ARRIVAL

 The House: but more basic inside than it looks! TV does not work...

Lake Tanganyika boatman.

Two of my best students!

Some of the 30 students - too many!

 

BURUNDI June 30^th 2011

The Air Brussels flew over the Greek islands, the Sudan, over the Nile, over mile upon mile of dessert with little islands of rocks desperate to stay above the shifting sand. Of course it is pitch black upon arrival in Bujumara yet excitement is tangible. The small airport is on the outskirts of the capital, Bujumbura. The terminal has intricate roofs and domed metal structures that resemble astronomical observatories. It is the kind of place that seems designed to say here you leave the past behind, the future has arrived. That point on the map I’d been gazing at for half a year. I am finally here.

 Asel met me at the disorganized crowded airport with lights so dim it was a feat to fill out the landing card. I squinted and was jostled by rude Europeans as family members made a fuss over their relatives. An hour later my bike arrived on the carousel. It was wonderful to be greeted by Asel - be loaded all in his Toyota and meet Asel’s affable wife of six children.  She is more outgoing than Asel yet both are hospitable, warm and generous. We have a lot to learn in the West.  Over an Astral beer and under the stars, he told me about the school, the 15 year war and the somewhat untrue perception of this country by Westerners. I’ll discover truths and untruths for myself. Midnight came fast. I slept hard.

Day 2 - 3

The colonial school house is cool and pleasant and somewhat grand . The huge gates reveal the white washed house and spiral concrete stairs. Claudine – I suppose one of the school chiefs – is welcoming and likable. We chatted. She showed me class photos of each class and each child’s name. Am I expected to remember these?  We rearranged dusty books, toured each of the six cool classrooms. Then a game of soccer with the kids in the tiny dusty center sand box.

That evening DOT. Still unsure what it stands for, yet I believe this is the two days before marriage and everyone dresses up in their finery. They dance then the groom ceremonially requests the hand in marriage from the bride. Strange, as the marriage is a go regardless. What if the family say no? They never do, I’m told. Marriage is generally for life. The poor woman is a baby machine. That’s it. The second half of the ceremony was lots of “mercies” and long speeches by the men. No woman spoke, nor was anyone listening to the speakers. They passed me banana beer, which tastes like a strong mix of vodka, beer and perhaps gin. A potent mix in the hot night. Asel, Jen and a cousin (Josef) drive to a restaurant for superb fish brioches. More beer, more stories, more laughing and attempts at determined reasoning as to why God really does exist.

They try vehemently to convert me. I stand my ground. That is the reason I don’t have children, they say. God doesn’t look on you kindly. So now I know. Choice does not enter into things here. I’ll stand my ground just fine.

Welaugh at jokes and they laugh at my ungodliness, at my skin (“muzungu” or “blanche” they call me), at insistence to ride my bike up the continuously long hill and past the university. I drink half a bottle of “Primus” or “Astral” – my companions drink four to six bottles.  The principal and his wife Jen rarely walk; Assef is lean; after 6 kids Jen has the normal African largess about her; she could only be in her mid 30’s.

Everyone speaks Kurundi first and French second. I get along just fine with French yet must learn some essential Kurundi words. The houseboys know little French and things get confusing and complicated. I ask Hilaire for some coffee yet he immediatel translates to Kurundi, thinking I want to know this word. I do, yet I’m more interested in having some coffee. So the conversation goes. Bread please? Ah, the Kurundi equivalent.

Lake Tanzania is like a vast ocean, complete with curling waves. The DR Congo can be seen not far – an hour’s sea kayak away. Black skinny bodies leap by the shore, silhouetted in the  humid air. Dangerous leaking wood canoes ply the shore, taking brave locals for rides: no oarsman by a “pole man” – the bottom must be shallow. The wind is refreshing. It’s independence day (1964) the city parade before the president has finished and everyone is out by the lake. Very pleasant. I forget for a moment the dangers of the infested lake (on no account swim here, Lonely Planet warns) I watch the families wallow and gimble in the lake coolness. Us Westerners are a scared breed.

We drink Astal beer. Of course. Then a greasy chicken dinner with the children. I opt for an omlette. More beer and another late night. I need sleep.

Life As Africa Knows It:

July August is the dry season. And with less water there’s less power. On occasion there’s no water at our house. It’s unpredictable and annoying. We have black outs each evening often beginning at 6 and lasting until the next morning. With the day and night at the equator equal, Anna and I often just go to bed. I read by flashlight for a while, then listen to the chirping crickets and howls of the dogs before a deep sleep. I always sleep well.

