Three phone calls

Friends here in our town were expecting their first baby. I told the husband, please phone us day or night when your wife goes into labour and we will happily take her to the hospital. There are not many people in our little town who have a car and in the past Claude has helped to take people to the hospital in the middle of the night or helped transport the body of a neighbour’s relative who died at home to the hospital morgue. Anyway, one night at 2am Claude and I both woke up to find many missed calls on both of our phones. Our friend had called us as his wife had gone into labour. Claude phoned back but we had missed our opportunity to help…we had slept through the phone calls, the knocking on the gate, the dog barking and the nightguard knocking on our bedroom window! Thankfully, our friends had managed to get hold of someone with a moto and she gave birth 30 minutes after arriving at the hospital… all rather quick for a first baby. We were so relieved when the Papa called at 3am to tell us the good news. And we were finally able to fall back asleep. We helped drive the new Mama and her new baby boy home later that day, which relieved some of the guilt of missing the phone calls and knocking in the previous night. The Mama told me not to worry about it and the moto ride had probably helped move the labour along! Probably very true with the last stretch of the journey an unpaved bumpy road.

A week later our night guard knocked on the window just before we went to bed. When we asked if he was ok, he explained no and could he leave early the next morning to go home…he then went on to share that he had received a phone call from his brother telling him that his sister-in-law had just died at home. We asked if she had been sick…just a bad tooth and she had been to the doctors twice in the past week. And now she has gone. I was SO angry. This was probably an avoidable death. A Mama of 3. Two school-aged children and a breastfeeding baby. Just like that a phone call of death. I couldn’t sleep all night. Just thinking of those children and why why why? We prayed for life, but the next day our nightguard, his brother and the family dug a hole on the mountainside and buried the Mama. We are helping with formula milk and will visit them soon. To pray, to grieve, to check the baby is thriving, to cuddle the kids and share God’s love.

Another week later on a Sunday afternoon a friend called us with panic in her voice. Could we help. Her sister-in-law was in labour and the baby wasn’t due for another 6 weeks. Claude jumped in the car and drove so fast on the dirt bumpy road. As he arrived near the house he could see them, and they were carrying a bundle…she had given birth on the side of the road with another Mama to help her. Into the car they all got and drove to the little Red Cross clinic. Is the baby ok? Is the Mama ok? I was phoning Claude but not getting answers and he wasn’t getting answers from the Grandmama because questions are just not asked in this medical culture. But finally, news, they are both doing fine. A girl. Six weeks early. But a head full of hair and able to feed so only 1 night in the clinic. I gathered some baby clothes and went to see. They weren’t prepared so they were so thankful for the clothes and the flask of tea. Claude could drive them home the next day. Praising God that phone call number 3 had a happy ending.

A journey home

A few weeks ago I had the privilege of helping one of our nightguard’s family. His young wife had given birth to twins at 7 months gestation weighing around 1kg each. They had gained weight and at nearly the original due date they were allowed to go home. I offered to collect them from the hospital and drive them home. 

I arrived at the hospital and went to the maternity department, but after some discussion with descriptions (I didn’t know the name of the Mama!) I was led away to the paediatric department. Here I had the privilege of meeting the twins, their Mama and Grandmama for the first time. So beautiful.

They were sleeping on a bed in the room they had spent the last few weeks in. A simple room. A few mosquito-net covered beds. No cots for babies. Buckets for water or dirty washing. 

When they were born they were put in incubators in the ‘Neonatal Intensive Care Unit’. Again a simple room. Two incubators. I used to work in a NICU in a big London teaching hospital and seeing this room where these little babies started their life made me realise once again how much of a contrast life in the UK and life in Burundi really is. And yet in the simplicity these babies had survived, grown and were ready for life at home.

The Mama and Grandmama carried a twin each and I carried the small suitcase and bucket. We walked through the hospital to the main entrance where the Mama had to show the security guard the paper signed by the doctor to prove they could leave the hospital (no outstanding bills). In the public hospitals care for maternity and children under 5 is free, apart from some medicines that have to be paid for. At the car, a crowd gathered to see the twins and like famous people they kept the covers over the babies and quickly climbed in the car. Quite literally they ‘climbed in’ as I don’t think they had been in car for a long time or at all! We drove the 15 minutes to the area where they lived and picked up the proud Papa who had come to meet us and show us the way home. I asked if the road was good for the car to which the Grandmama told me “Yes, very good!”.

The tarmac road turned into a dirt road which turned into a dirt track and quite quickly became a small pedestrian sized dirt path with grass either side! The car kept going and they kept telling me the way is good!

We came to a valley and a river to cross. There was a bridge made of tree trunks over the small river below. The Grandmama boldly told me that big trucks cross this bridge so there is no need for me to be worried. I lined the car up, said a silent prayer, and drove across. Thankfully the tree trunk bridge was wide enough for our car and held the weight.

Next was the drive up the hill from the valley. It was so narrow and bumpy and not really a road at all. I started to get concerned where I was going to turn the car around. The Papa told me to stop by some houses as this was good place to turn. We all got out of the car much to the amusement of the women and children who had come outside to see what the noise was! Lots of congratulations offered to the new Mama and peeps of the babies under the cloth coverings. 

By this point it was midday and the sun was beating down. I asked how far their home was and the Papa told me 5 minutes. I decided I would walk with them home as I’d come this far! Well the 5 minutes was actually more like 15 minutes uphill. It was beautiful to see the rolling hills, the fruitful crops and the growing number of children who joined the procession up the hill.

We reached the homeland. I was so hot and tired. How do pregnant Mamas do this all the time I thought to myself, and they would usually walk up the whole hill from the main road, not just the last 15 minutes! I was expecting that we would all enter the family home and have a sing and dance to welcome home the new Mama and her babies. But no, they weren’t ready for this as we were back early! The car ride had meant that the new Mama had arrived before the other family members and guests. So a small wooden bench was carried outside and put under some trees for shade. We sat, rested and I admired the incredible view. What a beautiful place to live! I had no idea how long it would be until the little party would start so I decided I needed to leave and get home to prepare a delayed lunch for our family. I prayed for them, had once last peep at the beautiful babies and said goodbye. 

Driving down the hill, across the bridge, through the valley and up to the main tarmac road, I couldn’t stop thinking about those little babies and how amazing it is that in the simplicity of life here in rural Burundi they are thriving because of the love of their parents, wider family and of course their creator God.

Visiting and visitors

When I first came to Burundi, and especially when I moved upcountry, it was always a joy to go out visiting. To see how people live. To practice my Kirundi. To pray for people. To laugh together and use hand gestures when verbal communication failed. In recent months and even years it feels like this has happened so much less. I guess my role has majorly changed into being a full time Mama to two toddlers and running a home. And sometimes it can feel like I am continually in survival mode with sicknesses, water shortages, flea infestations and meal planning to name a few, so the thought of venturing out to visit people was never really at the forefront. However, last week, at the prompt of a new missionary friend in our town, I went out.

