Agent of blessing and entertaining angels unaware

I was trying to find the entrance to the grand seminary pictured here so that I could go to the church and pray a bit but the old man who guarded the place and only spoke Kirundi was not letting this muzungu near the gate. He finally called out to a young woman who was nearby and who suggested that yes, he could let me in. At the same time a younger man appeared with a woman and he took charge of the situation. Karibu! I was definitely welcome to see the church and he, and his attractive companion, led me through the grounds. When I said I wanted to pray, he was delightfully surprised and left me to the task. I bumped into the couple on my way out and he took my hand and said something in French I did not understand and led me back into the grounds and into a room which turned out to be the dining hall and visitor room. I was joining them for lunch apparently. After awhile, others joined us and what seemed like a bit of a flirtatious or affectionate exchange with several of the men gathered who wanted to practice their English, we shared a lovely meal. I think one of the nuns saw a prize to be snatched up and she did not let go of my hand when I greeted her and I had to wrestle my way out of her grip somewhat diplomatically. I think, Mary Lou, you should have more concerns about her than a man keeping me here in Africa!

At one point, early on, the man who I had first encountered said to me in French that he liked to welcome strangers to which I had responded that one never knew when they might be entertaining angels when they welcomed strangers. He looked surprised by my answer and declared, “Christ lives in you.” “And you,” I responded. He seemed to be such an agent of blessing for me, as did several of the people I met that day.
You can imagine my great surprise when the next day, four of the friendliest men turned out to be the priests at the mass. Now my clue should have been when one told me he was the professor of liturgy but what do I know really? Anyway, I am still learning all the cultural roles and affection here means something different for the most part. I sure appreciated having the opportunity to attend daily mass and even adoration. A choir of 109 seminarians of different orders sang morning prayers each day. Daily mass was concelebrated by up to six priests at times. We struggle to attract men to the priesthood but that did not seem to be the case. One priest I met briefly, came to talk to me when he found out I was involved with the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, a 400-year old tradition of prayer. In a note he later left me, he said “I am frankly grateful (that you) shared your noble experience of God…Jesus is your best traveling companion.” Something in these simple words touched me deeply and summed up what the men from this seminary were for me—angels unaware. I had been in withdrawal from my morning prayer routine since my February miselette is still in Nairobi and the St. Ignatius website does not appear to be updated while Fr. B is in the hospital. I have now taken to doing morning and evening prayer from the January misselette, since morning prayer was a lovely start with these men. I came across this phrase during evening prayer in the intercessions: “For the grace to be agents of blessing, we pray…” and that has become my prayer now—that I may continue to be an agent of blessing, of peace, of hope and that I may be ready to entertain angels and be entertained by them.

How come you are still talking? Or What did I just say?

I have not spoken anything of my experience of what it is like being an interpreter and having to depend on interpreters to get my information. The photo is of participants from one of the grief sessions I gave in DR Congo.

Today I have been working on the newsletter. I have about 13 possible articles that I can pull together at the moment, ranging from the Declaration being presented to Quakers on the dire situation in the Goma Relief Efforts, to weapons collection in Gitega (30+ automatic weapons, 1000+ grenades, etc. from local people turning in their weapons stash since the war ended), to election monitoring in Burundi next year, to the local work being done with HIV/AIDS and peace. Some of the material being gathered is in the second language of the person I am interviewing which makes me struggle with the accuracy of the reporting. Sometimes, I have sat through a presentation with an interpreter where I went from Point One to Point Six and wondered what happened to the other five points. It has been a bit of a challenge—one that I thought I knew well from my work as an interpreter—but now realize that I have only mildly understood what it is like to be dependent on an interpreter for EVERYTHING. I have watched as others broke out in gales of great laughter and the interpretation I received was not in the least bit funny. I have felt terribly left out of prayers that do not get interpreted for the most part, especially the final prayer of the workshop that I recently facilitated. In fact, I later learned that the interpreter had asked for an evaluation of my session and had not translated a single word but gave me the summary later. I sit occasionally at meals, struggling to understand, but not wanting to ask again what is going on. I sit through entire services in Kirundi and have no idea what has transpired so I start making it up in my head. Ok, that was the Our Father, no, this is it now, or maybe now…or ugh! It is a humbling, growing edge experience and I have thought more than once, that Deaf children in public schools should be given some kind of award for surviving each school day. In fact, Deaf people, in general, have even more of my admiration and respect for not lambasting some of us more often. I struggle trying to find a balance between stopping everything so I can be included more, or letting it slide so that people don’t have to slow down for every little detail. On the flip side, when I am presenting, I sometimes have to wonder what on earth the interpreter just said in Kirundi and should he still be talking since I only said five words?? Other times I have been thrilled that the process is going so smoothly. I am developing a fondness for consecutive interpreting. I am unsure how this will impact my work as a consultant but I am sure it will. In fact, it may turn out to be one of the most valuable lessons I learn.

"You made us wash our hands."

