Threads of Years Long Gone: Ministers, Babies, and Reasons for Reconsidering Hope

 (from Eric)

On Friday, the hospital inaugurated a new district health office. In addition to being a church hospital and a teaching hospital, Kibuye is the referral hospital for Kibuye Health District, a geographic area of over 200,000 people. Anyone sick in that area goes to one of 18 health centers in the district which refer necessary cases to the hospital. Of course, we also get cases from all over the country and neighboring countries because of specialized care here, but we are the primary hospital for this catchment area, and this health district is administered and supplied by the district health office.

Their office was insufficient and helping them build a better office just outside the hospital wall also liberated some valuable real estate within the hospital that the old office was taking up. So we partnered with them to build a new office building. The building is lovely, and governmental dignitaries were invited to cut the ribbon.

The guest of honor was Burundi's Minister of Health. Newly appointed to the presidential cabinet in the last few months, this was her first visit to Kibuye. Burundi's amazing traditional drummers pounded and danced out a welcoming rhythm as the Minister's vehicle arrived, and we formed a receiving line, of which I was about number eleven.

Burundi's Traditional Drummers with the new district health office

As the Minister proceeded down the line, I shook her hand and said "Welcome to Kibuye." Over the thrum of drums behind us, she said "I know you. I met you in Banga when you were learning Kirundi. You had babies with you."

A journalist caught the moment where the Minister tells us she remembers us

I couldn't believe it, to say the least. Banga? Banga is where our team spent three months in 2013 when we first arrived, fresh from French language school but wanting to get a small smart on Kirundi language study before moving to the hospital.

 

Future Kibuye kids at Banga.

It wasn't the easiest three months. In fact, the "green soup" that we ate every night for dinner has become a bit of team lore. The electricity and water were usually out, and thus staying healthy was quite a challenge. I remember one night walking outside to see the adjacent hillside aflame (apparently a "controlled" burn for farmers) and wondering where the fire would spread.

During meals, the nuns who ran the guesthouse and restaurant, in order to help out high-chair-less parents (and to amuse themselves), would take Toby (who was about 5 months old) around and greet the other patrons. Apparently one of those patrons was the future Minister of Health, who came to Banga for a malaria training event.

Mama Lea - Toby's favorite nun

Now the Minister is at Kibuye, cutting a ribbon and remembering our team fondly. The ceremony began, and the governor of our province gave some opening remarks. Bishop Deo did a wonderful job discussing the work of the Free Methodist Church's institutions at Kibuye and their involvement in health care, including some upcoming plans. Then the minister took the podium and gave a very favorable speech. She again mentioned to everyone meeting our team in 2013 and remarked on our love for their country. She said that she would like to take a tour of the hospital afterwards, and spend close to an hour being guided deftly by Dr. Gilbert our medical director. All in all, a very successful visit.

***

The collision of past and present filled me with gratitude. It was the gratitude of someone who had been living on the back side of a tapestry, where all the threads are knotted and seemingly disorganized as they do their best to get from here to there. Then, for just a moment, you're allowed to catch a glimpse of the other side of the tapestry, where a beautiful, complex image has been created by those same threads.

You see that there were a couple stitches way over there, and then the thread disappeared for so long that you thought it was gone, and then it resurfaces in just the right place. And that makes you reconsider the other threads. It gives you hope for the other long-invisible strands. Or maybe this one over here has always bothered you, and you wish it would be gone. But maybe it actually plays a role in a bigger picture. It's been a source of tension, but maybe it's like the musical tension of a passing note to a beautiful chord. Who knows?

No thread makes a tapestry. Rather it's all the threads together. It's the whole of all our lives and days and interactions, woven together by One whose perspective is so much bigger than ours that it's like how the heavens are higher than the earth. It's incredibly hopeful, and also incredibly humbling.

Is that what Banga was for? Probably not, or rather maybe one thing among many. Who knows? The point is that there are these moments where you see a bigger story and though you may not have much more of an idea of what's going on than you did before, you now have a reason to hope that there actually is a bigger story. And that changes everything with regards to how you look at the beautiful and the problematic that surround you even now.

Is that what the Minister's visit to Banga and now to Kibuye was for? Maybe a bit, but she is not just a character in our story any more than we are just characters in hers. Surely God has many plans for her life in so many other domains. And so we see that the big Kibuye tapestry is itself a piece within the tapestry of Burundi, within the tapestry of His kingdom throughout His creation.

It's too complex. It makes our heads swirl. No one could weave together such a complicated web of billions of people's lives into a single beautiful work of art. But if someone could... If someone is, then that One is most worthy of praise.

(On a more personal level, here's a song I wrote a while back on a similar theme: The Weaving of My Days, also on Spotify and other streaming sites)

To Vouvoie or not to Vouvoie

By Ted John

Respect. To me, this is such a dynamic word that can be conveyed (or not conveyed) in so many different ways, depending on the culture and context of any given country or people group. In France, one of the ways respect is conveyed is through the French language, and more precisely, whether “to vouvoie or not to vouvoie” (this is me using a combo of French + English, i.e. franglais, in case you were wondering what vouvoie was).

