2020 in Kibuye: A journey towards flourishing?

(by Matt)

If you have ever been to Kibuye and attended family worship on Saturday evening, you have probably said the following words as part of the liturgy: “Thank you (Lord) for leading our steps even when we do not understand.” Lately, every time I read and speak these words they resonate with me a lot. I guess it is because there is a lot I do not understand about life in Burundi, the world, 2020 and its series of crises.

The year 2020 has been a very challenging year. It has showcased the vulnerability of mankind, our exposure to risks and the possibility to lose the things that give us a sense of security and safety such as democracy, economic stability, health, freedom, and fellowship with others…

While the impact of these challenges has been gentle in Burundi this year, I am still struggling with the sense of vulnerability that this uncertainty has revealed. I would like to shield myself against the possibility of losing anything I possess.

My work in Kibuye as the construction manager generally puts me in a position of authority. By default I am called to take actions and to make decisions that are executed immediately by those who are under my authority. My natural tendency in this position is to suppress any kind of vulnerability. But as Andy Crouch puts it in his book Strong and Weak, whenever authority and vulnerability are not held together, the result is withdrawal (no authority and no vulnerability), exploitation (authority without vulnerability) and suffering (vulnerability without authority).

I do not understand everything about 2020, but in my role as construction manager I have been learning that it is good to embrace both authority and vulnerability, because that is the way to flourishing. Here are some examples of how this principle has played out in my work:

1. When the temptation is to withdraw, remember you are part of the body. I have been learning that I am not a mercenary or expert sent to save/help Kibuye but rather part of the body of Christ sent to be with my brothers and sisters in Burundi so that together we can serve and take care of the part of the body that is hurting or needs my gifts. Being then doing. Being for me has come with personal and emotional involvement; I have been trying to be more deeply embedded in relationship and mutual dependence with the construction crew which makes me vulnerable in a way. For this reason the team has welcomed me as one of them but also as their leader. They started trusting me more than they did before.
   When we were finishing the kindergarten building, the director of the school approached me and told me that the school had decided to paint all exterior beams and columns of the kindergarten in a cream color. He did not expect any pushback from me but compliance. It was a simple request from the director who runs the school, a request that had no structural implication I needed to be worried about. It would have been easy to just paint the building and move on. But that would have been withdrawal. As a member of the community I was aware of the challenges we had with maintenance because of the lack of training, human resources and funds. It was my responsibility as an architect and a member of the community with authority to deliver a building that will serve the school and the community for years to come. I told the director that we were not going to paint exterior beams and columns because it would require regular maintenance, which the school could not afford. Instead I had designed it to be aesthetically pleasing and low maintenance. He was very disappointed in me but I thought it was worth pushing for. Now after two months of rain and mud the building still looks clean
   
   
   

   

   Kindergarten building

   
   

   

   View from the access road

   
   
2. When the temptation is to act without vulnerability (exploit), find ways to stay in relationships. Dependence on my team exposes me to the risk of failure and disappointment but it also empowers my team with the authority to take actions that could affect me directly. At times the authority given is misused, but most of the time it is used in a meaningful way. If my team or the project fails, I fail; if they succeed, their success is also mine. I do not always like this kind of vulnerability but God has been teaching me to embrace it.
   A few weeks ago, I had to get 4 self-contained rooms at the Octaplex ready for 4 new doctors to move in. I relied on and trusted a local contractor to make all the furniture for the rooms but in the end, they let me down because they couldn’t meet our deadline. I felt vulnerable and suffered because of their actions. If I had not trusted them in the first place maybe I would not have felt disappointed and hurt, but I would have reinforced a negative bias about Burundian culture and contractors. Maybe I trusted them because I started to learn the meaning of being, accepting the other who is different as my brother or sister; or maybe I was learning that change, transformation and healing come when we are together in a relationship. We trust and get hurt but we also use the authority we do have (authority is our “capacity for meaningful action” according to Crouch) to try again; and we hope that the power of love that comes from being together will change the other and us. Although I ended up doing the work with my team to meet the deadline, we kept the relationship with the local contractor and contracted him for other work hoping that they will be more reliable in the future.
   
