go all haywire and stop working, or work too much - you get the idea. Anyway, so we look longingly at the produce and know it is out of our reach.

You can imagine how pleased we were to talk to some other expats and find out that there is a tablet called potassium permanganate (or "potassium pomegranate" as Ron calls it) that you can drop in water and soak the vegetables in and it kills all the bacteria. So today we talked to the formidable Joseph, who does all of our cooking here, and asked him for fresh vegetables at mealtimes. Just soak and serve, we say. Easy. We will eat them plain, we tell him. We just need vegetables.

This perplexed Joseph. The idea of people willingly eating, even craving, raw vegetables was on par with Brad wanting Jen back. He politely agreed to do it, but not without serious misgivings on our mental state.

And so. We are going to get, within the next couple mealtimes, a plate of tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, onions, green peppers, and lettuce (this one really threw poor Joseph for a loop as this is known locally as "goat food").

Ahh. Life is good.

Happenings Around Town

Today we went with some friends to see a soccer ("football") game here in Bujumbura. The Burundian national team was playing Tunisia in a World Cup Qualifier. Sadly, Burundi lost 1-0, but put up a good fight nonetheless! We had a blast hanging out at the game and experiencing a sporting event in a different culture. Here, whistling is NOT a compliment.

We've had a great weekend though. Yesterday we played volleyball on the beach with a group of expats. This has become quite a little weekly routine. The beach is beautiful, and the water is warm and good for swimming (as long as you go when the water is pretty choppy because then the hippos and crocs stay away. Nope, not kidding.) We provide a lot of great entertainment for the Africans, who stand and watch in amazement as a bunch of white people inexplicably bop around a ball.

Invisible tragedies

Sarah has updated the blog the last few times, so I wanted to let everyone know that the I in this post me, Ron. I had an experience last week that I would like to share.

Last week, I was introduced, in person, to the unbelievable plight of "patient prisoners". These are former patients who were admitted to the hospital for often life-saving healthcare, but due to their inability to pay the bill, are kept hostage by the hospital until they find the money. If their families do not bring them food, the hospital feeds them just enough to keep them alive. Of course, this malnourishment often leads to the patients' getting some other sort of sickness. Patients can be confined to their hospital beds for months on end while family members raise the funds or the government finally intervenes.

One woman I met had been in the hospital for 3 months, and choked up as she spoke of her 7 year old son who has been fending for himself all this time in their home out in the country. Another man had been sliced across the face with a machete when someone robbed him in his home. The hospital saved his life, but since he had been robbed, he had no money to pay. The combined bill of these two patients? Not more than $600 US.

A particularly motivated young woman back in the U.S. read about this phenomenon (yes, I can't think of anything else to call it), and decided to raise money and send it here to free as many of these patients as possible. I got to tag along on Thursday as this money was put to use and 12 patient prisoners were freed (as well as bus fare for their journeys home). The social worker who manages these patients was overjoyed to be able to deliver good news, for once.

To be fair, this issue has more sides than I have presented in this post, but we know there has to be a better way. In a culture where there is no credit mechanism, no sense of "I'll buy now but pay later", the hospital's resources would quickly be exhausted (and wouldn't be any good to anyone) if it didn't have some way to make people pay. But I have to ask where the sense of humanity got lost in this process? Aren't we all brothers and sisters?

After getting over the initial shock, then grief, from the stories we heard, I was able to rejoice when I saw the faces of those whom we were able to free. My joy was shortlived, however, when I was told that this hospital was one of the three in Bujumbura, and that the patient prisoner phenomenon is by no means unique to Burundi. I had to remind myself that 12 people, who laid in their bed every morning and saw no end to their situation, are home with their families now, where they belong.

One of the patients lying in her bed.


A 73-year-old man tells us his story.


Nestor, a member of the Batwa. His wife and one of his sons was staying at the hospital with him. The other was alone at home.


Nestor as he hears the news that he is going home today. This picture was no mistake; his eyes remained closed for a good long while in relief.


There were so many kids running around the hospital, I couldn't help but take a picture or two.



Grace and peace.

Lessons from Africa

Africa Lesson #1: I'm not late, I'm just not early.

Africa Lesson #2: Never volunteer information. If they haven't asked, they must not want to know.

Africa Lesson #3: Never assume the identity of a condiment. (Memo to my sweet hubby: I TOLD you that was not parmesan cheese. Did you like the dried milk powder on your potatoes?)

Africa Lesson #4: Roosters are of the devil/We Need HOAs (Our neighbor has one. Crows every morning...and afternoon...and evening.)

Africa Lesson #5: We hope you like lunch cause you'll be having it for dinner. And the next meal. And the next meal. And the meal after that.

Africa Lesson #6: The "dry" season really means "the drier season"

Africa Lesson #7: White skin color does not rub off (despite continuous and well-meaning efforts by excited Burundian children)

Africa Lesson #8: "Mzungu" ("white person"!) is my new name.

Africa Lesson #9: Honking is a legitimate form of road communication.

Africa Lesson #10: All traffic laws, rules, signs and regulations are suggestions.

Africa Lesson #11: Rain = No Internet Today

Africa Lesson #12: Simple carbs, baby. Everybody's doing it. (We live on a diet of rice, bananas, potatoes and bread. Nice.)

Africa Lesson #13: Craters? Nope. Potholes.

Africa Lesson #14: The road is for all of God's creatures. (Cows, goats, chickens, a car, and a mother with a baby on her back all have right of way...at the same time.)

Africa Lesson #15: If you've arrived in town before McDonald's has, you've got cajones, baby.

Apparently my faith is very small

One small story Sarah didn't get to in the previous blog post was the one of the "Betty Crocker Nuns of Gitega".