“To vouvoie,” or in its true French infinitive form, “vouvoyer,” is the verb that means “to address someone as vous.” As a follow up, you are probably thinking, what/who is “vous”? It translates to “you” in English, but with a certain element of respect, formality, or social distance. Correspondingly, there is another “you” or “tu” with a less formal connotation, used among friends, family, children, in churches and other social groups. This brings us to the verb, “tutoyer,” which means “to address someone as tu.” The English language doesn’t really have a distinction between these two forms. Thus, you can imagine some of the questions I’ve asked myself:

• After you meet someone and start to become friends, how do you know when to transition from vous to tu? 
• What if you start to tutoie, then decide you don’t want to be friends with them anymore; do you revert back to vous? 
• If you vouvoie someone (and they think you're on tutoie terms), will they be offended? 
• If you tutoie someone (and they don't think you're at that level of closeness), will they be offended for you this mismatch in closeness perception? 

Hence, the title of the post: to vouvoie or not to vouvoie. That is the question. At least for me in France, not infrequently, as someone who is trying to be culturally appropriate and respectful. For French natives, this comes second nature to them. For English speakers trying to learn French and understand French culture, it requires more processing time.

(Aside: If interested, here is a 1-minute comedy video (in French) poking fun at this very topic.)

I remember one of the first times this topic was brought up in conversation with a real French person. It was after a Sunday church service (at a local French church), and I was talking with the Pastor. At that time, I was using the vous form with him. Then, in the middle of the conversation, he suddenly brought up whether we should start to tutoie, and I responded, sure why not? And since then, we have been on tutoie terms. Apparently, according to other French colleagues, this is not an uncommon way for the transition to happen. I also later found out that most people in the church setting commonly use “tu” to address everyone anyhow, with the idea that everyone is brother and sister in the same family of God.

Interestingly enough, the two forms of addressing you as vous or tu exists to a degree in some form in a variety of other languages, including German, Spanish, Portuguese, and Russian (non-exhaustive list). Who’d have thought?

It also sort of exists in the Korean language, but it’s called an honorific form, and applies to not only verbs, but also nouns (like 2 ways to say the word food, one more respectful than the other) and the way you address someone (like a more respectful way of saying Mister or Miss). Since I’m a Korean-American, the idea of respect expressed in language and culture is not a new concept for me. In the Korean culture, people bow to show respect, and one or both people might bow depending on the situation. Growing up, it was normal and expected of me to greet my parents' Korean friends in this way, as well as the parents of my Korean friends, my own relatives, and pretty much all other Korean adults.

From the Korean language standpoint, not using the honorific form when situationally indicated would be offensive and disrespectful, so perhaps this is why I’ve been drawn to make parallels between Korean and French.

Another reflection point is on how different cultures address God. Do they vouvoie or tutoie God? In the Korean language and culture, God is addressed respectfully and appropriately in the honorific form. This is based on the desire to give honor and respect in an attempt to reflect how great and majestic God really is. Not surprisingly, I incorrectly assumed the same would apply to French. So in French, God is also addressed respectfully and appropriately, but in the “tu” form as a way to capture the closeness and familiarity of the relationship with God.

Looking ahead to Burundi (T-minus 3 weeks), it will be interesting to observe the differences and similarities between the Burundian language and culture and that of France or Korea (or the US), particularly in regards to respect. What is considered respectful in one culture, whether a gesture or the way you address someone, may be considered disrespectful in another culture, and vice versa. Thankfully, I have some teammates in Burundi who have already paved the path a little for us and who can give us a head start in the do’s and don’t-do’s.

All that to say, it is pretty amazing that God made all of us, and that He is the author of all people, cultures, and languages. He understands each one of us, and He knows what’s in our hearts, even if we don’t convey it a certain way in action or in words. It reminds me of this passage that gives us a glimpse of heaven:

“After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, ‘Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!’ ” – Revelation 7:9-10.

Taking a break from studies to enjoy the outdoors in France!

Third Time's a Charm...I Think

by Jess Cropsey

If you are a regular reader of our blog, you’ll know that I’ve made several attempts to intentionally give our kids opportunities to interact with Burundian kids.  This is easier said than done believe it or not and the North American bubble that we often live in can be challenging to burst!  At the beginning of the school year, we tried taking our kids once a week to the local elementary school for a French or Kirundi class.  I wouldn’t say it was a home run success and it certainly didn’t foster relationships with other Burundians like we had hoped (either because interacting was just not part of the class and/or because our kids were all sitting together in the back row).  

Sometime in mid-December I starting mulling around the idea of a bilingual class (English-Kirundi) once a week that was comprised of our “bazungu” kids and Burundian kids.  After some thought and discussion, we decided to drop the weekly visits to the local school and give this a whirl.  We started in mid-January and have had about 6 classes so far.  The Burundian kids were chosen from the local community and I personally know each of their parents.  These kids all live right at Kibuye (with one exception), their parents work for the hospital or the school, and they all attend our local church.  We have roughly equal numbers of bazungu & barundi, with ages and genders matched to some degree.  Here are 6 of the 9 Burundian kids who are part of the class, enjoying a take-home balloon on that particular day.     

The primary purpose of the class is to encourage cross-cultural relationships in an environment that is a little less intimidating [at least for our kids], with some structure, but a limited number of kids.  The secondary purpose is for the kids to soak up as much of the second language as possible (English for the Burundians & Kirundi for our kids).  