   
   

   

   The Octaplex

   
   
3. When the temptation is to suffer out of fear of shame, take action together. I am learning that to be culturally appropriate does not mean to withdraw from taking meaningful action in order to avoid the possibility of loss or hurt. Instead, I think it means to communicate clearly in a respectful manner about the action that needs to be taken, while acknowledging that something valuable might be lost in the process.
   Last year, concrete test results for the paediatric building ramp were very bad. As a consequence, part of the ramp had to be demolished and recast. This was a very sensitive matter for leaders and members of the construction team. In this context, to demolish part of the ramp meant to accuse someone publicly of being incompetent at his or her work, a shameful rebuke in a shame-honour culture. I remember being asked several times if there was another course of action that would not require any demolition, but there was none. We had to demolish the ramp but we also were exposed to the possibility of hurt and a broken relationship with some leaders and members of the construction team. We decided to wait and demolish at a later date when everyone had come to peace with the decision. It was clear that no one wanted the ramp to endanger people’s lives by not taking care of the issue. Instead of using culture as an obstacle to good decision making and an excuse for inaction, we took action together and overcame shame and potential suffering.
   
   

   

   Paediatric Ward with the whole team
   

   
   

   

   View of the ramp

Now that I am at the end of my time in Kibuye as construction manager I can say thank you Lord for leading my steps to places of vulnerability where your spirit empowers me to take action in community and flourish.

I hope that in my journey I will gain more understanding of these words “I take pleasure in my weaknesses, and in the insults, hardships, persecutions, and troubles that I suffer for (the body of) Christ. For when I am vulnerable, then I am strong,” 2 Corinthians 12:10

Grieving Losses & Building a RAFT

by Jess Cropsey

In recent weeks, people all over the world have grieved uncommon losses of many kinds -- the ability to go to work/school, independence, senior year memories, vacation plans, weddings, feeling of safety, etc. And of course there are those who have lost their jobs or even their own lives because of this pandemic.

While the situation in Burundi is different in certain ways for the time being, our lives also have been upended. As we anticipate the departure of several families and navigate our new way of life in this covid-era, we decided to spend some time with the kids reviewing some common themes in their lives -- loss, grief, and transition. So this is what our school day looked like at Kibuye Hope Academy on Monday ...

We began by reading the first chapter of B At Home in which 10-year old Emma's world is rocked when her parents tell her they're moving...again. It's a chapter book that is highly relatable to children who have experienced a lot of moves, particularly while overseas.

Next, we talked about some of the recent and anticipated losses that we've experienced / will experience as a community and the kids took some time to write about losses that they're feeling as individuals. Regardless of the perceived magnitude of the loss, we've found it important to name them and not brush them under the carpet as "unimportant" or "no big deal".

Using many of the ideas from Misunderstood by Tanya Crossman, we subsequently discussed what grief is, the different ways that people grieve (pre- vs. post- grievers), and why it's important to do it well.

Finally, we walked kids through the RAFT process, which I would highly recommend for anyone (not just overseas workers) facing a big transition. We were introduced to this idea at cross-cultural training and we've found it helpful to walk through together as a family before any move. This time, we had the kids actually build their RAFT using craft sticks, with the name of the step on one side and their answers to the questions on the back. We also added Scripture verses on the support craft sticks on the bottom of the raft.

R (Reconciliation) -- Are there any broken relationships that need to be mended?
A (Affirmation) -- Is there someone who has been particularly important in your life? Make a plan for what you want to tell them and when/how you'll do it.
F (Farewell) -- What special people, places, pets, or other things have been meaningful to you? Make a plan to say good-bye to them.
T (Think Destination) -- Think about where you'll be next. What are your expectations? How will things be similar or different? What are you excited or anxious about?

At the end of the morning, the kids had time to make cards for others as part of the "Affirmation" step. Here's a super creative one that I got from Elise. (I'm pretty sure the fashionable fry only applies when I'm borrowing my mom's clothes.)

You are all on our hearts and minds as you grieve your own losses in this unique period of world history. Please feel free to comment and let us know how we can be praying for you.

"My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." 

~Psalm 73:26

My Burundian Slumber Party

by Jess Cropsey

I’ve always thought that staying for a longer period of time (including an overnight) at a Burundian’s home would be a really interesting and enlightening experience, but it’s also something I haven’t pursued because the thought of doing it with my children seemed like more than I could handle.  Well, I finally plucked up the courage to make it happen and left the kids behind!  Readers, you may remember a post I did about a wonderful Burundian woman named Thérèse who has become my friend.  Given the history of our friendship and the proximity of her home (not too close and not too far), I asked if she would be willing to welcome me into her home for an overnight visit.  She was very surprised but also quite pleased.  