One of my favourite things to do is going to visit a Mama in the proper upcountry (Bush bush). This time it was Mama Roy who had given birth to her second baby, a girl, a few weeks before.

Walking to visit a family

We parked the car on the little dirt road and then walked on the dirt path past newly planted fields. Esperance carries with such grace the gift basket on her head – some rice, sugar, porridge and little baby girl clothes for the newborn baby.

The new baby girl

Nathan loved being in a new place and seeing the goats, especially when they all came inside the little mud house when it started to rain. He wanted some of the Fanta which was given to only the three guests. I distracted him with his water cup, but then Papa Roy gave him, and the other children, glucose biscuits which are exactly as the name suggests! Full-of-glucose. I went with it. Nathan then proceeded to bang his hands on the little table as if it was a drum and belt out “Uri Mana Mana” You are God God! His favourite song. Everyone laughed and joined in. He was quite at home and for me it was one of the first times to really see him in the limelight without his older brother around.

Thunder rumbled overhead and soon the rain was beating down, thankfully only for 10 minutes or so. The goats bleated in the back room and Nathan toddled off to see them, quite at home. The new baby was swaddled in blankets and wasn’t too happy. Her older brother Roy shared Esperance’s Fanta on top of the glucose biscuits and he soon became quite chatty. Various family members entered the small dark room, with only a few wooden chairs and a small table as furniture, to greet us. These people live so simply and yet have so much joy. I’m forever challenged and inspired by their resilience, joyful faith and generous hospitality.

After praying for them all, the whole family walked us back to the car and the gift basket was returned full of plantains (savoury bananas).

The following day we had arranged for a Mama to come and visit us. We met her on one of our first Sundays here in Mwaro. She came to ask us for help as her child was sick. She has become a good friend and we are so impressed with how she cares for her children. Last year we supported 3 of her kids to go to school with uniforms and copybooks and shoes. She came to visit us at the beginning of September and I was sure she was coming to ask for money for the school materials, but no, she came to tell us she had been able to buy everything for them this year! Wow.

I love having visitors. But if I’m honest I struggle when they come when the boys are napping. That’s ‘my time’. Time to drink tea and eat biscuits. Time to zone out. Time to catch up on admin. Time to phone a friend. Time to pray. Time to rest.

Mama Japhet arrived 1.5 hours late for lunch. And yes the boys had just gone for their nap and I was putting the kettle on. I can’t blame her as she had to prepare lunch for her 4 kids coming home from school before she set out on the two-hour walk cross-country carrying a basket of potatoes on her head. There was torrential rain en-route and she stopped to shelter for a while.

So while the boys napped we chatted and Mama Japhet ate half her lunch and drank a Fanta. I tried to stifle my rain-induced yawns and listen to the Kirundi words. She really does inspire me, no husband around, 4 well-looked after kids, living in a mud brick house and she is SO joyful. We prayed together and then she set off home with the basket on her head with some sugar and rice in.

Praying with Mama Japhet

And there in two short days I had been out visiting and hosted a visitor. Just like that. And deep within me, something was stirred once again. This is what I was made for. To step out. To reach out. To visit. To host. To love. And to pray. And as a Mama myself I can already start to teach my boys a little of what love looks like, including them with the joy they carry.

Parenting comparisons

For a while I have wanted to write some notes on the differences in parenting a baby across cultures. I have been asked a number of times, “What are the main differences between bringing up a child in the UK and in Burundi?” I am no expert, and like the other comparison posts I have written, I am not stating that one culture is better than the other, or one way of parenting is the right way. No, it is more an opportunity to explore the differences between cultures. Caleb is 15 months old and I have 14 weeks experience of parenting a baby in the UK (first 11 weeks of his life, plus 3 weeks when he was 10 months old) and the rest has been in Burundi! Within Burundi there are differences between city and rural living. We live in a more rural setting, which is the context I have used for the comparisons below. The city has been more influenced by some western ways. Some of the things I have struggled with being a Mama here in Burundi are more to do with the fact that I ‘stand out’ being the only white person where we live rather than because of the culture.

A child is for the community

There is a Burundian proverb “Umwana ni uwa bose” which means “A child is for the community”.

Caleb with the neighbourhood children

We have definitely seen that this is true! Everyone loves to hold a baby and whether that is a relative, a friend or a stranger on the street it is normal for a baby to be passed around. With Caleb’s unique skin colouring we have seemed to draw even more attention to ourselves than we would perhaps desire. A daily walk around the block often turns into children running behind us, which I am generally ok about, but when grown-ups start running after us to get a glimpse of the baby on my front and more latterly on my back I often have anger rising up within me. Argh. Don’t misunderstand me, I am more than happy for relatives and friends to interact with Caleb and in fact I think it is such a blessing for the community to engage with a baby. Such a richness and Caleb is certainly a very sociable little boy, which I am sure growing up in the community here has definitely impacted him very positively. He is much happier when there are visitors around the meal table and there is always excitement on his face when he goes out of the front gate. However, I find it super hard when people I don’t know expect to touch him and hold him. One example, which I am not proud of, was when we went to the market on a Sunday afternoon. Claude was with me and Caleb was on my back. A huge crowd gathered around us and I shouted at them to continue shopping. We walked off and went to buy the avocadoes we wanted. A group of women gathered behind us and out of the corner of my eye I saw a lady touch Caleb’s arm to greet him…without even thinking about it I swung round and hit her across the face. I don’t know who was more shocked – the lady or myself. Oh dear, the white missionary hit a lady in the market. Thankfully, the lady wasn’t physically hurt and there were no repercussions. I no longer take Caleb to the market.

In the UK, my experience is that people are interested in babies, but there are no expectations to hold them. Relatives and friends would ask for a cuddle before taking Caleb from his cot or pram. Strangers would pass comment about the ‘cute baby’ in the pram, but would never attempt to touch him. Having a baby is much more of a private close family experience rather than a community event.

Crying

No one likes to hear a baby crying. Especially a mother! But the reality is babies cry. In Burundi, the general answer to a baby crying is to feed the baby. I think I found this the biggest challenge arriving back in Burundi with a small baby and every time Caleb cried I was told to feed him. It didn’t matter where I was – at home, on the road, in a neighbour’s house, in a government office – the response was always feed him. Men and women, young and old, all would tell me to feed him. One day we were in the immigration office for a whole morning. We were all tired. I had sat in a corner and fed Caleb. He was overtired and couldn’t drop off to sleep. Standing in a long queue with Caleb in my arms he started to cry, the increasing crescendo type of crying, and everyone looked in disbelief that the white lady was letting her baby cry. Comments and suggestions of feeding him were pouring in from every direction. I got moved to the front of the queue and told to sit and feed my baby! I was beat, and even though I knew he wasn’t hungry I sat down and fed him in front of the eager crowd! You could hear the sighs of relief echo around the hall. Demand breastfeeding is definitely the norm here in Burundi, which leads me to the next comparison of routines.