I recruited Thérèse, the lady who has been helping teach Kirundi to our kids, to co-teach the class with me.  It’s a great opportunity for all of the kids to function in both a teacher and learner role as they help each other with language.  Here’s Micah & Bryce taking turns giving each other instructions about how to dress the doll.  

Playing a little Twister & Candy Land to practice our colors.

While I feel very unqualified to be doing this, it’s been fun and challenging to plan for this class and so far it has gone pretty well.  Outside the classroom we’ve had some discouraging moments of…

Me:  “Hey, that’s ____.  They’re in your bilingual class, remember?”  

Kid:  “Really?  She looks different here at church.”  

Me:  Sigh.

But we’ve also had some great moments of others seeing a particular kid while they’re out & about and saying, “Hey, that’s so-and-so!” followed by a greeting.  Or, "Hey they're playing that game [with the bricks and ball that we learned together in class]!".  Warms my heart and gives me hope to keep trying.  :)  

While I know there's no perfect solution, perhaps this third attempt is the closest yet in enabling our kids to develop relationships with kids from very different linguistic & cultural backgrounds.  Pray that we'll be able to love these kids well despite our limited ability to communicate and that they'll form a special bond with each other.  

Forgetting English, Part II

(from Eric)

In case you are wondering if the phénomène that we wrote about last year is still valid, I give you this update:

No one told me that the road to fluency in a foreign language would include a kind of nether-land where you are fluent in no language at all.  Fluency, as I have learned in this process is way more of a continuum than I had ever imagined.  Even among native speakers, there is a spectrum of fluency.  

And regarding English, I'm not so much where I once was on that spectrum.

And by the way, these teammates of mine are no help.  Exemple:  I could easily be sitting with them some evening and say something like: "Did you have a good voyage?  I was wondering if you would rest in Bujumbura another day."  Some of you probably think that sentence sounds a bit weird for normal conversation.  "Voyage"?  Was he getting on board a ship to pass through the Strait of Magellan (which I recently learned is called the détroit de Magellan)?  Was he packing a covered wagon to move to Oregon?  Why did he need to "rest"?  Is Buja a good place to rest (Answer: not really)?  No actually, voyage just means "trip" and rester means "to stay".  But here's the thing.  No one in the room thought that was at all awkward, thus we may be doing it dozens of times a day without knowing it.

(By the way, Agatha Christie is constantly using her Belgian super-sleuth Hercule Poirot to make these kind of jokes out of his bad English.  I notice them now, and find them really funny, even though I'm quite afraid I'll stop noticing them soon.)

Typing is another thing.  I had never given much thought to keyboards in foreign languages, but French having many accents or other slightly altered letters (é ù ô ç ï...), I made a decision to start using the French keyboard setting when I was typing French.  Seen here, it is the "AZERTY" keyboard as opposed to the Anglo "QWERTY" keyboard.

 

It's not terribly different, but different enough (which seems to always be the heart of the problem), and in preparing lots of French lectures, I've gotten as comfortable with the French keyboard as I am with the English keyboard.  The problem is that I have achieved this in part by becoming less comfortable with the English keyboard.  Seriously, even as I type this, I haven't been this bad at typing since my sophomore high school typing class.  Punctuation is right out.

As mentioned before, this remains mostly funny, and just a little bit tragic.  Some days, after arduously persevering in French all day long with students, I'll come home, my mind wistfully full of the unconscious ease of communicating with another native English speaker, eager for the sanctuary of my own home where I can simply talk with Rachel, focusing only on what we are saying, and not on how we say it.  Then, by the second sentence some French word slips past my lips.  Dommage.

(PS.  Writing the word "dommage." (meaning here "shame") took no fewer than 5 typing attempts, especially to find the M and the period.  I finally decided to change back to the English keyboard, only to find that I was already using the English keyboard.  Which explained a lot...)

Avoiding Caput Medusa - or - Try and Keep Your Cross-Cultural Teaching Simple

(from Eric)

We are in the throes of clinical teaching here at Kibuye.  In French.  To a group of Burundians.  Who are on their first hospital rotation.  And we're still learning how to do it.  So we try out some new things.

I asked my students what some topics were that they wanted to learn about.  Perhaps that was the first mistake, because it is certainly possible to be too early in your education to know what you need to know.  They said psychiatric disease, liver failure, kidney disease, and hypertension.  I would have only picked one of those things.

But, I did ask, so I tried to follow through.  The next day, I sat down to try and do a little extemporaneous talk on liver failure.  Every time I try and do this, I discover that I don't know significant amounts of vocabulary necessary for the topic.  And I discover that when it is too late to turn back.  So you just try pronouncing the word with a French accent.  If they repeat it back, you're good.  If they don't, you give it a second try for good measure.  Third blank looks gets an attempt to explain it.  Fourth blank looks abandons the topic.

We started with a list of symptoms of chronic liver disease.  They got a few of them.  Ascites.  Jaundice.  But they weren't getting anything associated with portal hypertension.  So I asked them:

(in a French accent) "Hypertension Portal?" (it's also good to try and reverse the orders of words)

Flash of recognition.  Good.  Success.  "OK, can you name any signs of portal hypertension?"  Blank stares.  OK, I should explain it to them.  "So, when the blood going to your liver gets backed up, the blood gets sent on alternative pathways in various parts of the body, and that leads to varicose veins there and possible bleeding problems."