She asked me to arrive around 5:30PM, about an hour before dark.  (Later I was told that was so people wouldn’t know that I was spending the night there.)  It’s about a 30 minute walk, but John kindly gave me a ride most of the way.  Really, any excuse to ride on the motorcycle is a good one.  I requested an early drop-off at an isolated spot so I wouldn’t make a spectacle dismounting the motorcycle in my skirt!  

I brought a backpack with some bare essentials — a change of clothes, some purified drinking water, hand sanitizer, toilet paper, a cell phone, a notebook and pen for taking notes, and some food to offer as a gift to my hostess.  

We spent several hours in the evening cooking supper and I was reminded how time-consuming it is to prepare a meal.  It takes several hours to heat water and cook over a charcoal or wood stove — two hours just for the peas.  

She let me help from time to time and complimented me at how good I was at peeling potatoes.  :-)  While we cooked, we talked (mostly in French, but I learned some new Kirundi words too) and I asked a lot of questions.  During a lull time, she invited me in the living room to watch some TV (and no, most Burundians do not have a TV).      

Around 8:30, everything was ready and it was delicious -- meat (a special treat), potatoes, peas with a tomato-based sauce, and pâte (a dough cooked with manioc/cassava flour).  We ate with our fingers which proved difficult for me when I got to the peas!  We didn’t drink anything at dinner.  I wondered if this was intentional to avoid night-time trips to the outhouse at the back of her property.  

I discovered that when someone has a stranger or visitor spending the night in their home, you must inform the “chief” of the neighborhood (for security reasons).  Thérèse sent her niece to tell him and he came to the house later in the evening with two other assistants.  In fact, during my short stay, she had lots of people coming and going.  She's a busy lady!      

We slept in her son’s room (who happened to be away for the weekend).  Many Burundians use mats on the floor, but Thérèse has beds with mattresses.  We each had our own double bed, so it was quite spacious.  I admit it was difficult going to sleep in a different place.  

In the morning, she made chapatis (like a tortilla) and tea for breakfast.  More visitors came -- a brother-in-law with bananas from her land, three ladies whom she hires to farm her fields, the "chief" and his assistants collecting food for the poor in their area.  I wish I had more pictures to share, but I wanted to just be there.  Before I left, she told me that "it was a miracle" that I stayed at her house and she extended an invitation to come again (but next time with my kids).  I'm thankful for this woman and her tremendous generosity and patience with me as I slowly learn more about her culture.                

Kuvyibuha = To Be Fat: To Become Fat

By Jess Cropsey

On Monday, our family returned to our home in Kibuye after a year in the States.  It was a little surreal to drive up the windy mountain road back to our home.  Yes, there are a few new people and buildings, but life and work is much the same as it always has been.  Most of our time the last few days has been spent in our home unpacking suitcases, cleaning, re-organizing, unpacking things that were put into storage, etc.  But we’ve also taken a bit of time to greet some of our closest Burundian friends (an important part of this culture).  We managed to pull enough Kirundi out of the recesses of our brains to greet people.

Peace.  

Peace.  

How are you?

We are well.  How is your family?

They are well.

…    

We’ve also heard some say, “Twari tubakumbuye” which means “We’ve missed you”.  But the most common refrain has been, “Waravyibushe” meaning “You have become fat” which is usually accompanied by laughter and hand gestures around the belly indicating large growth in said area.  One person even went so far as to tell me I had become fat everywhere, including my face.  Indeed, John and I each gained 30+ pounds during our year in the USA due to a combination of lack of self-control and differences in the cuisine. 

Our American diet included lots of meat and dairy (along with plenty of junk food).  The only time I've ever cooked a chunk of meat like this one above in Burundi was for Christmas or Thanksgiving.

Our weekly market order in Burundi -- 

We rarely eat any processed food here since most things are made from scratch.