So there is this interesting convent in Gitega. The Roman Catholic church is pretty strong in parts of Africa, especially in the more rural areas, which Gitega most decidedly is. Anyway, the nuns who belong to this convent must dedicate their lives fully to prayer, and part of this vow is that they won't leave the convent. So they don't go outside. Ever. Never ever. Apparently their commitment to God involves agoraphobia. The convent itself is this severe-looking concrete building with huge green doors with no door handles. The doors only open from the inside.

In order to finance this operation, the nuns bake cookies (although this is consistently translated into English using the British word "biscuits") and sell them to the community. They pray all day, and in between praying, they bake. The inside of the place must smell heavenly (pun intended), all the time. I can see why they wouldn't want to leave. I imagine if you leave the convent you are immediately blacklisted and can't buy cookies for the rest of your life, which is a fate no one would want to subject themselves to. Anyway, these biscuits are thought far and wide to be the best cookies in all of Burundi, maybe in all of Africa.

If you want some cookies you must approach the convent with proper reverence (which Sarah and I, as you can imagine, mostly failed to do). Then you must ring a bell next to a barred, closed window. We had to ring it a few times (customer service isn't a spiritual discipline of theirs, apparently), and a slat will open and a very sun-shy nun will answer. They have the reputation for being very grumpy nuns, which I imagine I would be too if I never got any fresh air. Our nun was rather pleasant though and said she had been there since 1995 - thirteen years inside the same building. We were impressed.

Anyway, we got the cookies, which were not as divine as we had hoped, and we thought we would give you a bit of a snapshot of how random life can be in the middle of Africa. Honestly , I can't imagine doing something like that myself in the name of my faith, so hats off, I suppose, to them and their discipline! And maybe next time...a bit more sugar in the cookies.

Ron with our friend Freddie, who started the orphanage we visited

To Gitega and Back!

Over the past few days we traveled upcountry to visit a friend's orphanage in Gitega. Gitega is in the heart of Burundi and is about three hours east of Bujumbura by car. The countryside was fantastically beautiful and is amazingly varied - in those three hours we drove past tropical scenery with palms and banana trees, rich farmlands with vibrant green tea and coffee plants, and evergreen forests (no kidding...I'm not sure what I would have done if someone had told me three weeks ago that there were evergreen forests in east Africa, but there it was). The whole country of Burundi is hilly so the panoramic views were postcard worthy.

The orphanage itself was amazing. The children are healthy and robust, and were very, very excited to see white people up close. They kept rubbing our skin to see if the white would come off, and they loved touching our hair. So many of them have terribly tragic stories and came to the orphanage malnourished and sick. To see them chubby and healthy and playing is a beautiful thing! We connected with some of the kids and really look forward to going back later this summer to visit again!

On the way home Freddie took us by the south road, where we got to visit the fabled source of the Nile. We even drank some of the water, thereby extending our natural lives by at least five years each (or so we heard). The source of the Nile, however, was a bit overrated. It looked like a drainage pipe sticking out of a concrete basin, and there was probably a tank of water behind it. They probably only call it the "source du Nil" to have a joke on unsuspecting white people.

Deep(er) Pragmatical Ponderings

So as our first week of being in Burundi has come to a close, we're reflecting a lot on how to live and move in our new surroundings. One thing we're struggling to work through in particular is our response to the overwhelming poverty.

Burundi ranks from dead last to fifth from the bottom in GDP per capita (depending on whose statistics you use), making it the world's poorest country. The poverty is prevalent and street children are numerous. The tough question for us here has been how to handle it. Obviously, as Americans, Ron and I have many, many more resources than many people here, which we are humble enough to know is largely an accident of birth and geography.

So as good Americans (:-)) we love macro solutions to societal issues. It's easier for us to give to the Red Cross than to offer shelter to a Katrina victim, and so on. So our impulse is to encourage Burundi to become a more highly functioning country by doing our part to stimulate the economy - mostly by supporting and patronizing local businesses and encouraging local entrepreneurship by buying their products. But does this represent a ludicrously Western way of thinking? Can we really BUY our way into a solution?

The other side of my heart says that while patronizing local merchants is helpful, how can I buy goods or services that I only marginally need while others go without? A friend here has a local salon that gives pedicures for $1.50 US. One half of my brain says that encouraging local businesses is helpful - the other side says you're CRAZY if you are thinking of getting a pedicure when there are literally kids on the street outside the salon who haven't eaten today.

On the other side of the extreme is that the need is so overwhelming that there is no easily visible micro solution. We can and will have small bills ready to give on the street when asked, especially by children, but there will always be more that are going without. There will always be another pair of outstretched hands whose needs are being unmet.

The overwhelming sense that we've gotten here is that Africa and her people are tired of being charity cases. They are ready to play - if only we would let them off the bench. Many African countries spend more on debt financing each year than on health and education combined. These loans are decades old, and are as much a result of irresponsible Cold War-era lending as they are the result of irresponsible borrowing. If Africa got only 1% more of global trade per year, it would be three times the amount of aid money received on the entire continent combined.

Most of the inequity has come from unfair trade practices developed over decades, in which the aiding countries have typically said something along the lines of "We'll give you x amount of money if you spend 4 out of every 5 dollars on American/Swiss/German/Japanese products". It's unconscionable to put in place restrictions on trade that we ourselves would never accept. Africa is rich in natural and human resources and simply needs an equal spot at the bargaining table. People are able and willing to climb the ladder themselves. But if the ladder itself is so far out of reach, they simply need a leg up.

We know we have very intelligent friends (*wink, wink*) who we would love to help us process through all of this. You guys are a valuable resource to us! We'd love to have you a part of our conversation here by leaving comments using the below link. We'd love to hear any thoughts you can offer us as we grapple with this!