Routines

In a Western context, routines are encouraged. Perhaps, not always in regards to feeding, especially with a newborn, but as the baby grows regular feed and sleep times are encouraged. The books explain it. The healthcare team describe it. Reality is it doesn’t always work like the books or experts say. Here in upcountry Burundi it appears baby routines are not really a thing. Babies are on their Mama’s back (or a Nanny’s if the Mama has gone back to paid employment). When the baby cries they are fed and then put back on the back so housework or hoeing can continue. As the baby grows and starts on solids then regular meal times are followed and eventually sleep patterns too. A typical sleep routine in Burundi for a toddler is to wake up at 7am or 8am, nap at 11am and again at 4pm. Bedtime is anytime between 8 and 10pm. For us, we implemented an early evening bath time and bedtime routine from when Caleb was 3 months old and tried to have regular feed times, perhaps a more Western approach. His typical sleep routine now at 15 months is wake up at 6am, nap at 8.30am and again at 1pm and bedtime 6.30pm or 7pm. Neighbours here are shocked that I would bath Caleb at 6pm as it is “too cold” and not the right time to bath him. And surely he is hungry if he goes to bed at 6.30pm or 7pm? When he was a baby, I tried hard to have regular feed times, however, I did do more demand breastfeeding than I planned and this was to try and ‘fit in’ with the culture here. If Caleb cried when we had visitors or were visiting others the easiest thing was to feed him even if it wasn’t the scheduled time!

Sleeping

Here in Burundi, co-sleeping is the norm. There is no discussion of safe sleeping, which was drummed into me at every pre- and post-natal appointment in the UK. At night the baby sleeps in the parent’s bed, often until a sibling comes along and then they are moved to another room and sleep with older siblings or the Nanny. It is really common to find babies sleeping with cloth or blankets covering them even in the heat (including over their head). Whether they are on a bed or on a person’s back. This always makes me nervous – how can they breathe? The UK advice is for a baby to be in their own cot in the parent’s room until 6 months and then they can be moved to their own room. Co-sleeping does happen in the UK and some parents think that this is really important for attachment. I am not saying one way is right or wrong, it definitely has to be a family decision. I am a really light sleeper and just can’t sleep if Caleb is in our bed! He has been in his own cot all the time and we moved him to his own room when he was 9 months old. Our neighbours have been so concerned about him being in his own room by himself at such a young age. No one should sleep alone, whatever the age! I remember when I first moved to Burundi and lived in the city with a family, a brother in his 20’s slept with the radio on all night so he wasn’t alone to sleep. So different to the more Western way of children having their own bedrooms!

In the daytime, babies in Burundi usually sleep on the back of the Mama or Nanny. A piece of cloth is wrapped around the baby and tied across the chest of the Mama. I love having Caleb on my back in this way, but even when he was small I couldn’t master the cloth tying so he would stay on me tightly for long enough to sleep. I joke that I don’t have the African bottom to hold a baby up!

Caleb on my back the Burundian way!

When Caleb was small we used a cloth sling to put him on our front and he would sleep when we would go for a walk. The community were intrigued to see a baby on the front and not on the back and more so when Claude was holding him as men are not seen carrying a baby in this way!

Claude carrying Caleb in the sling

We had real trouble with daytime nap times and Caleb refusing to sleep in his cot. I was exhausted and didn’t want him to sleep in a sling because then I couldn’t easily rest so we resorted to pushing Caleb in his pushchair around the front garden (outside the gate the dirt roads are not suitable for a standard pushchair). This provided lots of amusement for the neighbours – why would a child sleep in a moving chair when it is so straightforward for them to sleep on your back? Oh and then there is the dummy/soother/pacifier… such an alien thing here in Burundi and many people were concerned I was starving Caleb by using the soother instead of feeding him!

   Caleb asleep in the pushchair

Weaning

I was very happy to be in Burundi when it came to weaning Caleb onto solid foods. Not only are there lots of great weaning foods cheaply available at the market, but also the easy to wipe cement floors make mess so much easier to deal with!

Weaning foods

UK advice is to wait until a baby is 6 months until starting solid foods and there is a lot of information and advice. Baby-led weaning is now very common and we decided on a mixture of spoon-feeding and finger foods. In Burundi, most people wait until a baby is 6 months although some people do start baby rice earlier (if they can afford it as it is imported). From my experience in upcountry Burundi people are not used to giving babies finger foods and we had a lot of horrified visitors when we were giving Caleb pieces of food for him to hold in his hand and eat. I think the thing I found the most surprising and actually upsetting is that Mamas here stick to a very rigid weaning plan of a few foods, perhaps what has been done down the generations, and I feel babies miss out on some amazing nutritious and cheap foods such as avocado. The first weaning foods here are: local porridge made from a mixture of different grains (eg. wheat, rice, maize, soya, peanut), potatoes mashed with spinach and/or carrot, banana mashed with the juice of Japanese plums. Most Mamas I know here told me to do the same and were shocked that I was trying a wider variety of foods. In a lot of the UK advice avocadoes were mentioned as a great first food, they are expensive and not that tasty in the UK, and a wide variety or fruits and vegetables. So I was so disappointed that Mamas don’t give avocadoes here until a baby is 9 or 10 months old. I have made it a priority to encourage Mamas here to start giving them at 6 months! Sadly, giving babies small glucose biscuits (very high sugar content) is very common here and this is another thing I want to encourage Mamas to avoid with young babies and to stick to the more natural sugars found in fruit.

Meal times

Culturally in Burundi children rarely eat at the table with their parents. Nannies often help feed babies and children in a separate room or their mealtime is before the parents. Growing up in the UK, family meal times were such a precious time, they still are, and Claude and I wanted to implement that here with Caleb. We tried to buy a plastic highchair in the city, but the one we found was faulty and expensive. Therefore, we asked our local carpenter to make one. It is the first baby chair he has ever made, it isn’t perfect, but we love it!

Caleb in his homemade highchair

Right from 6 months Caleb joined our meal times and now happily sits for a whole mealtime in his chair. Like I said before, if we have visitors then he is even happier!

Play

We have been super blessed with toys and books for Caleb to play with and even though he doesn’t have lots compared to children in a Western context he has so much more than the local children here. We have shared some with his twin friends down the road and they come and play here too.