  

But these friends aren’t being rude.  In fact, they are paying us a compliment in their culture.  In a place where many people eat 1-2 scant meals a day, being able to eat as much as you want when you want to is a tremendous luxury.  According to the World Food Program, 60% of Burundians are chronically malnourished.  In 2014, Burundi was ranked the hungriest nation in the world according to the Global Hunger Index and hunger levels continue to be ranked as “extremely alarming”.  So, being overweight in this country is a sign of health, blessing, and prosperity.  With this as a backdrop, it’s much easier to take these “compliments” and be reminded how fortunate we are.  I know I will need to remember it in a few weeks when I start to miss chips, chocolate, cheese varieties, breakfast cereal, cheesecake, and many other things that we indulged in during our time in the USA. 

On the up side, we’ve both already lost a few pounds!  By the time we get ready to head back to the USA again, we’ll likely be looking pretty good and receive lots of compliments from Americans about how thin we’ve become.  Then we’ll plump up before we return to Burundi and repeat the cycle all over again.   

Baby Moses & Mama Clairia

By Susan

About 5 months ago, a baby boy was born in a field just up the hill from our hospital. For reasons we will never know, the mother left the baby there and disappeared. Thankfully, a hospital worker heard crying, and found the baby very shortly after, and quickly brought him to the hospital.  Our pediatrician checked him over and miraculously he appeared to be healthy. Due to the risk of being born and left in a banana field, he was put on a course of IV antibiotics to make sure he didn’t contract an infection. 

Like all the patients at Kibuye Hope Hospital, this baby was required to have a caretaker. Someone to be with the patient at all times, to help with their care.  Since this little baby had no one to take care of him, some of the other mothers in the NICU pitched in to help. Despite needing to care for their own premature babies, they helped with his feedings and care for him for the first couple of days he was there. We knew we needed a new plan to care for this precious baby. By this time, I had started calling this sweet orphan, Baby Moses.  

Alma & Baby Moses

The book of Exodus contains a beautiful adoption story of a Hebrew woman who had a son at a time when
 the Pharaoh ordered all Hebrew male infants to be put to death.  Instead, the Hebrew mother found a basket, waterproofed it,  placed her son inside, and gently sent him down the river.  Not long after, one of the Pharaoh’s daughters caught sight of the basked and retrieved the young baby.  She eventually adopted him into the royal family and named him Moses (Exodus 2:1-10).  This is the same Moses who grew to be an important leader, a prophet, and a faithful servant of God. It's a story about a child being rescued from certain death, a story of God's providence, but also a story of the compassion and care of this Princess. 

Clairia, months into her care.

At the same time that Moses was in the NICU, there was an 8-year-old with a terrible bone infection recovering in our surgical ward.  Clairia had been in the hospital for many months at this point and had endured several painful procedures and surgeries.  I had gotten to know Clairia and her mother quite well after spending time visiting and playing with Clairia each day.  It’s common here to refer to women as “Mama “ + the name of their oldest child. I admired Mama Clairia. She was quiet, gentle, patient and faithful.  She was right next to her suffering daughter every minute of the day, holding Clairia down during painful dressing changes with tears in her eyes, and comforting her in quiet whispering and prayers.  

Finding joy in the midst of pain.

Learning how to walk again.

When I explained to Mama Clairia that we had a 2-day old baby with no one to care for him....there was not a moment of hesitation.  She said that if she could remain in the surgical ward by her daughter’s side, then she would be happy to care for Baby Moses.  Now she not only cared for her sick daughter but for a newborn.  She never complained.  She never asked for anything.  She had spent months in the hospital, away from her home, her husband and her other 4 daughters, and now cared for a newborn. Yet she was content. I have learned so much and still have so much to learn from this faithful and beautiful, strong and quiet woman.

She treated Moses like only a loving mother could. Changing him, feeding him, singing softly to him, whispering in his ear. Burundian culture has a special ceremony for the first time a baby is tied to its mothers back (where it will spend the majority of the next year!) I had the privilege of being there when Mama Clairia tied Moses on her back - caring for him as her own.

After spending 6 full months in the hospital, it was finally time for Clairia to leave our hospital and return home.  Before they left, Mama Clairia came to me and explained that she, too, was an orphan.  She told me that she believed Moses was still far too young to leave in someone else’s care, and that she really wanted to continue caring for him in her home. She told me that if she had to give him up, that her heart would break.  Moses was 3 months old when he finally left the hospital grounds for his first time ever and got to go home....his new home.  

Giving Moses his last bottle before he left the hospital

Finally going home

Every Friday I have the privilege of seeing sweet Baby Moses, as his foster mama brings him back to the hospital to collect more formula that we have been providing for him.  He is growing and thriving...and is loved.