If you are impressed that I could explain that in French, then you shouldn't be, since, though I got an "E" for effort, they obviously didn't really understand me.  OK, moving on:

"Esophageal varices?"  OK, good, they've heard of that one.  "The same problem in another place?"

No response.

"Hemorrhoids?"  I think they get the word, but they seem more confused.

"Caput medusa?"  Very confused.  "Medusa, do you know her, from Greek mythology?"  Nothing yet.  "A lady with snakes instead of hair."  Mouths agape with astonished stares.  "Uh, yeah, I guess it does sound a bit frightening..."  

This is where I realized I had certainly gone too far, but now, with the totality of their interest directed towards me, what am I to do?

"Well, picture a face with a bunch of snakes coming out, and then picture the belly button with dilated veins sort of coming... out... instead..."

One of them ventures boldly:  "You can see that, just by looking?!"

Uh, yeah, but I don't think it's as dramatic as you are thinking...

Medusa

Caput medusa

Another day in our lives.

 Wikipedia France has informed me that "la tête de Medusa" is, in fact, the French term.

Last Day of Class

The last day of class for the adults yesterday was met with a variety of responses from the McCropder crew:  “Happy and sad at the same time” or “So ready to be done” or “I didn't really think about it” or “(sniff sniff cry) I will really miss this class.”  It is so good that God gives different perspectives, experiences, and interests to different team members.  And thankfully we can all look back and realize that, while we do not yet speak fluent French, we have all learned to communicate in French a whole lot better than we could a year ago.  We aim to keep that perspective, regardless of the results of the exams we will take next week.

Several of the classes held a party to commemorate the year.

The end of classes happened to coincide with the annual national Fête de la musique.  The town was bustling all evening with bands and dancing.   Several McCropder kids jumped in for the dancing.   

After the fête, a basketball game in the school parking lot rounded out the evening.  Meanwhile Sarah was saying goodbyes here, and this morning she flew to New York for a teachers’ conference.   

Please pray for us in the next few weeks:

- June 23 – July 5:  Sarah’s teachers’ conference in New York

- June 24 – 28:  Final exams for the other McCropder adults

- July 2:  Commencement ceremony at the language school

- July 5:  Last day of school for the children

- 2^nd week of July:  The remaining McCropders leave France

- 1^st week of August:  McCropders reunite in Burundi

Case of the Week: L'Evanouissement at the Maternelle

from Eric

Last Monday, it was business as usual.  At 11:20, our classes got out in time for me to dart over to l'école maternelle (public preschool) to pick up Maggie, Elise and Micah.  It's about a 5 minute walk without the kids, and the time for opening the doors for lunch is a bit variable, so despite having hurried over, I was waiting with everyone else for the doors to open.  We had been told that morning that a local ER doctor was coming to talk to all the doctors this afternoon about medical vocabulary in French.  We were instructed to bring our questions for him, so I was pondering that.

The back of the maternelle school for our kids

All of a sudden, there was a bit of commotion up near the doors, and the crowd shuffled a bit like someone was falling down.  Somewhere inside me, some well-honed reflexes were quickly dusted off, and I darted toward the front.  A man was holding the arms of a woman in her 30's who had evidently passed out.  

She looked like she was breathing OK, so I reached for her wrist to check her pulse.  The other man shouted at me to clear off and give her some room.  Je suis médecin!  (I'm a doctor!) I called back, and he instantly beckoned me to do whatever I needed to do.

Je suis médecin was the first and last properly formed French sentence to come out of my mouth for the next several minutes.  In caring for a patient who has passed out (had an evanouissement), there are not really a lot of questions one needs to ask.  However, she had a friend nearby and I wanted to know if this happened often to her, and if she had been in good health lately.  Despite being capable of asking those things, I found the words spilling out in a jumbled mass, and it took a good bit of repetition to get that simple information.

Her pulse was regular and she wasn't seizing, and a short while later, when I rubbed her sternum a bit, her eyes opened right up, and she began to talk in a more-or-less normal fashion.  I learned that she had these episodes souvent (often), but that, though the doctors had done some analyses, nothing yet had been found.

"The other guy" had called the firemen (who interestingly play the role of EMS here), and they showed up impressively quickly to put her on the stretcher and take her to the hospital.  The head-teacher eagerly accepted my offer to stay until she was taken away, and I told the fireman those things that I would have wanted to know from a reliable witness on the scene, if I was the doctor who was going to receive this lady at the ER.

And so I learned a valuable language lesson:

Urgent medical care calls for all of your brain power at once.  At this stage, so does conversational French.  Given that I don't have two brains, one of these two is going to win out.  So, later that day, when we had our medical French talk, I was searching for a cadre of stock phrases that I can memorize and will therefore flow out as easily as Je suis médecin in the midst of an emergency.

The talk turned out great, as we all probed him with our thoughts, and he encouraged us with how much the technical medical vocab of French is similar to the technical vocab in English.  We listened eagerly and had a chance to practice interview questions on each other.  Rachel asked about birth control, Carlan asked about spinal injury, and Jason talked about passing gas (in the setting of bowel obstruction, of course.)  All in all, I'm thankful that my one French patient didn't seem to be in any great danger, and the day was certainly one to whet the appetite for what is to come.