Caleb with the twins

I have learnt a lot from the Mamas and Papas here in Burundi about play without toys… singing, dancing, noise, feeding the animals, using household objects such as old water bottles or cream containers. In fact, I can put Caleb’s toys out for him to play with, and he is happier kicking a homemade ball outside or banging a stick on an upside down washing bowl! Like all children, he watches and learns and wants to do what the other children are doing. Toddler groups, nurseries, library singsongs or soft play areas are not available here. However, we are very thankful for a toddler group in the city run by missionary friends, which we try to go to every few weeks. It is good for Caleb to interact with other English-speaking children, and of course I really enjoy the fellowship with other Mamas. A huge part of our day is spent outside going for walks, feeding the goats and playing in the garden.

Caleb feeding his goat

We have been reading books to Caleb since he was really small and now he loves to go to get a book from his shelf on the bookshelf. Claude loves to read to him in French and I stick to English! Caleb’s favourite books are those with animals in and he is currently more interested in spotting the animals on each page rather than listening to the stories. Here in Burundi there are very few children’s books available and it is not usual for parents to sit and read with their children.

Storytime

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I am sure there are many more aspects to parenting that could be discussed and compared and I know that I am only just beginning on my parenting journey. The most important aspect of parenting has got to be love and regardless of country or culture or language or age, that four-letter word must be prioritised and embraced in every aspect of raising a child. And that is my prayer, that I will grow in love as I parent Caleb across cultures.

Inauguration into Burundian Mamahood

We have been back in Burundi about a month now and I am slowly getting used to being a Mama here in this beautiful nation. There has been quite a lot of ‘new things’ to get used to compared to being in relatively peaceful UK suburbia. I was awake feeding Caleb one night when the whole house started shaking – an earthquake or tremor that was pretty strong compared to others we have felt here. The floor to ceiling crack in our bedroom wall got slightly wider, but thankfully the wall didn’t fall in. Another night our guard messaged Claude to tell us there are possibly thieves banging on the gate as a distraction to other thieves entering at the back of the house. Another night our guard told us there were gunshots. Claude went outside, and my mind went into overdrive thinking the far away shots were outside the house and where can I hide Caleb. Contrary one sunny afternoon I was with Caleb in the garden and there were three very loud gunshots…turns out the police were killing a neighbour’s mad dog.

However, my main induction into being a Burundian Mama was the Guhekereza (to put the baby on the Mama’s back) party that took place a couple of weekends after we arrived. Here in rural Burundi, this party usually takes place when the baby is a month old and signifies that the Mama can go out to work again. I am informed that sometimes this party or significant event happens just one week after birth, as the Mama must go out to hoe to get food to eat. So we were a little late doing this party, as Caleb was over 3 months old. Other than our wedding it was the first major party Claude and I had planned and hosted. We took it as an opportunity to invite and get to know neighbours and the administration here in our new town and we decided to cater for 50 people. We hired a big green tent from the army so that people didn’t have to sit in the hot dry-season sun. Two bicycles delivered 50 plastic chairs that we hired from a local hotel. We hired four big charcoal cooking stoves, four big saucepans and 50 plates with knives and forks. A local man came to start cooking, along with our helpers, at 6am and by 1pm the food was ready to serve. Crates of Fanta and bottles of water sat waiting to be passed out once the party started.

Traditionally ‘igitenge’, local African material, is worn so outfits had to be planned and a tailor in Bujumbura made a 2-piece outfit for Ruth and some dungarees for Caleb. Claude had a token piece of igitenge in his suit jacket so that we matched! The day before the party we went to the local market to buy the material that is used to hold a baby on the back and also the sheet material used to cover the baby from the sun.

Not many people had arrived by 1pm, the time we had asked people to come, so we waited until 1.30pm when there were still only a handful of people. But not wanting to delay any longer the ceremony started. Caleb was almost asleep in his pushchair as nap timings were all out. I had no choice but to lift him out of the pushchair praying that he would be settled despite his tiredness. The ceremony started with me, Caleb and the other Mamas present sitting on a grass mat in the middle of the tent. Singing and clapping started which continued throughout the whole ceremony – the words of the songs explained the different stages of the ceremony and were often ad-libbed to make it unique and personal to our story. I should add here that about an hour before the ceremony started Claude realised we needed someone who knew how to do the singing as it is very key to the ceremony. Someone suggested a Mama who lives down the road…so Claude went to ask her if she could come to the party and lead the singing and thankfully she came! Such a lovely joyful lady and it felt like we had always known her. While sitting on the mat we were served a Fanta and had a drink.

As the singing moved into the next stage of the ceremony, we all stood up and Claude placed Caleb in a winnowing fork (wicker basket) and then lifted the basket high up in the air as a symbol introducing Caleb to Burundi. He was lifted to the North, East, South and West and his big eyes looked on in amusement!

Next was the moment I had been waiting for – to have Caleb on my back. We had done a very mini ceremony in the UK after a thanksgiving for Caleb at the local church and Claude had put Caleb on my back to show family and friends what happens in Burundi. So Caleb had been on my back once, but I had been waiting for this Burundian ceremony to officially put him on my back. The Mamas gathered around me and helped to put Caleb on my back and tie the cloth material around my chest to hold him up. Caleb didn’t cry and it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep! Once he was on my back the Mamas started dancing and it was such a joyful moment.

It was then time to leave the compound and go out into the ‘world’, remembering that this ceremony signifies the first time the Mama will go outside her home boundary since the baby was born. I was given a hoe and Claude was given a tool for cutting grass and shrubs. Claude led the way, followed by me and Caleb and then the rest of the visitors. We went out onto the road with the sounds of singing and clapping.

The neighbourhood children gathered around and the red dusty dirt was kicked up as we walked a short distance. Caleb slept on, now oblivious to the ceremony, and the hot sun beat down on us all.

Claude had to cut a branch off a shrub and carry it back into the compound using the tool he was carrying. The tool (umuhoro – pruning knife) is only used by men and so this act signifies the strength and protection of the husband.

We then all proceeded back into the compound where I had to start hoeing. This signifies the woman’s responsibility of caring for the home and providing food to eat. I hadn’t practiced holding the hoe and bringing it down into the ground firmly, and with Caleb on my back it was quite a feat to manoeuvre especially with the pressure of everyone looking on. The gate was left open with a growing audience of local children coming to see what was happening. A small hole was dug and then both Claude and I sprinkled seeds – beans and peas – into the hole (a week after the ceremony there were bean and pea seedlings sprouting up!). The singing and clapping continued as we walked along the row with me hoeing and us both sprinkling seeds. Poor Caleb was slipping down my back with each time I lifted the hoe up and down. The ceremony haltered for a few minutes while all the Mamas gathered around me and helped me hoist a sleeping and sweaty Caleb back up my back and the cloth tightened around him. I still have not managed to master the technique to keep him tightly on my back for longer than 30 minutes…how these beautiful African Mamas do it all day I just don’t know!