A few weeks ago, our family ventured out one Saturday morning to find the home of Mama Clairia and Baby Moses.  Even though we took someone with us to translate who was born and raised in this area, it was still not really possible to understand directions. So we arranged to meet her at the closest road. She jumped in the back of the truck (with Moses on her back) and lead us the rest of the way.  We followed a series of small dirt paths, each getting consecutively smaller until finally, the Land Cruiser couldn’t fit anymore. We parked the truck there on the footpath, bananas on one side, coffee bushes on the other, and followed Mama Clairia to her house.

Mama Clairia's home

Their home was a small, mud-brick home, with a neatly swept dirt yard surrounded with a fence of woven sticks. We ducked through the short door, to be greeted in the one room. It was maybe the size of our girls' bedroom. But instead of housing two girls beds, their clothes, books and space to play - this room was everything. This is where the eight of them sleep, where they eat, and where the girls do their schoolwork. There is a small room off the back of the house for cooking and a little hallway that connects the two spaces, which they use to store a few hoes and small cook pots.

They gathered up enough chairs from neighbours so that we could sit in their neat, one-room house. They told us how happy they were to have Moses in their family. How the girls adored having a brother. How Papa Clairia didn't hesitate when his wife told him about the child. As we sat and visited they told us about their hope that Clairia will be able to return to school this fall, and how they hoped they could find someone to sell them milk for Moses. Like most families around here, they struggle to feed their children. They don't have luxuries like running water or electricity, and they work hard to just survive. Yet this couple was eager to extend what they had, to help care for this child who had entered the world in such dire circumstances.

Their family insisted in walking us back to the truck, and as we did Alma and Clairia ran up ahead. To see the two girls, my daughter and a  girl who had been immobile, in horrible pain, and sad for so many months, skipping down the path was a gift I can't describe. 

There are a lot of hard things here, and getting to glimpse just a little bit into the lives of Claria, her sisters, her mother and father, and her new baby brother help me to see that in a new light. Both the extent of difficulties, the depth of sorrow, the complexity of poverty - but more importantly the joy of hope, and the light of love. 

I don't know much about Egyptian princesses, but I find it hard to believe that Pharaoh's daughter had anything on this woman. Mama Clairia did not take in a child to care for in the lavish excess of a palace, but she truly sacrificed what little she had to take him in. She has no servants and attendants, and unlike Pharaoh's daughter, she doesn't send to find a woman to help care for the child. She walks all the way to our hospital every week. She cares for him. She literally carries him. 

I don't know how this story will end. In a place like Burundi, it really could go so many different ways. But what I do know is this woman, who grew up an orphan, who now lavishes care and love on six children has taught me so much. 

What sacrificial love it.

What true care for others looks like. 

What contentment can actually look like. 

Dollar Street

(from Eric)

Via the BBC, I happened upon this very intriguing site yesterday, and I feel it's worth passing on.  Anna Rosling Rönnlund started the site as a way to "visit" homes and cultures and families all over the world.  Numerous countries are represented, and they are ranked on the home page according to monthly salary (the lowest being $27/month, a lady in Burundi in a province south of us).  

The base page is here.

You can enter and tour everyone's home.  For instance the tour of the Burundian lady's home, including her awesome toothpaste storage technique and her even more awesome smile can be found here.

You can also sort the homes by various filters.  For instance, you can sort for "Places Where Guests Are Served Dinner" all across the world here, or "Jewelry" all across the world here.

As American expatriates living in Burundi, we live in a world of extremes.  Both the wealth of our home country and the poverty of our host country can be very uncomfortable.  In the past, when we've recognized these extremes, we've wondered what the "global mean" is.  That's not exactly the point of this website, but it does give some wonderfully diverse glimpses into the homes of the world.  All from the convenience of your home internet connection (if you have one.  =)  )

Straddling Cultures

(By Alyssa)

If you read Lindsay’s blog post below then you will understand why my usual answer to the question, “What are you most looking forward to about being in America besides family and friends?” is “Anonymity!” I long for the day when I can go on a hike or walk without attracting hoards of people staring at me and calling out “muzungu.” I look forward to shopping without the chaos of a Burundian market with all its stressors of both people staring and having to barter awkwardly in Kirundi. And I eagerly anticipate driving around by myself in a land where the traffic rules are clear and there are no goats, small children, or huge potholes to avoid white-knuckled while simultaneously being aware of all the roadside attention bestowed on the rarity of a white, female driver. 

