Year: 2011

  • The Bikes of Burundi

    The bicyclists of Burundi are amazing. They carry insanely disproportionate loads on the backs of their bikes. One day we saw an ENTIRE bedroom set on the back of a bike. A bed frame and two side tables. These “bike taxis” are everywhere used to transport everything. Often bikers get in accidents with cars, people, motorbikes and probably other things too.

    This (somewhat strange) video shows bikers on the road from Burundi’s coffee hills into the city where we live, Bujumbura. Cyclists take this route to and from the hills everyday transporting all sorts of things.

    Luv,
    Kristy

  • Truth and the Burundi Coffee Hills

    Truth and the Burundi Coffee Hills

    expat living, burundi coffee, coffee farmHere’s the bone rattling truth, and I bet you never guessed it… I’m finding Burundi to be a difficult place to live. Beautiful, but difficult. Even though we are among the 2% with electricity and we have a nice big bed to sleep in at night, it’s still not easy. Communication is so challenging that by the end of the day I want to curl up in a ball and cry… and sometimes I do. The whole family has not had a solid poo between us since we moved here. The shower trickles out every morning and the boy’s bath takes over an hour to fill… one quarter of the way. We have five sinks… and only 2 work. Zero toilet seats. One refrigerator that barely works. There is a sugar shortage, a beer shortage, a petrol shortage, a water shortage, and an electricity shortage. There is also a shortage on human beings who are not corrupt or “after something.” We see guns every day, they are everywhere. We hear grenades… every day. These things are not terrible travesties in themselves, but they add up. Like points on a board, all stacking up against our resilience. Slowly wearing down the resources of our being.

    Everywhere we go we are aware that we are different. In the coffee hills often the kids are too scared of “the mzungu babies” to play with the boys. But they will watch them. All.day.long. they will watch. For a short period of time this is ok, but when you live here it begins to get you bone-weary. Like living in a petri dish, hot and back lit for better viewing. I’ve begun to wonder if my children will grow up feeling like they are separate. different. or even, special. Is this place going to be positive or negative for them? Because if negative is the answer…. well. Or will it just be life, an existence normal to them but foreign to their parents.

    We have days of spirited hope, and days when we see the formation of dark clouds hovering just over our souls. On those days, the cloud hovering days, there is no place to escape it. No movie theatre. No shopping mall. No TV (that one’s our choice). No sushi. No refreshing distractions… instead we just have to look ourselves smack dab in the face.

    It helps to gather the troops… bring some America or South Africa our way in the form of our new expat friends, silly traditions, hamburgers… anything. Sometimes we make popcorn, watch a really American movie and talk to some really South African friends on Skype. I also love going to the houses of those who get a container of their things shipped here when they move. A whole big huge container. When you walk into their houses it’s like walking into a mini-America or a mini-England right down to the gas grill…. I LOVE it. I leave so refreshed from being in the presence of Ikea curtains (technically not American, but you know…) and Yankee candles.

    We spent TEN YEARS in South Africa and I never ever felt this separate, this distant, this DIFFERENT from the culture I am living in. Not ever. In fact there I became myself, I met who I really am on the southern tip of this beautiful continent. And it is the same continent I am on now… but man, it feels a world away.

    I already need a break. A bit of time. Time to wrap my head around life here. To slow down. To get out of the petri dish. To remember why we made this leap in the first place. To listen to the God who created me… to hear Him whisper,

    “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD,

    “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

    Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.

    You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”

    Jeremiah 29:11-13


    I am cringing at the thought of posting this. It all sounds so whiny, but of course I’ll do it anyway.

    The evening rain is rolling in and here’s more from our beautiful Burundi coffee hills…

     

  • Burundi the beautiful

     

    Oh, Burundi.

    You are the fourth poorest nation in the world.

    Burundi.

    USAID says, “In general, Burundi is perceived as among the 25 most corrupt countries in the world.

    Petty corruption is widespread, with informal payments required to obtain most services, permits, or licenses.”

    And we FEEL that corruption every.single.day.

    Burundi.

    According to the International Monetary Fund approximately 80% of Burundians live in poverty and

    according to the World Food Programme, 57% of children under 5 years suffer from chronic malnutrition.

    Burundi

    Your coffee is so good! 93% of your export revenues come from selling coffee.

    Burundi

    According to a study done in 178 countries, your people have the lowest life satisfaction in the world.

    As a result of poverty you are almost entirely dependent on foreign aid.

    Burundi

    The life expectancy of your people is 58.78 years.

    Oh, Burundi…

    Only one in two of your children go to school, and approximately one in 15 adults has HIV/AIDS.

    Food, medicine, and electricity remain in short supply.

    Less than 2% of the population has electricity in its homes.

    Dear Burundi,

    Despite it all… there’s just something about you.

    Something very, very beautiful.

    With faith, honesty and love you will find your way back.

    Trust me, beautiful Burundi, you will.

    Do it for your children.

     

  • A Glimpse Inside The Dry Mill

    Let me be honest, and this is a little embarassing as the wife of a coffee aficionado, I just googled “what’s a dry mill.” Even thought I’ve been to one, I’m still not so sure what all the loud machines and grunt work are about.

    The way I see it, the dry mill is the last bit of processing the beans get before they are sent off to their final desitination.

