"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

More than I can ask or imagine

I have arrived in Bujumbura, Burundi where I am staying with Bridget and her husband Zachee and son Tim. Yesterday we went to the beach on Lake Tanganyika. I felt like I had a bit of a holiday after the busy first week. I sat on the beach alone for awhile, soaking in the mountains and water. Buju is stunningly gorgeous and incredibly humid. We had supper at the hotel on the beach and then listened to some music. I also had the opportunity to meet some folks from Mennonite Central Committee. It was a lovely evening.

This morning we have met as a team to brief me on my time here. It now looks like I will indeed be here until mid-February. I have a good idea of what is expected of me. I will be assisting in many different ways with the workings of CAPI as well as giving sessions on grieving.

While I have a few minutes I do want to share my experience of going to Bulengo Camp while I was in Goma. The road to the camp is winding and full of potholes. We had already passed three other IDP camps en route. Some of CAPI's partners are involved with this particular one. As we made our way through the forested area near the camp, someone mentioned that the mounds of dirts were graves for people who had died in the camp. They pay a modest amount and then can bury their dead in this wooded area. From there we entered the camp and were greeted by children and adults. We made our way to a tent where we sat and were briefed on how the programs that the partners were assisting with were going. The programs were having some success but when people do not eat for days, it is difficult to keep focus. One woman was in charge of the rape trauma centre within the camp. She spoke of how the woman and girls were raped as they went in search of firewood. It is a story I am familiar with because of the paper that I had done on Darfur last year but now I was hearing it firsthand. Another man spoke of a carpentry program; a woman of a sewing program. Small successes in the context of huge hurdles.

I could not help but think of my work with the St. Ignatius refugee committee and how this experience has made it all the more real. To see miles of tents and shacks, a myriad of NGOs set up to assist the suffering people, and to hear the stories touched my heart. I can only now comprehend more fully what the families shared with our committee. The images will definitely remain with me and I believe there is a plan for me to return later this month or early February, perhaps to talk to the rape victims and see the other programs more.

This afternoon I go to Gitega with Elizabeth and then onto South Kivu. I had not expected to see so much of the countryside and the programs that CAPI is involved with but feedback from previous interns has allowed for some changes and I can see that this experience will be more than I have asked or imagined.

peace,

Suzanne

Keep those prayers coming!

Jambo! Salut! Hello! The languages here are varied. Kiswahili (which I am learning more of), French (which I am stumbling along in) and English (which I am grateful for).

I have been in Africa less than a week but it seems like a lifetime. The trip has been a whirlwind since I last logged on. I write from Kigali, Rwanda but the journey began in a crazy dash to Nairobi airport where we just made our flight. After clearing security we ran out to the runway but there was no one there to show us which plane to get on of the 15 or so parked. We chose one but it was on its way to Mombassa (an ocean city in Eastern Kenya). I joked to Elizabeth as we hurried back to the terminal that destination would not have been so bad and asked if she had packed her bathing suit. We did finally find the plane, parked around the corner and arrived in Kigali without futher incident.

From Kigali we headed to Goma, DRC for a few days where I was able to meet some of CAPI's partners. Goma has had huge destruction from a volcanic eruption and continues to rebuild. I also had the opportunity to visit an internally displaced person's camp near Goma. There are several and I will talk more about this heartwrenching experience in a later blog....suffice it to say in these six days I have seen hundreds of images of poverty and yet this one touched me most deeply, probably because of my time volunteering with refugees in Winnipeg.

We had a crazy time crossing the border into DRC as they had changed the rules about visas January 1 so we had a bit of a wait to say the least. However, I think your prayers are working so keep them coming!!! We did indeed get in, do some good work and I will live with these memories for a very long while. I was asked to lead a workshop to a group of partners on grieving--I cannot imagine that I had anything to say to these experts on that topic!!

I returned to Kigali last night and today I went to the Rwanda Memorial Centre. Most guidebooks and websites show a photo of the room where the skulls and bones of the victims of the genocide are kept. What I found even more heartwrenching was the room that held photos of the children who died--the skulls have no identity but these pictures tugged at my heart. Each photo is accompanied by some information about the child. The room has a caption "They could have been our national heroes." Each photo also explains how each child was murdered but I will spare you those details. After this I attended a women's forum follow up with some very dynamic women who are trying to bring healing to survivors of the genocide. Very fitting.

Tomorrow I fly to Bujumbura, Burundi with Elizabeth and Jacinta where we will meet Bridget, the third member of the CAPI team. From there I will go to South Kivu in the DRC. Can you tell that I am having the experience of a lifetime that many of you predicted? I am grateful....and as I said keep those prayers coming--I will need them.

peace,

Suzanne