But now I’ve been in America for two months of my home assignment, and what has surprised me has actually been the isolation of life here. I walk my parents’ dog in their zero-lot line neighborhood and rarely come across another person. Does anyone actually live in all those climate-controlled houses? I run errands and sit in traffic alone in my little bubble with just a quick greeting to the cashier. And in waiting rooms and checkout lines I join my fellow Americans in quickly pulling out my phone for work or entertainment or to make sure I haven’t missed anything. 

Maybe the grass is greener on the other side. (Course it literally is greener in Burundi where green banana palms greet the eye in all directions instead of the concrete of development!) 

But I feel torn in observing this great cultural difference. Burundians prioritize relationships and would probably find the independance of American life strange. It seems when I walk alone there that people want to join me because they can’t fathom why anyone would want to be alone. They live with their extended families and even all share the same bed, so it must be hard for them to fathom why I would live by myself. As for me, I think my first phrase as a toddler was “do by self!” And I’m embarrassed to report how often that is still my first thought! But as much as I was looking forward to anonymity in America, I actually find myself missing the more constant people time in Burundi. Lives are intertwined there to a greater degree than is comfortable for most North Americans. But there’s beauty in the messiness and our hope is to welcome others as Christ welcomes us. And as we fail at that, we remember once again how much we need the gospel - for Christ to redeem our hearts that often struggle in welcoming others at inopportune moments. In the end I think the communal vs. individualistic cultural differences are just that - ways of life that are different but neither right nor wrong. I long for both at different times of my life, and I feel privileged to get to experience the unique life of two different cultures on a regular basis. But I also no longer feel fully comfortable in either culture. I eagerly anticipate the day when God will bring each of us and all cultures to full redemption in his eternal Kingdom and we will finally truly be home. In the meantime, living cross culturally isn’t always easy in Burundi or North America, so please pray for more peace and grace for our team and for those we live and work with as we encounter cultural differences. 

Weddings, Funerals, and other General Confusions

by Rachel

There are days in this crazy life I’ve chosen where I totally feel like I’ve made it.  Meaning, communication seems clear, the system is understandable, my life is full of rhythm and routine and all is well.   I go grocery shopping without getting lost.  The milk I ordered actually shows up in the amount I ordered.  I can lecture in French and sit through a meeting and understand the ideas discussed, and once in awhile I can even say a few lines in Kirundi.  But, rest assured, those days are so not the norm!  Even after four years I still feel like I flounder through most of my days.  Easier than the beginning yes, but “arrived”?  Hardly.

I heard another missionary once say that every year he spends in his host culture he is able to understand another 1% of what’s going on.  So based on that, I should be understanding about 4% of what happens around me!  That might be underestimating, but in all honesty the longer I’m here, the more I realize I don’t know.

This “principle” can be illustrated by a couple of sort of humorous but definitely misunderstood events I’ve attended this last year.  My teammates and I are invited to a goodly number of weddings every year.  Social events like this are understood to be important for relationship building and community involvement, but they can also be decidedly uncomfortable...sometimes quite time consuming, definitely difficult in terms of communication, and awkward socially.  So we usually send a “team representative” and share the load.  Last August, Caleb and Krista and I decided to go to the wedding of  one of the hospital nurses.  Wedding invitations always include the location of the ceremony and reception, but not exactly an address.  More like the name of the church and the neighborhood it’s in (and we’re not really familiar with neighborhoods in Gitega).   So, off we went, dressed in our wedding finest.  The wedding was taking place at a Catholic church and after asking around we were told it was located on the far end of Gitega.  Easy enough, there’s a large Catholic church right on the road that we’ve passed many times.  We parked and went in to the huge sanctuary.  At the front were no fewer than 6 couples getting married at the same time!  We found a seat towards the back, as the service had already started.  But after a few minutes of searching, we all realized that 1-we didn’t recognize any of the guests, 2-we didn’t recognize any of the couples, and 3-this actually wasn’t the right church.  