    A few weeks ago the whole family took of to the hills and played around while Coffee Guy did the serious work of overseeing that specific coffee lots were milled correctly. While he was being the quality control guru, we made some new friends… I’ll introduce them to you tomorrow.

     

  • I love.

    undefinedundefined Moments like these with people exactly like this… “exactly” right down to that birthmark on that left butt cheek. People who love you even when you have frizzy hair and peeling nail paint! Happy weekending!

    Loooooots coming to you from the coffee hills next week, as long as our internet and electricity stay fired up and we all stay out of the hospital. Hang tight.

    Much love,

    K

  • Just when I thought…

    … I totally have this! I’m a rock-star! I can drive, sort of communicate, drop my kid off at a French speaking school every day like it’s no big deal, make friends… life is a breeze! Just at that moment, I realized I don’t have this. At all. After a busy week shuttling Ben and hosting visitors from all over the world for Burundi’s most crucial coffee moment this year, the Burundi Prestige Cup (a precursor to the Cup Of Excellence), and taking Myles to his first week of school… Ben landed up in the hospital. In Burundi. The place every foreigner hopes they never ever end up. A Staph infection. A big one. A cut on Ben’s leg had gotten infected, began poisoning his blood, and soon every tiny little scratch on his body was a festering open wound. Not exactly his prettiest moment, or mine.

    Where we grew up in America, there is a tendency to glorify people who never take time for themselves, those who are truly “selfless.” Why do we do this? The people we should look up to are those who work hard, but have set good boundaries for their lives. There is no glory in not taking time to clean a scratch and ending up in the hospital for a week, possibly needing to be airlifted out to Joburg or Nairobi. No glory at all, and Ben will tell you that.

    In the moment that Ben said “hospital” I knew something had to change. Fear had me by the neck right then. “We need to slow down,” I thought. To take time for the little things. Breathe in the precious gift of air. Let it soak into our souls. Watch that sunset, go to that park, watch the hippos in the surf like we did last night. Be still. Take the time. Work hard, do work that matters, use our time wisely… but build in time for rest and care. That is our lesson, not that every staph infection has to have one. We have hit the ground running so hard that I feel as if I have tumbled over my feet and landed flat on my face. There is nothing glorious about that, but we are getting up… carefully.

  • One Day Down…

    …about 180 to go.

    Dearest brave soul, you did greater than the greatest great I ever imagined. We are talking like, “Egh, it’s no big deal” levels of great. You walked right into that French speaking world with a comfort and ease I barely recognized. I am so at peace, so sure, and so in love with the way this journey is molding all of us… even though it’s not easy. You are full of greatness my boy, brimming to the top. I am amazed by you and I believe in a God that is hovering over the waters of your life. I have to, because I see it.

    Love,

    mom

    p.s. When you are 20, don’t groan to me about these first-day-of-school-pic-a-tures… I brushed your hair like three times this morning and don’t forget… YOU are the one who gave yourself such a fabulous haircut!

     

     

  • To my American African French fry…

    undefinedundefined The sweetness of  an opportunity waits for you in that classroom tomorrow. In just a few short months you will be bi-lingual. One of the cool kids whose life brings them the beauty of knowing more than one language. All day I hear people floating between English, French, Dutch, German, and Karundi with ease. It’s as if there is a big switch in their brains that can just click over to whatever language is needed in the moment. You will have that switch, and I totally admire it. I know it won’t be easy, but this language is a gift… a gift I wish I had. With it, a whole new world will appear right in front of you. Kid, you are going to move mountains… and I promise never to use you as an interpreter.

    You’ll get mixed up, of course, as you already know.
    You’ll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go.
    So be sure when you step.
    Step with care and great tact and remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act.
    Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
    And never mix up your right foot with your left.

    And will you succeed? Yes!
    You will, indeed! (98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)
    Kid, you’ll move mountains!
    So…be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray or Mordecai Ale Van Allen O’Shea, you’re off to Great Places!
    Today is your day!
    Your mountain is waiting.
    So…get on your way!

    Dr. Seuss

  • the language sharks

    I can not believe that in just a few days our world will change again. Your first day of school. I am so nervous for you, and for me. I am worried that your inability to speak like them will shape you and change you… And it will shape you, your first day in a French world.

    Maybe it will be “the day” you look back on as the starting point of great things for you? I look back on the day I threw a mud pie in your uncle’s face as the beginning of knowing both my strength and my limits. I hope that this is that kind of moment for you. A moment that allows you to glimpse the strength you possess. It is a mind blowing force, your strength. Taller than giraffes, and louder than lions.

    I am hoping that I carry an un natural calm in my pocket that day. I’m not sure I will be able to let you go at that doorway. Your doorway into another world. I try to envision myself waving goodbye, smiling, excited for you. I can’t. I am too worried that I am throwing you to the sharks. The language sharks. What if they chomp your heart right out?

    What if you believe a lie that day. A lie like “I will never understand.” What if that tiny whispery seed of a lie plants itself in your gut and grows up until your whole being believes it? What then? How will we recover you from the wreckage that awful whisper caused?

    All this worry. For nothing, because if I think deep enough and pure enough I know the truth. You might stumble and tumble and run helter skelter… but then you will fly, my son. You will fly.

    And I will be there for it all.

    Love,

    mom

     

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