The singing and clapping restarted and we walked up through the tent where some guests had decided to sit and drink a Fanta and not be in the hot sun. Claude led the way into our house still carrying the branch of the shrub and his tool. I followed behind with Caleb now tightly, or so I thought, on my back and then the Mamas and some Papas entered into the lounge. The pruning fork, branch and the hoe were safely deposited in the hallway and then we joined the other guests in the lounge and the singing intensified and the Mamas started traditional dancing with arms raised high in the air. The Mama from down the road, who came to help with the singing, got out a whistle and it was such a joyful five minutes of dancing, with moves that can’t be explained with words…you will just have to come to Burundi to experience it! Caleb slipped down my back once again and again he was hoisted back up my back and the cloth tied even tighter than before.

The singing, clapping and dancing ended and the Mamas spontaneously hugged. It was a beautiful moment. We went back to the tent and sat down. I perched on the edge of my white plastic chair as Caleb was now very firmly tied to my back and I didn’t want to squash him with the back of the chair. Plates of food, which was now cold, were carried out to each guest and more Fanta was served. Once the meal was finished the speeches started. Caleb decided to wake up when Claude was giving his speech. It took me a while to untie the cloth and move him off my back, by which time Caleb was crying quite loudly competing with Claude and his speech. Feed him was the advice from the Mama sitting next to me and the looks from everyone else in the tent. My tailored outfit had been designed to be breastfeeding friendly, but I had not practised undoing the zip, lifting the layers and feeding Caleb. Add to this the pressure of everyone looking at me, Caleb now screaming and Claude continuing his speech. I quickly redid the zip up and carried Caleb to the house to feed him in private. The speeches were over around 3pm and some guests started to leave as they had travelled far… and then more guests started to arrive. African Time! Plates of very cold food were served and the Fanta continued to flow. Caleb had more cuddles and the children who had all been peeping in at the gate were invited in to share the leftover food from one big plate (which was one of my favourite parts of the whole day!). By 5.30pm all the guests had gone, the soldiers had arrived to take down the big green army tent and the saucepans, plates and forks were being washed.

And so there you have it, the Guhekereza party in Burundi!

 

 

 

 

Maternity Comparisons

I am a lady-in-waiting, 39 weeks and trying not to count days. It has been an interesting pregnancy journey, being in two very different countries and such a diverse cultural experience for something that is so common and normal throughout history and across the world. I thought I would try and share some of these differences and similarities.

39 weeks pregnant

‘Working’ experience

My maternity and neonatal experience in the UK started when I qualified as a pharmacist and worked in big London hospitals in both the maternity and neonatal intensive care units. Highly specialised medical care for both mother and baby. Pre-term babies as early as 24 weeks gestation were cared for and the miracle going home day celebrated by both family and medical team.

My first maternity experience in Burundi was very different and very raw. A rural health centre. One nurse. Many women. Beer. Pre-term death. Two births at once. Dancing. Mess. You can read about it here. And then the medical clinic at The Cries of a Child NGO opened and on day one a baby girl was born. The Mama called her Rusi (Ruth)! What an honour. You can read about it here.

Pre-pregnancy

In Burundi the value on having children is very high. It is normal and almost expected culturally to have children quickly after getting married. If a baby hasn’t arrived within the first year of marriage or at the least being pregnant by the end of the first year there is something wrong. Claude and I made a decision to wait a little while to try for a baby so that we could continue to get to know each other and our cross-cultural ways, but also due to travel plans and a prayer tour around a Nation. During this first year and a few months of marriage (pre-pregnancy) I would be asked time and time again about children and why we don’t have a child. Random people would stop me on the road and ask. People in churches would pray for me laying hands on my stomach without asking permission. I had a tiny insight into the stigma and pain that childless couples in Burundi must carry day in and out.

In contrast the UK culture is so much more private with only close close friends asking whether we want children or not. There was no presumption.

Pregnancy

Last summer we were in Burundi and found out we were expecting a baby. Excitement, but if I am honest this was laced with fear for me. Pregnant in Burundi. How will I cope? What about the healthcare? The nausea was hard in the hot humid heat. I spent days in the house lying down. I felt such a wimp. African women are so strong. Pregnant and out hoeing the field all day with another child on their back and carrying home harvested food on their head. No sick-leave from work for them.

Sharing the news

This is one of the biggest differences I have experienced. In the UK people usually share with close family members when they find out that they are pregnant and then make it ‘public’ after the 12 week scan. Facebook announcements with scan pictures and arty pregnancy shots are the norm these days. In Burundi people do not talk about it. Yes, people share with close family members, but other than that it is not discussed. It is deemed strange to ask someone if they are pregnant and people don’t ask you! It is only when the bump is really obvious there will be some comments. I found this so odd and somewhat awkward. I was sure people were thinking that I was a very lazy white person as I wasn’t helping carry boxes when we moved house and my baby bump wasn’t obvious enough for them to know the reason. Claude explains that there are different reasons for this including superstitions or jealously leading to witchcraft curses on the unborn child.

Antenatal Care

In the UK antenatal care usually starts at week 8 of pregnancy with a ‘book-in’ appointment with the community midwife. Full blood and urine tests are checked; weight, BMI and blood pressure are measured; and lifestyle, mental health, future tests/scans and plan of care are discussed. The appointment lasts about 1 hour and at the end you have a copy of your own maternity hospital notes ready for future appointments as well as leaflets full of information to digest at a later time. Ultrasound scans (echography) are booked for 12 weeks (dating scan) and 20 weeks (anomaly scan) in the UK and if there are no further concerns there are no further scans.

In Burundi, I wasn’t really sure of the system. There are no community midwife services. In the capital city, women go to see an Obstetrician (if they can afford it). Rurally, it is nurse-led care in the local health centres. At around 8 weeks I went to see an Obstetrician in a private hospital in the city based on recommendation from other ex-pat friends. I waited in the queue for over 2 hours with many patient women with varying sizes of baby bumps. The Dr welcomed me and congratulated me on being pregnant. He confirmed I was 8 weeks pregnant based on dates and wanted to do an ultrasound scan to check things were well. Following the scan, he checked blood pressure, weight and ordered blood and urine tests. The consultation was probably 20 minutes in total with limited information explained. Ultrasound scans are usually performed at 12 weeks (dating scan), 22 weeks (anomaly scan) and 32 weeks (final check for birth) in Burundi. All the consultations with the Dr are paid for and an ultrasound scan is approximately £7 on top of the consultation cost. Sometimes women will go to get an ultrasound scan at other times during the pregnancy just to check things are going well.

Often in rural health centres there are no opportunities for ultrasound scans and nurses check the heart beat of the baby using an ear trumpet (Pinard stethoscope) and monitor blood pressure. When I was 20 weeks pregnant we moved upcountry to a new house. I visited the Obstetrician in the city at 22 weeks for a scan and again at 32 weeks to get a letter for the airline to be able to fly back to the UK. From 24 weeks I went to get my blood pressure measured and urine tested at a rural local health centre every month or so. Claude measured my baby bump (fundus) and we plotted the measurements on the growth chart.