 

Road Traffic: The standard of driving in parts of Africa is appalling. Vehicle maintenance is almost non-existent, with the road-worthiness of many cars, trucks and buses very questionable. Life is cheap on the road and cycles are a long way down the pecking order for road priority. Here, might is right, the truck and bus are king and as cyclist, I’m expected to keep out of the way.

Above: Cyclist hitch hiking on the back of a truck up a hill.

Malaria: The biggest killer on the planet.

Measures can be taken to reduce the risk, such as insect repellent, mosquito nets when sleeping and anti malarial drugs. I do all of this. But nothing is 100% guaranteed. 

Infectious Diseases: Cholera; Diphtheria: Hepatitis A & B; HIV; Meningitis; Polio; Typhoid; Yellow Fever; Tuberculosis; are just a few of the more common ailments that travellers are exposed to.

Bilharzia: This disease is caused when tiny parasitic worms penetrate the skin while swimming in fresh-water. There is no defense against this microscopic invader as it drills it way into the body straight through the skin, just like a horror movie. It is therefore important to avoid swimming in water that is affected by this parasite. If not treated this disease can cause kidney failure and permanent bowel damage.

Rabies: Caused by being bitten or licked by an infected animal. Dogs in Africa are not always the nice friendly ones we are used to in the Canada. Rabies is a particularly nasty disease that has no cure once symptoms start to show. I sure don’t want a bite.

Lions:  The top predator in Africa. A female lioness will weigh twice that of an average human with the male lion being three times a mans weight. We have all witnessed on TV how a pride of lions can tackle an elephant or buffalo. Two cyclists would be only a snack for this king of animals.

African Killer Bees: Have a reputation for being aggressive. Unlike our domestic bees these will deliberately target a person.

How I Spent My Weekend

Banana sellers on the road to Gitenga.

The Bride: She cannot be seen by her future husband tonight. She does the cooking.

Bringing gifts of food

The father makes a speech.

The two families face each other at long tables.

Off to work on a bicycle taxi.

A seller at our car window.

It's not allowed and not possible to go in or out Bujumbura before 8am and after 4.30pm. Police hang out until 5 pm on the streets, and then they disappear and come back as rebels when it’s dark. No mountaineering starts possible here! Saturday the locals are supposed to do a city wide clean up. In reality, the population is simply sleeping off last night’s hangover.

But this weekend is to be a trip “up country” as they say. Up county means Gitega a provincial town a hundred – odd kilometers from Bujumbura. The air here is fresh and oh so delightful after the steamy capital. The streets are almost clear of traffic and a giant shading tree marks the very center of Burundi. A lovely sight.

We are here for the weekend and in the typical, pure hospitable sprit of the Burundians, have been invited to a “pre” wedding function. The Burundians have a fairly limited repertoire of weekend activities: they drink copious quantities of beer (women included). They go to church several times a week. And they attend wedding, birth and funeral ceremonies by the truckload. Weddings are not just one day: there are pre wedding ceremonies where the families meet for the first time, another ceremony is a formal request for marriage, another where the groom woos the bride, the bride then cooks a first meal… and these imaginative excuses for a ceremony go on. And why not?

These “pre”-wedding wedding ceremonies can last years. I suppose they do finally marry before they get bored…or run out of money for ceremonies.

We have a hotel called “Acolade”, basic with white wash walls, a TV with the live Tour de France and a sunny breakfast terrace for $7.50 US. Lovely. 

“Two women in a room will be double the rate,” the officious desk clerk announced.  My sunny face dropped. We had the exact same room type as our Burundian friends – who were married of course.

Anyway, that evening the ceremony is very formal with white table clothes draped over long tables in the garden of the bride. A bellbird’s haunted call resonates in the trees. Stars prick the firmament. The bride is traditionally kept hidden – and does the cooking for the 70 odd guests. Everyone else drinks beer with the Burundian “banana beer” concoction thrown in. (This is a fancy name for alcoholic banana flavored meths.) We politely listen to lengthy speeches made by men (in Kurundi), drink non - alcoholic beer, then finally scoop dishes from a smorgasbord of food: fish, cabbage salad, rice and baked bananas prepared by the invisible wife to be. 

The final stage to the night is to “evaluate” the opposing family. Thus we all dutifully retire to a café (that sells beer of course). An eventful night.

Next morning I go running in the coolness. The sun has just come up, rising over the hilly country, over lake Tanganyika that stretched away to the Congo. Suddenly it is there, smiling on Africa, a slivered of golden red bull, inching up, floating effortlessly free.