I have been up in Burasira (photo is of view) for the weekend visiting Jodi, an MCC volunteer, and soaking up the opportunity to attend daily mass at the grand seminary there and taking some time to read and relax. I really felt as if I had entered a bird sanctuary on my first walk. A number of brightly coloured birds flitted around me, chirping cheerfully, as if to invite me to slow down and find some joy here. The pace of this internship has been constant as I have struggled with integrating the images of poverty and the cultural adjustments, learning the basic elements of four new languages (French, Kiswahili, Kirundi, and Kinyarwanda), and trying to find some balance as an introvert who has easily met over 100 people, many who expect me to remember their names. I cut myself a lot of slack so don’t worry!! I am not too hard on myself in this regard.
I was able to reflect a little more on the workshop that I gave for the Mi-Parec Staff and having checked out one of the comments that was made during the evaluation feel more comfortable with how things went. One participant told me that I had made them wash their hands. I knew the comment was related to a hand washing ceremony that is done in Burundi after a death but I was not totally clear on the context so I asked today when I returned. Because the graves are dug by some of those in attendance, it is necessary to wash one’s hands afterwards. It also symbolizes the end of the life, perhaps initiating the beginning of closure. The staff seemed quite happy to see me and welcomed me back. In fact, three had come up to Burasira to fetch me so that I would not have to take public transport back down the winding dirt road, filled with crate-sized potholes. After checking in, I found that one woman was fine but that the other had had dreams about her mother and was deeply missing her but I still stand by my assessment that this type of thing is a step forward on the grief journey.
The discussion moved on to what I thought about Burundi. Bridget married a Burundian at the end of last year so the question came up as to whether I might also want to marry one. I laughingly said yes and made an instant friendship with my three travel mates. When I asked about their marital status, all were married with children. One woman responded with yes, and four. I asked in French if she meant four husbands or four children. After a startled pause, great gales of laughter arose, followed by a “high five” like gesture of hand slapping and holding. I had done well in making my joke. Of course, my response about a Burundian husband got me in trouble when one of my travel mates brought her brother to meet me today. Trouble is, he looked 20 years old. I love Africans who think I am 23 and cannot believe I am over 40. Of course, part of their disbelief is that I have already surpassed the mean age of survival here—most people don’t live much beyond 40. Hence the grieving process is carried out often and while people are still quite young. I have given thanks for each year of my life for quite some time now, but now I do feel privileged that I am “middle-aged” and not near the end of my life.
A lot of hand washing goes on here by people who do not get to live long. This weekend after Sunday mass several people stopped in to see Jodi with a variety of ailments though it was my antibacterial ointment we used for a burn, a scrape and a cut toe. I held a baby in my arms whose mother had already lost three infants due to disease and this one looked like he had the same unidentified malady. We sent her off with some money to a nearby hospital. I am not sure that I will know the end of that story but I sure hope it has a happier one as most people simply cannot afford healthcare and so do not seek it. Perhaps having been given the means, a solution was found. One can only hope.

Explaining Grief to Traumatized People

Today I am upcountry in Burundi, in Gitega. The rain is pouring down as it does up here and a fleece is necessary in these mountains. The power just went off and may well again, making me lose this blog too but I will take the chance. Yesterday and today I gave a training session to the MiParec [Ministry for Peace and Reconciliation] staff. Everyone in the room of 20 people had lost several people. Today, I realize how exhausting it has been to lead this session and how inadequate I feel to even be talking about such a topic to people who have endured great trauma. In the final ceremony, there were many tears and much wailing. I thought my own heart would break listening but I do know that it is a good step forward for these people.

Afterwards, I took a walk into town by myself to clear my head and to buy chocolate. On the way back, I met a woman who was in the session and she told me in French that she had cried many tears overnight but that it was good. God is working in ways in which I can only stand in awe and gratitude. People here have experienced genocide and do not have much closure to their grief, especially when no body has ever been found.

Tomorrow morning at 6:00 I will go to Mutaho, further upcountry, to visit an MCC volunteer who I met the first night I arrived in Buju. She is a Canadian who is living beside a Catholic Seminary where I hope to spend some time praying and reflecting as my first month draws to a close. Yes, it is hard to believe but I am already done the first third of the journey.

Therese, my dear, I have new appreciation of your world travels a few years back. I struggle with the languages and culture a lot. The local language here is much more challenging than Swahili and my French is still evolving. On a funny note, back when I was in DRC a few weeks back I was greeted by an attractive Congolese doctor working with IRC and returned a comment with the familiar tu instead of vous. I immediately recognized my mistake--since he stopped dead in his tracks and came over and asked if this was my room. I recovered nicely by saying that yes, it was, and this one was my friend s and the other one belonged to my other friend. He got the hint that he should not come knocking that night which is a good thing since he of all people should be setting a good example of abstinence in a country devastated by AIDS. Yeesh!!!!!

Greetings are a maze in the Great Lakes Region. I am learning when and how to shake hands, when to offer a head touch three times, or when to kiss three times on the cheek but I still have not mastered it all. Really, the cultural etiquette is important. Here people walk guests to the gate but I leave my shoes in my room and then cannot do so because walking guests barefoot to the gate is not acceptable. Rules, rules, rules!!! Thank goodness for some cross cultural training.