Screening Tests

I think one of the biggest differences between antenatal care in the UK and in Burundi are the huge number of screening tests that are available in the UK. In Burundi other than determining blood group, blood sugar level, ultrasound scans for birth/growth defects and screening for HIV, syphilis and hepatitis B I was offered no other screening tests for diseases. In comparison, in the UK there are tests offered for all of the above plus Down’s, Edward’s and Patau’s Syndromes. Additionally, there are tests for sickle cell disease, thalassaemia and other haemoglobin disorders.

On arrival back in the UK, I have had tests for gestational diabetes, screening for Zika virus due to Burundi being moderate risk and a further growth scan due to some concerns. All is clear thankfully. I so appreciate being followed closely with good healthcare, but each mention of a test gives an arrow of fear that has to be dealt with. Have we over complicated things?

Advice

Advice about everything – food to eat and not to eat, what to wear, what not to carry, exercise, tiredness and rest etc. occurs in whatever culture you find yourself in. People, usually Mamas, offer their experience and wisdom and stories and advice. Often there are contradictions from one Mama to another. In Burundi there are limited resources of written information – no leaflets or books on pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding or sleeping. Information is shared from one woman to another. From generation to generation. Story-telling. In contrast in the UK there are books and/or websites dedicated to every possible thing in relation to pregnancy, childbirth and children. There are also classes to attend and hospital tours to go on.

Bump size comments

Comments on bump size in the UK – you look small, are you small for dates?, oh what a big bump, gosh it’s all baby maybe it’s a boy, the bump is low so it’s definitely a girl, you look ready to pop, when is the baby due, … In Burundi the comment is generally – you are big! Which is a compliment whether you are pregnant or not!

Finding out the gender

We have decided to keep the gender of the baby a surprise for the delivery day! I have been so surprised by the comments. In the UK people have praised us for being able to wait to find out, as it is quite unusual not to find out the gender. In Burundi, for people who can afford to have an ultrasound scan they all find out the gender. The Dr was shocked we didn’t want to know and asked Claude twice whether he was sure he didn’t want to know the gender. Our friends were flabbergasted and just couldn’t comprehend that we didn’t want to know. I am not saying either way is right or wrong. It is a choice every expectant couple has to make.

Home visits

At 36 weeks the community midwife in the UK does a home visit. I think this is a relatively new thing and I imagine it is to screen for possible child safeguarding issues. The midwife was with me for a considerable length of time to discuss a birth plan, labour and postnatal care as well as doing the routine antenatal checks – blood pressure, urine test, feeling the baby’s position and listening to the baby’s heartbeat. Claude was amazed at this level of care and the ability to ask questions and have them answered in a thorough way. Postnatal care also includes home visits from both a midwife and then a health visitor. In Burundi, home visits are not performed and I have been with a friend who had recently given birth to wait for hours in a busy clinic for her to have a c-section wound checked. And on another occasion we trailed around a number of children’s clinics to find one with neonatal vaccinations available for her 2 week old daughter.

Involvement of Papas

In Burundi the baby’s Papa does not enter the delivery room and can rarely be found at the hospital or health centre prior to the arrival of the baby. In the city it is becoming more common for men to be involved in antenatal care, attending an ultrasound scan appointment with their wives. Usually women will have a female birth partner with them – mother, sister, aunt, friend – who have all had experience of giving birth. But at the time of delivery the birth partners are not present in the delivery room – only the medical staff.

In the UK it is common for men to be involved and present in the delivery room at the time of birth. Claude is up for breaking his cultural norm and be alongside me in the delivery room!

Life and death

Opening a medical clinic in rural Burundi has stretched me in ways I didn’t imagine with extremes of joy and sorrow and everything in between! I want to share a few stories from the first month…

It was early evening on opening day, a Monday, and the hum of the generator rang out in the dusk light. I had driven back to the clinic to give the tired staff a lift home as they had all worked extra hours. As I got out of the car, the security guard shouted, “It’s a girl!” I ran up the steep slope to the maternity room and was greeted by a Grandmama who proceeded to hug me and do a dance. Her daughter-in-law had given birth. Wow. A new baby born on the clinic’s first day! I walked past all the female relatives and went straight into the delivery room. The baby was still covered in blood and the Mama was delivering the placenta. I greeted her and then picked the beautiful little girl up for a cuddle. The female relatives had entered the building behind me so I snuck behind the curtain to show them the new tiny bundle and they started a traditional dance and song with one of the nurses joining in.

The next morning I went to visit the Mama and little baby girl in the hospital room. When I asked the name – the Mama looked up at me, smiled and then said, “Rusi” [Ruth in Kirundi]. Wow, what an honour. Joy filled my heart and I prayed for them before I went back to the accounts office to help with all the new processes for the clinic.

Baby Rusi and her Mama!

*******

The first Saturday evening I went to the clinic to see how the staff were doing and found our office night security guard, Umutama, had been admitted with malaria. I greeted him and was thankful he was being well looked after. He looked tired and weak, but his eyes shone and when I prayed for him with a colleague he closed his eyes and seemed peaceful. I thought to myself, I don’t think he will come back to work, imagining he would retire as he was well into his 70s. The next morning I received a phone call from the Dr asking me to drive Umutama to the hospital as he had deteriorated and needed a blood transfusion that was not available at our clinic. My instinct reply was “No” (trying to keep boundaries of not working on a Sunday) but I would get a taxi to take him. After finishing on the phone, I knew I had to help, as Umutama was one of us. A friend. A colleague. I quickly threw on some clothes, washed my face and grabbed an old sheet to put in the back of the car. I drove as quickly as I safely could the 1.5km on the bumpy road with a cloud of dust flying behind. At the clinic, the night staff had stayed on to help the day staff. We put a mattress in the back of the car and lifted Umutama on with the nurses around him. I waited. The family waited. The nurses didn’t climb out of the car. We waited. And then I realised, he had died. Peacefully slipping from life to death. I stood with his adult daughter rubbing her back. What could I say? His elderly wife arrived, I held her. The family were happy he had died close to home in our clinic and not at the district hospital some 40 minutes drive away. They thanked us. They didn’t blame us.

Umutama and his wife

The first death at the clinic. The first death within the organisation. What do we do? We came together as team and supported each other and helped to arrange the funeral with the family for the following day. Umutama was buried on a sun-scorched mountainside where I walked alongside his wife picking wild flowers to place on the red-dirt grave. His bright smile and wise advice will always be remembered.