La Fête de Pentecôte: Looking at Pentecost as a Language Learner

(from Eric)
  

Today is the Feast of Pentecost.  The coming of the Holy Spirit.  Coming as I do from a very broad range of church backgrounds when it comes to charismatic/Pentecostal issues, this annual day always raises questions about the role of the gift of tongues (and others) in the church.  Different interpretations of this day can even lead to divisions.  But let's put that all aside for a moment.

If it is nothing else, Pentecost is the day where the followers of Jesus begin to carry out the work Jesus had given them.  After his resurrection, Jesus had told his followers to wait in Jerusalem for just such an event, and then they will go out and be his witnesses to the world.

I guess a lot of different things could have happened to fulfill this promise of Jesus.  But we got a specific something:  The followers were visited by a great wind, as well as some flame-like/tongue-like things, and they started to speak in such a way where people from many different countries could understand them in their mother tongue, i.e. their "heart language".

And what did these people say about that?  "We hear them telling in our own tongues the mighty works of God." (Acts 2:11)  And thus the mission of the church began.

This year is unique is our lives, as we are neck deep (or perhaps even forehead-deep) in learning a language.  And we are about to start learning another.  So, I can't help but connect with the story on this level.  Jesus is about to send his people out to all the world to declare the mighty works of God in Jesus, and he kicks it off like this.  And lo and behold, the people understand what's happening.  The Gospel for all nations is proclaimed to numerous peoples all at once, to each own in the own tongue.  It's like a tiny preview of what will continue to unfold for thousands of years.

The relationship of the mission and the miraculous sign of God seems way too close to be coincidental.

Interestingly, all these people were Jews.  So, I would guess (though I surely don't know) that most could speak to one another in a common tongue, maybe Greek, maybe Aramaic or Latin.  So, strictly speaking, this sign may not have been necessary to communicate facts.  But the importance of the heart language is maintained, and people are amazed to hear such things addressed to them, since it is their tongue.

It goes without saying that each of us would give our nose in order to have the Holy Spirit come like a wind and enable us to be immediately understood perfectly by those who communicate in French and Kirundi.  Hélas, I don't anticipate that happening.  

And yet, I think the story of Pentecost still captures the mission of our time in language study, namely to be able to declare the goodness of God, the mighty works of God, to the nations of the earth in their own tongues.  That they would know that it is for them.

And it appears that God is interested in gifting himself to us to see that that happens.

And that is encouraging.

Forgetting How To Speak English

(from Eric)

Two days ago, in class, we were discussing a certain verb construction.  I was wrestling with it in my mind, trying to find an approximate English equivalent that I might be able to hang my hat on.

Epiphany!  "Could" in the sense of "it could be, but it's probably not..."  So I changed my multi-color pen and scrawled above it the English word "COULD".

Then  I leaned back and stared hard.

Did I spell that right?  It looks so weird.  I said it over and over in my mind.  Wow, now it sounds weird.  Is that even the right word?  I try writing it in lowercase.  Hmm, that looks better, but still a bit off.  Am I having a stroke?

***

This is our world right about now.

I was told beforehand, that silent E's and double letters will be the first to go, because they are often the only change between an English word and a French word.  We had a classic moment in class a while ago, where our teacher was exhorting us to note well that the French word appartement is spelled differently than in English.  "How many P's are there in English?"  One student confidently pronounced "Two!"  Then, the teacher wrote the correct English spelling on the board, and the student's eyes got wide.  "No, there's only one!"  And this student works as an English teacher.  

But so it is with all of us.  Adresse.  Utilise. I'm having to type these words into Google Translate as I type this to ensure that I'm putting the right spelling on this post.  I've never been so reliant on spell-checkers in my life.  It's not going to get any better with medical vocabulary.

I remember a friend in medical school talking about a particularly brain-frying session of Gross Anatomy where she turned to her friend and said:  "I know we have two kidneys, but do we have one liver or two?  One?  No, two!  No, just one....yeah, definitely one."

This phenomenon (phénomène) is about 80% a funny thing to laugh at along the road of language learning.  The other 20% is something that takes a stab at my identity and substantially changes some important things. As an American,  part of my identity as an educated professional is being able to articulate with the right words and spell correctly.  The deeper we go in French, even more so as we learn Kirundi and live in the great linguistic mixture of French-Kirundi-English-Swahili that is Burundi, we are going to get more things wrong.  There is certainly an overall net gain in knowledge, but there may be something about my ability to function in English that will have to suffer a bit.

Interestingly, Kenyans never had quite the same qualms.  Certainly, "proper" English functioning improves with education, but even very educated Kenyans never had many as many qualms with making spelling errors, even in a professional presentation.  It was a constant suggestion of mine that they could improve the overall professional appearance of their work by watching their spelling more closely.  They each spoke at least 3 languages, of course.  Often more.

I think often about those guys, and how I have so much more empathy for their situation.  Ethnocentrism strikes again! 

So, prie for us as we learn to adress these issues et continuer a utilise our French.

Why French for Africa?

Learning French to work in Africa?