I am back in Buju on Wed sometime and will have some internet access then. It turns out you cannot access me by texting in Burundi but I will be in Rwanda again on Feb 14 and it may work then.

peace or amahoro which is one of the local words I can use...

Suz

First African Deaf Person

On a lighter note, I did meet a Deaf Woman (on right in photo; her friend who signs in on left)who is part of the peace workshop in Uvira. It has a sewing class to teach people skills. She and I could communicate a little and I managed to understand that she had two brothers in Bujumbura but she lived with her mother in a little village close by. She was extremely poor and her father had died. Her brothers gave her and her mother no financial support. She seemed bright and happy and one of her friends signed for her during my session on grief. I hope to see her again maybe once if I return. In the meantime, I will set up a meeting here in Buju to connect with their Deaf Community.

Also on a much lighter note, and one certain friends and family members will appreciate, is that I tried ordering an omletter sans oignons--pas des oignons--and somehow, I think he understood PLUS des oignons. Some street child benefitted from my mistake later in the day. Kathy, can you imagine--I ordered a chipati at breakfast and it also came chocked full of onions. Yeesh.....

There is no peace without bread

I don't even know how to catch you up on everything that has been going on so I won't even try. I will attempt to give short snippets to give you a bit of a sense of my experiences. I don't think I have mentioned that in my pre-departure session class, I had mentioned that I really wanted to see poverty this trip. Well, I had a "be careful what you ask for experience." I was in Uvira, DRC with Elizabeth about 10 days ago. I had done two sessions on grieving to women from the community and the leaders of the various peace projects there. We had just said our goodbyes to three colleagues and decided on supper in five minutes before we parted our way. I had just entered my room and sat down for a minute when gunfire broke out in front of the hotel--a robbery was in progress next door, at the business of a wealthy man. Before I continue with this story, let me say that I was in a secure hotel (think gated community with razor wire fencing as in Stony Mountain Pen--a common decoration here--along the top). The military had robbed him, injuring his bodyguard in the process. The population of the village is very poor and they revolted. On the other side of our hotel was the police station and the townspeople descended upon it en masse to demolish it. The police, army and peacekeepers all fled. The robbery occurred around 6:30 pm and so the riot went on most of the night. The people threw rocks, set fires, and managed to demolish a good chunk of the police station. Items from the station were dragged out to the street right in front of Elizabeth's room where I was now staying. To make a long story short, I felt like I was experiencing CNN Live but without a remote to change the channel. The rioting continued for hours while we prayed for a peaceful resolution--not that I could conceive what that meant. Who really knows the mind of God? Shortly after 10 pm, I heard rain softly begin to fall. "Is that rain?" I asked incredously, and laughing, bowed my head to pray that God would open the skies and the heavens would pour down rain. Elizabeth joined my and in about 10 minutes, rain was indeed pouring down, sending the angry mob home. The photo shows the remains of bonfire from the night before.

The next morning we awoke to the army's return. They had grabbed one young man and were shouting to grab 3 or 4 more and kill them as an example. Elizabeth bravely stepped out onto our balcony and called down in the local language he was using that doing so would only make things worse. He heeded her message and set the young man free, thankfully. I was safely escorted back to Bujumbura late in the afternoon when the top brass arrived in Uvira and the rioting was contained. The essence of the rioting was that the people have had enough of the crimes committed in their town. They are poor and tired of living without peace. The DRC is a country in great turmoil and the poverty is extremely oppressive. Remember especially the DRC in your prayers for peace. I have just been in a three-day conference for the Quaker Peace Network where the people from the DRC (Goma and Uvira) shared difficult stories with the other participants. One of the women from a small town near Uvira said, "There is no peace without bread." When people are starving and struggling to survive, including the members of the army, peace is fragile and incidents like the one I experienced are apt to unfold. Congo is teaching me harsh lessons in this regard. No magic wand can alleviate the suffering. For those of you so inclined, I've said the least I can do is to ask for your prayers for the people in North and South Kivu.

peace,

Suzanne

Quick update and phone number

It’s been awhile since I have had access to the Internet. I am sure some of you have been curious what is going on, or maybe even worried. All is well. I am healthy and content but in withdrawal from easy access to Internet!! I have only had brief moments the last two times but today will attempt to catch you up in short blogs. I do now have a mobile phone. For savvy users, you can sms me from your cell phones. There is a time difference of 8 hours if I have figured it out properly and the number will only work when I am in Burundi, where I shall be until February 28 but will be traveling at times to DRC and Rwanda. There are lots of power outages here, especially at night and water does not flow freely—particularly hot in Bujumbura, but nonetheless, I am grateful for staying here with Bridget, Zachee and Tim. Besides it is too hot for hot showers most mornings! Do keep in mind things are different here and so what we do in Canada is not so easily done here. I will try to stay in contact at least once a week if possible. Things will change when I am in Nairobi. I would love to download some photos but don’t know if it is possible. I will try later today.

ciao for now,

Suzanne