*******

One of our social program Mamas was pregnant and I told her she must go to our clinic to give birth and we will cover the costs (we are a private clinic and have not yet received permission to offer free maternity care). She was admitted at 8pm and asked the nurse to phone me, but the nurse explained it was night time! I found out Agnes had given birth the following day to a 2kg baby boy. Tears of joy flowed and when I went to visit in the afternoon the smiles on Agnes’ and her husband’s faces spoke volumes. I was reminded of a few months earlier when I had stood holding Agnes as she uncontrollably wept as her 4 year old son died due to complications from malaria. We had prayed for life for little Frank in the small hospital morgue, but life on this earth didn’t return and I know he is enjoying eternal life now. And here we were enjoying cuddles with a new little brother.

Agnes, her husband and new baby boy

I promised Agnes I would go to visit them at home as I didn’t have time to stay and talk at the clinic. Ten days later I bought some food supplies, gathered together some baby clothes and went with a friend on a moto to visit the family in the late afternoon. We were warmly greeted by Agnes and the oldest child and sat inside their very simple mud house. The new baby was swaddled in cloth and a blanket on the bed. The toddler was crying and crying and wouldn’t be consoled. And slowly, it dawned on me that this was a cry of hunger. Of deep hunger. As we asked questions we found out they had not eaten all day. The Papa had gone out to get work and find food for them to eat in the evening. Oh the pain in my heart. A family struggling to live and feed their children. I was sorry it had taken me so long to visit, but thankful I had been prompted to take food. We are continuing to support with food packages and are hoping to rent some land for them to grow some food for eating and selling.

*******

It was a Tuesday. I had foreign visitors and was giving them a tour of the clinic. They looked in one of the two paediatric hospitalisation rooms and then went outside. I popped my head around the door of the other room and saw a Mama sat on the bed. I asked her if her child was sick. Yes. Where is he? She pointed to the bed… I asked again where is he because all I could see was the quilted bed cover. She peeled back the quilt and there was a tiny baby. He was struggling to breathe and I felt anger rise up within me. This is one of the cultural things I struggle with; babies are often covered with cloth while they sleep. I explained to the Mama not to cover her baby, especially with a quilted blanket. I asked the staff member who had followed me into the room to help translate my bad Kirundi into good Kirundi to get a woolly baby hat in case the Mama was worried about the baby’s head being cold. I didn’t ask the baby’s name. I didn’t pray for the baby. I didn’t even greet the Mama properly. The following afternoon, I arrived back at home after a long tiring day in the city buying supplies and was informed the baby at the clinic died in the early hours. Shock. Grief. Anger. But most of all regret – why didn’t I greet the Mama? Why didn’t I pray for the baby? I hadn’t shown love in the way I seek to do. Oh God. At the Wednesday evening worship service I tried to worship God but couldn’t. My heart ached. The doctor told me it was probably a congenital heart defect. No tests available in our little rural clinic and in Burundi there are no paediatric cardiac surgery services.

The following day was outreach afternoon where we choose a family to go and visit. My colleague suggested we go to visit the family who had lost the little boy. NO my heart cried out. I can’t face the pain of this. I felt so weak emotionally and still had a lot of regret. But, there was a pull within me and I knew I had to agree and go to visit this family. There were four of us and we sat on a small wobbly bench outside the collection of family mud homes. The women and children were sitting on grass mats and pushed away the beans they were popping out of the pods to listen to us. What can I say? I thought. What can I say to a Mama who has lost a baby? After greetings and chitchat about the beans and dusty roads, my colleague Claude started sharing a verse from the bible:

I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead. Philippians 3:10-11.

It was my very answer of what I could I say… I shared the story of a time I was in the UK and sat under a wooden cross and asked God what does it mean to participate in the suffering of Jesus. The answer God gave me on that UK cliff top was a picture of a time I had held the body of young girl Melissa who had died from malaria. Every time we share with a family who have lost a baby or child, we are participating in the suffering of Jesus. This family sat on the grass mats were sharing in the suffering of Jesus as they grieved the loss of the little baby boy. As we shared, joy rose up in our hearts and the faces of those listening shone because in Jesus there is hope and resurrection life. Hallelujah! The Mama asked us to pray for her heart and she expressed her desire to know Jesus as her Saviour. Wow.

Crosses at Lee Abbey, Devon, UK

God gives, God takes. God’s name be ever blessed. Job 1:21

A day at the office

I have been back in Burundi a little over a week now. It somehow seems like a lot longer. There is certainly a lot of tension in the land, especially in the Capital, but in upcountry Bukeye life continues and we press on believing for breakthrough. Here is a description of a day in my first week back in Bukeye:

On Thursday, I awoke to the 6am alarm and little did I know what the day would bring… In the staff morning prayer time we worshipped God with a deeper hunger than the previous days. On our knees. Faces to the ground. Realising that we need more of Him than ever before, for us, for the community, for the Nation. As the prayer time ended, the phone rang with a message a baby had been found.

Two mountain ladies walked in to the office carrying a baby… Minutes later, three more ladies came in to the office carrying another baby… Not one baby, but two in the office at the same time. We asked the three ladies to wait outside while we spoke with the two ladies who had arrived first.

Baby K

Baby K* sat sleeping on her Grandmother’s lap. Four months and weighing only 4kgs. An unusual story of Mama K becoming mentally ill and not being able to feed and care for her beautiful daughter. She is at home, but just sits all day not doing anything. A mention of witchcraft. The paternal grandmother has been caring for the baby using cows milk, but as it is dry season there is no grass to feed the cows and therefore no milk. The baby is clearly malnourished. We asked someone to go and buy baby bottles and the kettle was boiled. I quickly made up some formula from the stock room explaining to the grandmother how to do this and then baby K enjoyed a good feed! We had to be creative in re-explaining the method to the grandmother as she is illiterate and cannot read the millilitre numbers on the bottle. We prayed over baby K and arranged to do a home visit in a few days to meet Mama K and assess how little K is doing^#.

Meanwhile, I made up another milk bottle and ran back to the office to join the three other ladies and my colleague who was interviewing them. This little baby girl had been found that morning wrapped in cloth on the ground near a dirt track. The ladies had looked for her mother to no avail, taken her to the doctor who estimated she was 7 days old and then brought her to us. Could we take her? Of course! A new baby in our TCOAC family. The background interview continued while little precious sucked her milk and then I had a cuddle. Questions whizzed around my mind, when did she last have food, why was she abandoned, what is her name…?

Enjoying a cuddle with baby Lydia

She looked even more beautiful after a bath and the dirt removed from her hair, nose and body. Her new Mama has named her Lydia and she is settling well into her new home with all her sisters!

Beautiful baby Lydia

After changing my clothes due to a couple of baby wee accidents, a late lunch and a little cry in my bedroom, I prepared myself for the afternoon visit for Thursday outreach time. Three of us went to visit a neighbour. We heard her pained story of a land issue which is requiring visits to court, in addition to a recent burglary where all her pots, pans and plates were stolen. We shared some verses from the bible to bring Hope and then prayed for her. Her face was alight and peace filled her heart as we left. Thank you Jesus.