Oui.  In 2010, when our team was in earnest in our search for a long-term location (we settled on Burundi December 2010), we were drawn especially to places that not many people were working.  The main reasons for this were that we had been given a community, and we felt that this gave us increased capacity for "emptier" places (as expats went), as well as wanting to minimize dependency issues.

We talked with people all over the continent, and one of the first observations I made was that there were so few people working in Francophone Africa.  This piqued my curiosity generally about Francophone Africa.  Here is what I learned.

Depending on how you count it, there are 31 countries in Africa with French as an official language.  This represents 355 million people, with an expected rise to 750 million by 2050.  This is in contrast to 24 African countries that have English as an official language.  The number of people in the Anglophone countries is a bit higher overall, but this is largely due to the fact that Nigerians outnumber the grains of sand on the shore.

I don't have numbers on the relative spiritual needs of the two language groups, but I think it's safe to say that the Francophone countries are more likely to be Muslim and/or unreached by Christianity.

And interestingly, there seems to be a significant correlation with physical/humanitarian need.  For example, the Human Development Index, published annually by the UN, is meant to provide a global measure of how "developed" a country is.  By this measurement, 7 of the 10 least developed countries in the world are in Francophone Africa.  Burundi is 3rd from the bottom.  Liberia and Sierra Leone (Anglophone) as well as Mozambique (Portugese) round out the list.

And yet, these are the forgotten disasters of the world.  How often does one hear about Niger, Central African Republic, Burkina Faso, or Guinea?

So why are so few people there?  I suspect it's because so many missionaries come from Anglophone-predominate countries (US, Canada, Australia, UK, South Korea...), and learning another language is just plain hard.  (You can trust us on that one.)

Given our tools as Christian physicians and missionaries, French study is essential for what God has called us to in Burundi.  However, if we are graced to see our work there completed in 15 years, French language ability will open all kinds of wonderful doors for amazingly needy places.

And I've become a somewhat unabashed advocate for this as well.  If you care greatly about the needs of Africa, and are interested in long-term work, consider French.  It may not be the same lingua franca that it was fifty years ago, but it is still useful for much more than a good vacation to Provence (though that sounds nice as well).

The Broccoli Beat-Down

by Jean Valjean

As many of you have experienced, learning a new language is a humbling process.  If it isn't enough that you make a fool of yourself most times you open your mouth, there is the added dimension of concurrent “existential chaos” (as Carlan puts it).  After experiencing highly productive professional roles as physicians and teachers, we are now bumbling language beginners desperately wanting to learn as fast as we can to alleviate the pain and suffering. 

Ah, but there are a few obstacles frustrating the resolution of my identity crisis.  The call of the progeny hits me like screeching nails, “I’m hungry, Can somebody wipe me?, I don’t want to go to school…”.  I find myself all alone.  It's Jess' study block.  She too is a full-time student which means we attempt to split the domestic responsibilities 50/50, and I try to keep my finger in the dike while she's gone.  Schizam, there goes ½ of my desperately needed study time.  God’s good blessings (my wonderful wife and kids) quickly begin to feel like obstacles between me and my deep desire to study more French.  Frustration and internal angst build.

With that as a back-drop, I tell you this story.  It was a gray, Friday afternoon post classes, and we found ourselves in desperate need of groceries.  Note, the shopping is now in my jurisdiction, and I typically haul the goods with a bicycle that I found in the apartment basement.  This basement (literally “la cave” in French) is full of stuff dating back to the mid-60’s that not even missionaries wanted to keep.

Providentially, "my" grocery getter is outfitted with a make-shift plastic tub strapped to the back which I can pile high with milk, diapers, canned goods, etc, in addition to the over-sized backpack I wear for the occasion (thanks Mom Birk).  At times, the shear weight can border on the edge of being untenable (it is crucial to padlock the front tire to a fixed object during loading and unloading).  Thus, it was with great joy on this particular day that I accepted an invitation to go grocery shopping with another student, Tom, using his car (the McCropders are going “sans voiture” in France).

I got right to work at the store so as not to keep Tom waiting.  Of particular interest, in France you have to weigh your own produce and then print a sticker for each item.  That is when it happened.  As I quickly weighed my fresh fruits and veggies, I remember glimpsing at the broccoli sticker and thinking, “Hmm, not bad, only 86 centimes ($1.07) for 2 heads.”  In a flash I was off to procure the rest of my shopping list.

Tom was already waiting by the car when I arrived at a long line at the cashier.  As I went to pay my bill, it seemed unusually high.  Then my credit card wouldn’t work.  After several failed attempts to fix the problem, the natives were getting restless behind me and the cashier gave-up and sent this American putz and his confangled visa card to the “help” desk to have them straighten me out.  The lady there got my card to work in an instant and I was out the door.  With all the hullabaloo, I never looked at my receipt. 

The next morning, as I’m eating my newly purchased granola, I suddenly remember the expensive grocery bill.  I get out the receipt and quickly hone in on the “CORNICHONES” costing 86€ (euros).   That's over $100.  I happen to know that "cornichone" means pickle from a silly French song we listened to in class.  Yikes!  Those were some expensive pickles.  But wait a minute, I didn’t even buy pickles.  After some careful investigation, I find "cornichones" on my broccoli sac at a cost of 99.99€/kilo!  