Back to the car.  We followed some sketchy directions down a side road, and then multiple other side roads while getting directions from another half dozen passers-by.  We finally found the “paroisse Yoba”, probably a 10 minute walk from the last church, and walked in just in time to see the bride and groom walking out down the aisle (along with 3 other couples, must have been a very popular day to get married!).  On the upside, it was a very short time commitment. :)

On the other side of the spectrum, one of our long time hospital employees, Jean Dukundane, died a few weeks ago.  He has faithfully served in the surgical department since the 1980s, and his death is a significant loss to Kibuye.  Wanting to pay my respects, I paid close attention to the information of the service and burial.  It was to take place the day before Easter, in our local church, starting at 11am.  So, John and Caleb and I walked up around 11:15 and found a seat in the back.  The pastor spoke for a very long time in Kirundi, and we understood almost none of it.  The Bible passage was Matthew 27, Jesus’ crucifixion, so I spent some time pondering if this was either an appropriate passage for a funeral service or perhaps this wasn’t actually the funeral service.  After about an hour, I finally realized that 1-I didn’t recognize any of the hospital staff there, 2-there was no casket or photo or anything, and 3-I actually wasn’t in the right place (found out later it was jut a regular Easter Saturday church service).  I walked up to the hospital and found the “viewing” in our morning staff room, 1 1/2 hours after the event was supposed to begin.  From there, everyone DID go to our local church for the funeral service, which began around 1pm.  

We’re trying, we really are.  And in my better moments I laugh all of these things off.  It can be hard and frustrating and uncomfortable to try to participate in something without knowing any of the “rules” or instructions or social/societal cues.  But, we press on because we know it’s the right thing to do.  And every time gets a bit easier.  I went to a wedding in Gitega last weekend (at the “original” Catholic church from the first story) and we made it to the right place at the right time, and it was nice!  I take heart that maybe if I can understand just 1% more each year, by the time we’re done in Burundi maybe I’ll be getting close to understanding half of what takes place around me. :)  But it also helps to continue to enlarge my perception of the world, to see new ways and ideas of doing things, to realize that things aren’t always easy for the immigrants in MY home, and to remember that no matter where we are on this earth, we are foreigners in a foreign land, looking forward to a permanent home.

Wedding Clothes: A Cultural Window

(from Eric)

One of the wonderful things about crossing cultures is the window it can provide into your existing world.  The world around us now can sometimes be different in just the right way for you to look at your home world with a new light.  Rachel wrote about this years ago in terms of reading the Bible in a foreign language.  A few days ago, in hospital devotions, I had a similar moment.

Pastor Luc was reading from Revelation 19:7-8.  It is a classic passage which describes the church, or the unified group of believers in Jesus, as a bride prepared for a wedding where Jesus (here referred to as "the Lamb") himself is the groom.  It reads:  

"Let us rejoice and exult and give him the glory, for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and his Bride has made herself ready; it was granted her to cloth herself with fine linen, bright and pure - for the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints."

Pastor Luc then started to talk about traditional Burundian culture.  Though the tradition has been greatly modified for some of the more modern Burundians, it sounds like this practice is still the case in rural villages, and something like it survives even in the cities.  The wedding dress is picked out by the groom, sight unseen by the bride until the moment comes to put it on (right now, many western ladies are having panic attacks at the thought of their husband donning this responsibility).  In addition, at the time of the wedding, the groom gives his bride an entirely new wardrobe, and the bride gives all of her old clothes to other people.  From this moment on, she is clothed by her husband, with nothing remaining from her pre-married life.

I find this is a compelling image.  There is obviously a strong image of trust.  There is also an image of a shifting of one's identity, a belonging now to someone else.  From the husband's perspective, there is a very public image of his provision for his wife.

Pastor Luc was talking about the church, about us in our relation to God.  "the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints."  A gift.  A gift that calls us to trust in the giver.  A gift that shifts our identity from being those who clothe themselves to those look to God for their provision.  I doubt I'll ever look at the Bible's use of wedding clothes the same again.  For that, I thank Burundi and the God who is work in their culture.

Podcast: The Talking McLaughlins

Rachel and I were recently featured on the podcast "World to the Wise: Home of the Culturally Curious" in an interview that we recorded in January, just before leaving the US.  The proprietor of said podcast is a long-time friend, David Durham.