We buy leeks and fresh peas and mangoes and oranges from the village sellers on the journey home. They crowd our car, all overly enthusiastic for a sale, dark faces peering, pleading in the car windows. The faces of Africa. There’s so much poverty in Africa that its tempting to just shrug your shoulders and walk away. But the world can’t do that. You just can’t.

Coming Back Alive After All!

Anselme sent me two emails and a hand delivered letter yesterday saying the school does not approve my bicycle journey to Gitanga. I’ll change my motives and follow more closely to what is advised. It takes a lot to convince me to abandon this adventure, yet Linley’s Western perspective is what I needed and is more convincing than the biased local opinion. I look forward to my Rwanda adventure. Rwanda is safe, organized and is in stark contrast to Burundi.

Musings on Burundian Politics

Anna and I had a coffee and mango frappe with Linley at the Aroma Café – the famously good ex-pat Internet café in town. Indeed the coffee was superb. Linley drives a Toyota Landcruser around town and to the outlying countryside. Courage! 

She tells us of the van that was held up two weeks ago just south of Bujumbura, their money taken and then the occupants had petrol poured over them. A sobering story. Peace is superficial in this country. The multi ethnic elections last year still left division between the government and the PALIPEHUTU/FLN, which hasn’t agreed to terms. Attempted coups and killings have occurred. Politicians have been murdered. There is a frightening hush when politics is discussed as if people fear expressing their opinion. There’s been a violent class near our house several nights ago. The army brandish machine guns in the city. Frequent civilian checks on the main city streets. The police are corrupt and locals tell me to run the other way if you think the police may wish to question you. But perhaps there’s reason for optimism. All militias except the FLN have been immobilized. The army is now half Hutu and half Tutsi, a greater measure of security for Burundians.

Attempts at rebuilding the country are less impressive that those on Rwanda. A lot of the foreign aid money is not given to ordinary people but to “experts”, consultants and managers. Burundians are certainly hungry for peace.

“Livingston I Presume?”

Mr. Livingston met Mr. Stanley with the famous words, “Livingston I presume?”

on the Lake shore of Tanganyika in 1871. Livingston had been missing for years and was presumed dead. We had to visit to this monument, which is a mere13 km down the road from the HOUSE. Thus, hailing an eager driver and negotiating a price (20,000 BF – a bit less that $20 US) we speed along at break neck speeds as norm in this country. “Lentament!” I shout to the driver over the racket of loose muffler and clattering doors as he swerves, narrowly missing bikes piled high with chickens. The gearshift in this rattling Toyota was coming out of the frame. No doors opened from the inside. Seat cushioning was trying to escape like plumes of spider eggs.

The “monument” is a giant rock in the middle of what could pass as a paddock. “Livingston Stanley 27  X  18” it reads, the letters etched carefully in the speckled sandstone. No tourist center. No plaque with a time line. No tourist brochures or overpriced trinkets or parking area for the tour buses. Just a rock. Goats roam in the scant grass. In a circular rotunda one fellow was gaily sawing on a fly ridden goat carcass. We get mobbed by the local men – as always. Dirty snot faced children stand at a distance while the older ones dare come closer, one with a chewed mango seed clutched in grubby hands. The men want a Canadian visa, money, pens and our cell number (what do you mean you don’t have a cell phone they say?) The kids want (or need) a bath.

We are thankful the taxi driver is waiting under the tree.

The BIG Picture

      "Investing time in people is better than giving things away."

Kat is right. We must look at the BIG picture. If we keep throwing money at problems, keep investing in ideas that are proven to fail, and continue to feed our egos by focusing on the here and now, rather than helping tomorrow by starting to educate our Burundi children, we will continue to create the same problems that those before us have faced. Most people of Burundi want to get there one day. People CAN change. If we love them, work with them and invest our time to help them develop skills, connections, ideas and inspiration they need to reach their goals.

Complaining eases my frustration for a while, much in the same way that chocolate can help a bad mood, But then it wear off. Seeking to understand achieves far more than stamping my feet. The children here have very different early years to those in Canada. There’s little stimulation when young: few toys, no concerted effort to read, play or spend time with the very young. Babies spend their first year strapped to a mother’s back. Three year olds play in the dust and squeal in excitement when a Mazungu appears in their field of vision. Their young lives look, to me, boring and monotonous. No wonder they stare vacantly in class, or play obsessively with a worn out balloon.