I sheepishly return to the store with my bag of broccoli.  At the "help" desk for idiots, I explain in my best French that I somehow made a mistake weighing my broccoli, and yes, I paid over $100 dollars for it without noticing.  The nice lady began laughing hilariously and announced to the row of cashiers sitting en face, "This American paid 86€ for broccoli!"  She merrily credited back my money and asked with a giggle if I would still like to buy the broccoli.  I said yes, but was then faced with having to re-negotiate the scales of humiliation.  I pressed the little button with the picture of broccoli, and with no problem at all it produced a sticker labelled "broccoli" for a total of 2€.  That's more like it. 

It was a week or so later that Jessica investigated the scene of the crime and had the insight to push the blank button next to the broccoli.  Out came "cornichones" for 99.99 €/kilo.  Doh.  At any rate, it was fantastic broccoli.

I continue to learn day after day just how much of my identity is still wrapped up in things like productivity, speaking intelligently and not paying $100 for broccoli.  Jesus continues to call me to find my identity in being God's child, not in my French or in my ability to use the scales of humiliation.  As I rest in Christ, I find that my internal angst fades, I'm able to love my family again and I'm set free to continue on the journey of learning French by making my prerequisite one million mistakes.  Thanks in particular to Jessica, the McCropder guys, Steve Telian and my mom as you've walked through these months of transition with me.

The Nut Mill

(By Jason) 
An important and enjoyable part of learning language is learning culture.  This includes taking periodic field trips with our school to see various aspects of French culture while also affording us an opportunity to practice our French with "real French people."  So last week we took a trip to a small mill in the hills nearby which makes flour, paste, and oil out of walnuts and hazelnuts.  Pictured above is part of our class waiting outside the "Moulin."

 The 144 year-old moulin was originally powered by the waterwheel pictured here.  Now days, they have an electric motor as a back-up for when there is not enough water flow.  The intricate set up of gears and such was incredible.

 The process begins by dumping a load of locally picked walnuts or hazelnuts into the stone surface after which a heavy mill stone rolls over the nuts for 15-30 minutes.

 The paste that is created can either be eaten as is, or it can be compressed in a hydraulic press under 200 tons of pressure!  Compressing it creates 2 products - walnut oil and a dry brick of the residual fiber which can be used as a flour additive (4 of these bricks are leaning on the wall below).

 We enjoyed to opportunity to taste both the walnut paste and oil, such that the following day, many of the kids collected walnuts from a walnut tree at our school and proceeded to replicate the process as best they could.  Their walnut butter ended up tasting pretty good in a walnut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.  I wonder how well walnut trees grow in Burundi...

Making A Million Mistakes

(from Eric)

During the PILAT course we took this past year in Colorado (Program in Language Acquisition Techniques), we all came away with a good catch phrase:

"You have to make a million mistakes to learn a language."  And the implication is: "So get out there and start making them."

An alternative:  "You have to murder the language before you can master the language."

And it's true.  And embarrassing.  And funny all at the same time.  In other words, it looks just like the quiet, steady, powerful grace of God at work in us everyday in our ordinary lives.  

The aforementioned mistakes come in innumerable forms, but I have noticed a few broad categories which I will attempt to describe for you here.

1.  The "Not-the-right-foreign-language" mistake.  In America, this is when you thank your Chinese waitress with "Gracias" because her accent is a bit strong.

The first week we were here, our family ventures on an inter-city bus trip to a nearby town.  One buys these tickets from the driver.  I needed two tickets.  All I had to do was say my destination, the word "deux", and look at the little cashier machine for the price.  Well, I got the destination right, and then said something like "toi" (which is not "2" in any language that I know of).  We got past it, and when the transaction was complete, I gave him a confident and courteous "sawa".  Which is, of course, Swahili.  I realized my mistake, wanted to explain myself, realized that would make it worse, and walked away with my head down.

And of course, now it's funny.

2.  The "Delay-to-the-point-of-saying-nothing" mistake.

Another fellow student here described this to a tee.  He called it the "10-second delay".  You just arrived.  You don't know how to say anything in French, but you did learn "je ne comprends pas". (I don't understand.)  An innocent old lady walks up to you on the street, and utters a very kind unintelligible something to you.  Two seconds later, you realize that you have no idea what she said.  At five seconds, you are still open-mouthed and mute, and she is wondering if you know how to speak any language at all.  At eight seconds, you haven't changed, she has concluded you have "locked-in" syndrome from your basilar arterial infarction and walks away.  At ten seconds, you remember your magic phrase but realize you are too late, and feebly call after her, "Je ne comprends pas..."

3.  The "Language-misadventure-turned-serious-faux-pas".  These mistakes count for more than 1 on your journey to a million.

I have yet to score one of these on my own, but I take comfort in knowing that it is inevitable.  One of our SPLICE instructors (who lived in France) famously asked a woman if he could speak to her fesse a fesse (bottom to bottom) instead of face a face.  I can picture myself messing up that vowel.  

Alyssa once was talking to a mom in Kenya about her child not eating today, because of a surgery that was planned.  Her interns graciously told her later that she had said (in Swahili):  "Mama, don't eat your child today.  You will eat your child tomorrow."  Thus, I am making a point to discover the different French words for "feed" and "eat", but I guess that just means it will be something else that gets me.