Our lives and work continue to intersect with David's in curious ways.  I grew up singing his songs at our mutual home church in Nashville.  I knew that he had invested many years working to write and produce worship music for the Francophone world.  When I moved to France, I found the local congregation singing his songs in French.  Even now, I'm assuming the Banks and Baskins (our teammates currently in language school in Albertville) have become familiar with his song "Mon Ancre et Ma Voile" (My Anchor and My Sail), among others.  David is perhaps the most prolific linguist I know, speaking seven languages.  While we lived in France, I would skype with him weekly, glad to have his help as my virtual language partner.  Top it all of with his son marrying my sister, and I guess you could call our paths inextricably woven.

As I listen to it, I think the podcast has turned out as a distinct way to share different facets of life here, unique from our writing on the blog.  David's focus being the crossings of cultures, there are some good opportunities to go beyond talking about mission and work, but also about cultures and cross-cultural family life.  Click here to listen.

Traditions and Presence

By Alyssa

After two years in Burundi, it still feels like we're just getting started learning about the Burundian culture. I experienced a new cultural event last weekend when I attended a baby presentation for the son of our hospital's medical director. In many ways, Burundian culture is more formal than ours. Burundians seem to enjoy ceremony, protocol, speeches, tradition. This was evident in many ways at the "fête" ("party" in French) last Saturday. I had heard mixed things before attending the event regarding the purpose and what would happen, so I was interested to see how things played out. (NB I'm still not completely sure I have all the facts right, so take my observations below with a grain of salt!)

"Where are you from?" Burundians answer that question very specifically. Even if they have moved to the city and been away from their childhood home for years, they are "from" the rural hill where they grew up, and usually their relatives still live there. For official family events, they return to the "urugo" (homestead). So we traveled almost 2 hours on dusty roads to the province of Rutana, stopping en route to meet relatives coming from Bujumbura and Makamba. After exchanging greetings, we continued in a caravan and arrived together at Jeanine's parents' urugo. This was evidently the first time she returned with her husband and child to her traditional home since her marriage. The "dot" (French) is the first big event between the two prospective families. At that event, the family of the groom negotiates with the family of the bride for the dowry (cows, money, etc.). And they evidently promise to bring the bride back someday to visit. So the firstborn baby presentation is the culmination of that promise.

The kids in this rural area were pretty curious about the cars and the muzungu driving (me)! 

 Baby Jolison - our neighbor at Kibuye and the guest of honor at the fête

 Preparing the gifts for the family

 Fantas (Kirundi word for all sodas - like Coke in the South!) are obligatory for these events

 Dad, Mom, and Baby in the center of the room - they seated me in the chair just to the right of them! Always hard to know what to do with the "Muzungu Status." But guests are certainly considered a blessing and are given respect and honor as a result. 

 Family of the wife on the left - being photographed individually

 Family of the husband on the right with the ubiquitous cameras

 Fantas - I love that tradition - especially as being enclosed in a tarp tent on a hot day is pretty dehydrating! Citrus Fanta is key to these interesting but long events! 

 The grandfathers each made multiple speeches with humorous repartee across the room at each other. And the maternal grandfather invited Wilson to visit Jeanine's childhood bedroom - a symbolic expression of an enthusiastic welcome. 

The grandmother on the left of me was the other guest of honor at the event as the baby was presented to her

As I participated in this cultural ceremony, I kept asking myself, "What am I supposed to be doing? What gift should I bring? Do I need to make a speech? Am I dressed right? Should I talk more with the person seated next to me? Or less? Should I finish the food on my plate or leave some behind? Should I accept a second Fanta or decline? What should I say to the hosts in greeting and in leaving?" 

It slowly dawned on me as I sat in that honored seat in the hot tent, that I didn't actually need to "do" anything. It wasn't about "doing;" it was about "being." My presence was what spoke to the family. Many folks thanked me for coming and expressed their genuine welcome and gratitude for my participation in the event. This is contrary to my personal culture where I struggle with the idol of productivity. Sitting there for hours didn't feel productive to me - shouldn't I at least be developing relationships with folks in conversation? But, as it turns out, I was developing friendships - in the Burundian way - by being present at this momentous family occasion. Obviously there are pros and cons for each of the different cultural styles of friendship, but in this case I can certainly learn something from my Burundian hosts and value being present with friends more highly than my personal agenda. As Jim Elliot said, "Wherever you are, be all there!" 

Beautiful scenery at the end of the dry season in Rutana