My head was bursting with emotion. I probably should have journaled. I decided to go for a run instead. To push myself. Along the dusty tracks. Covering my mouth and squinting my eyes whenever a moto passed by to reduce the amount of dust I inhaled. Down the hill, over the wooden bridge, along the valley track through tea bushes, balancing the tree-trunk bridge to re-cross the stream and then stopping to get my breath before walking slowly up the steep hill. I didn’t want to think. But at the same time I wanted to process!

A candlelit bucket bath (I still haven’t changed the blown lightbulb) to attempt to remove the red dusty dirt. And then laughter, BBQ pork and chocolate cake to celebrate a colleague’s birthday.

Wow, what a day! Thank you Papa God for filling my heart with your love so that I can reach out to love others. It is a beautiful honour and privilege to be here for such a time as this.

# I went with two colleagues on a moto to do a home visit for baby K. They live over the hills and far away in a simple home with a beautiful view. Mama K is not in a good way. We were able to pray with her and trust God for her healing in body, mind and spirit. Please pray for her and for baby K to grow and develop well.

Baby K’s home up in the hills

*Name abbreviated for confidentiality

Washing feet

I first met Channel a year ago as I walked a friend to the bus stop. I was drawn to the limp of his leg as he slowly walked down the road and his bright beaming smile. I stopped, with my friend, and we prayed for Channel and asked God to heal his leg. This started a friendship with this precious boy. He is 14 years old, but seems much younger than this. His leg is damaged from falling out of an avocado tree when he was 3 years old. He has a Mama, but has been shunned by her new husband and is fearful of being beaten if he returns to the house in the mountain. This is a common occurrence in Burundi. He therefore lives with another Mama and her children in the town centre.

He wasn’t going to school and this was his main request to help him go to school. So that is what we did – bought him uniform, school books and got a place for him in first grade at the local primary school. His beaming smile got even bigger and just last week he proudly brought me his results – 86% and 18^th in his class.

For months his feet have been a concern. Jiggers slowly eating away the flesh around his toes and the dirt getting caked in. I would encourage him to wash his feet well and buy him soap to do so. Each time I saw him, the smell of his feet would waft up to my nose and I heard the still small voice within say, “Wash his feet” and I would quickly push it away and give him a few francs to buy soap.

Jigger infested foot

It was Holy Week. The week before Easter. I saw Channel a number of times and the, “Wash his feet” seemed to be getting louder and louder in my head. I was reading the Easter story and it could not have been more obvious that I was being disobedient to God:

It was just before the Passover Feast. Jesus knew that the time had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he now showed them the full extent of his love…Jesus got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel round his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped round him… When he had finished washing their feet… “Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you.” John 13:1,4-5,14-15.

Channel came to the office on the Thursday morning. Maundy Thursday. The day we remember Jesus washing his disciples feet. I knew I had to be obedient. I boiled some water and prepared a basin. I told Channel I wanted to wash his feet. It was one of the most significant moments of my life: Sitting washing the feet of one of the least of these and sharing the story of how Jesus did this first. To show the full extent of His love. Channel’s smile was so wide and bright. But, I knew that the joy bubbling deep within me was because of being obedient to God’s Word. Why did I wait so long to act on God’s Word? I want to be a person of obedience. Always. If I love God, I will obey his commands (John 14:15).

Channel getting his feet washed

We arranged for Channel to go to a health centre for a few days to have the jiggers removed and his feet treated. I had the joy and privilege to go with him on a moto the 20km to the health centre. I felt so alive, the sun shining down on me, the wind in my face and the stunning scenery taking my breath away at every corner. Channel sat tightly in between the driver and me, with his hands on my legs to steady himself on the bumpy mud road. The nurses and doctors at this health centre are amazing and helped us to arrange his care and for a local restaurant to deliver Channel three meals a day, usually family members provide food and care. My heart hurt as I left him in the small hospital room with fear showing in his eyes and his smile a little smaller than usual. I think I felt something a Mama feels with her own children.

A week later he proudly arrived at my gate to show me his feet. All the jiggers were gone and the skin was healing nicely. I had promised him a pair of strong shoes with the condition that he keeps his feet clean!

Channel and his new shoes!

A visitor’s portrait of Burundi

A guest blog post from my Dad following his 12 days in Burundi:

Burundi, to this visitor, portrayed a beautiful, vibrant country, almost ‘Eden like’ in its fertile valleys and forested and cropped mountains. Being 25% larger than my beloved homeland, Wales, but having a population 400% greater (3 million v. 12 million). Thus, in part, the depressing statistics, issued by the UN and other agencies, relating to poverty, hunger and health issues that blight so many lives. But for us as visitors, the excitement was to see first hand the spiritual life of the churches and of the supportive missions within Burundi. The abiding image we brought home with us: God is at work in Burundi, changing and restoring the nation.

Some treasured memories

Seeing the northern coastline of Africa for the first time and the excitement viewing the crayon-like blue line below as we crossed over a loop of the Nile, all from 30,000 feet.

Worshipping in churches that were semi-open, either with doors flung wide open or with unglazed windows. Outside a stream of people about their everyday tasks, herding goats, goods to and from market or carrying water, all passing by with worship washing over them. Even in the remoter church sites children and adults would gather to watch and listen outside.

The several church choirs, each different in composition and style, that accompanied the services. Also, the exuberant offering collections with singing and rejoicing. Testimonies accompanied with a thanksgiving of money placed into the offering basket.

The trusty Toyota

The amazing roads, potholed like elongated colanders, bustling with pedestrians, pushbikes imitating goods wagons, motos with ever more fantastical loads including pushbikes, crazy pothole defying minibuses and a blessed Toyota Hilux with three, equally crazy ‘muzungus.’

The hospitality, food and the ubiquitous bottles of Fanta, hugs and handshakes (NB hugs before handshakes) and the great thrill of greeting with the word ‘peace’ … Amahoro!.

At the shore of Lake Tanganyika

The immense pleasure on sitting on the shore of the longest freshwater lake in the world … the lake that seems to be a sea – Lake Tanganyika.

The Long Miles Coffee Project staff in Bukeye

Tea and coffee bushes not just in plantations, but on roadsides and narrow strips of cultivatable land. The spontaneous tour of the coffee washing station led by Epaphras, the agronomist, and our shared delight in composting vegetable waste.

The Cries of a Child (TCOAC) in Bukeye

The passion and energy of the Torres family in their work at TCOAC in Bukeye to establish medical and birthing facilities for the community. The sense of security and the growing mature confidence found in the youngsters at TCOAC. The knowledge that they will, as they become adults, impact their nation for Christ.

Sharing the Word of God with TCOAC kids

The generosity in time and love from those who have come to serve God in Burundi. And finally the thankfulness we owe to our beloved visit co-ordinator, driver and interpreter.

Bruce. (Papa Ruth)