Couldn't we just learn this as a download, like in The Matrix?  Can't we skip the process?  No, we can't, and thus we trust in some purpose behind it.  And as I see my heart and my ego bump along the crowded street, getting jarred here and catapulted there, I catch a glimpse of what the process is for.

Perspective in the Daily Grind

(from Eric)

What did I do yesterday?  I worked on learning French.  What am I doing today?  I'm catching up on my French (and writing a blog to tell you about it, obviously).  I won't belabor the point by describing for you what's on the block for tomorrow.  I'm sure you see the pattern.

There are moments, particularly when we hear about the current doctor strike in Kenya, or try to work on projects in advance for Burundi, that I think, "What am I doing?  I'm a doctor.  What am I doing working on a homework assignment by asking a complete stranger where they are going on their next vacation?"  (Which incidentally, John did the same assignment, struck up a friendship, and was invited to borrow the stranger's mother-in-law's camping car on their next trip to Brittany.)

Well, there are several therapeutic options for the malady in which I can find myself.  One is to remember that this year is not simply a means to an end.  There is a book title that goes something like "Language Learning is Relationship is Ministry."  And I think that's true.  And while we learn French, friendships are made.  We grow in community and vision.  The local church here has repeatedly told us that the presence of language-learning missionaries has been a boon to the spiritual life of their community.

But for the sake of this post, let's say it is just a means to an end.  Because, what an end!  It boggles my mind to consider it.  Years of caring for the sick and poor in Burundi, all done in French (and Kirundi).  Years of clinical teaching of generations of medical students and residents, all in French.  Conversations about drip rates, antibiotic choices, when to operate, how to improve the plumbing, poverty and justice, God's calling in young lives, love, redemption, grace... all in French.

Some very wise friends once told us that language is the single-most important factor in opening up relationships between missionaries and the community they are serving.  Indeed, language is not just about the "stuff" being communicated, but about the communication itself, which is the very fabric of a friendship.

Is it an investment, then?  In many ways, it is exactly that, and one that takes a decent amount of long-term thinking.  But as investments go, the payoff is tremendous.

Being in Class with John Cropsey

(by Eric)

Classes are in full swing.  Our team is dispersed through three of the five classes here (no one in the most advanced classes), and I have been slotted in a class of eight, with Alyssa and John.  And I am thankful for this, and I will tell you why.

In our language training course in Colorado, they would say: "No one will ever speak French the way that you will speak French."  This was certainly true of John in Kenya with Swahili, having coined the popular exclamation "Hapana Sana!", which literally means "Very No!"  It doesn't exist in the language, but the Kenyans loved it.

What about French?  Well, if there is a difficult pronunciation, John will not stop until he gets it, though he may have his head in his hands after his fifth attempt.  And he will often stretch his currently limited vocab in order to make a joke for the moment.  And from what I've seen, his methods work.  It's the brazenness of an effective language learner.

Example:

Our teacher was telling us the difference between "etudiant" ("student" in masculine form) and "etudiante" ("student" in feminine form).  She uses me as an example.  If I were to say "Je suis etudiante", then people would look very strangely at me.  We all have a small laugh, and the point is made.  But then John comes in with his best accent blazing:  "Eric, tu es transvestit!"

And on it goes, with the whole class laughing every day, and no one more so than Alyssa and I, who are experiencing exactly what we thought we would be experiencing, going to class with John.

What is the effect of this on me?  It is primarily that the classroom has become a place where I am free to make my mistakes over and over again, in front of my colleagues and my instructor.  My pride (which I wrote about earlier) is not so loud here, because John's many antics and linguistic misadventures have changed the tone of the room.

This is significant to me.  We are a community of friends who believe that God has called us together.  People ask us how we created this community, and it's a bit of an awkward question, because it rather happened to us.  But if there was any idea that distinguished us, it was the willingness to take seriously the friendships that God has put in our lives.

And this is so often the way of it in life.  It is the everyday effect of such friendships that make all the difference in shaping and molding us into we are.  Here God pulls out his seemingly favorite tools and sanctifies.  Amazingly, he uses broken people with divided but free wills to get done exactly what he wants to get done.  There is no greater craftsmanship, and it is to his glory indeed.

I can see it here.  The effect of John's everyday presence in the classroom is what I need, and I see it as a gracious answer to my prayers and the prayers of you all in response to prior writings.  However, I doubt that it is happening just here.  Look at the everyday relationships of your life through this lens and trust enough to wonder how God might be using these relationships to work his will, to glorify his name.  And remember then that you have been put in their lives, as well.

"But in fact God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be."  - 1 Corinthians 12: 18

(Addendum:  The morning this posted, we had an assignment to write a mini-biography of a famous person for the class to guess.  I wrote 'en francais' something like: "I am English.  I wrote lots of mystery novels.  My favorite character was Hercule Poirot.  The UK made me a knight for my books."

It went off really awkwardly, and not even the teacher could understand what I was trying to say, and no one in the group knew that I was talking about Agatha Christie, even the British student.  So I was apologizing.  

John went next: "I was very tall with a black hat.  I was president during the war between the north and the south.  I maybe had Marfan's syndrome, but I was killed before the syndrome got me."  He then started trying to explain to our teacher the word "arachnodactyly".

I felt quite a bit better.)