Monday morning and we need to be ready to roll by 8:00 am as today we travel by car to Gitega. At breakfast, Chris is not eating and we soon discover he spent the night fighting the urge to worship at the porcelain altar. He is the first victim of the travel bug which is stalking us all. Fortunately, he can merely ride in the car today. Unfortunately, that car will be weaving back and forth through switch backs on narrow roads up a mountain. A couple hours of this does it’s magic and Chris is hiding behind a tree to expel whatever small amount remains in his stomach. Though we thought we were well secluded in the bush, his retching causes three women to appear from further in the bush to offer assistance.
At this point a side note is needed. The Burundi people are extremely hospitable and kind. Every action movie shows the hero minding his own business when a number of local toughs come to throw the stranger out of town, then get their fannies whooped by the hero. An action movie would fall quite flat in Burundi. The hero would be minding his own business when several of the local toughs would walk up, smile broadly, stick out their hand and say “welcome.” Whether speaking in English or Kirundi the message would be clear, “I don’t know you, but I will gladly make you my friend.” It is impossible to not love these people. I have so much to learn from them.
When Chris finished his roadside expulsion we continued on toward Gitega making stops at local listening rooms. Listening rooms are for group and individual counseling for people who have been traumatized. We arrived at these small buildings to find all members of the group that met there sitting out front waiting for us. They had been waiting since 10 in the morning though we didn’t arrive until the afternoon. Their patience and relaxed attitude about time is a marvel. While visiting the rooms the people that met there told us there stories. Stories of rape and torture. Stories of watching family members butchered before their eyes. Stories told from bodies that bore the scars to substantiate their telling. Stories that changed us forever. However, we heard atrocities from people filled with joy and hope; people changed through their encounter with counseling and Christ. They sang and danced for us. They educated us about joy in the middle of suffering. I believe I encountered Christ face to face today, and He is beautiful.
The folks in these groups are working to pull themselves out of poverty by pooling their money and working together. One group raises goats and after 3 years of working together they have 5 goats. Another group weaves baskets and a third makes soap to sell at market. The fourth group does an internal form of micro finance. Every member must contribute some money to be a part of the business “club” (for lack of a better word). Then members can submit a business plan and receive a short term (1 to 2 months) loan to get their business going (e.g., buy bananas to sell at market). Then the loan is repaid and funds are available for others to borrow. Books are carefully kept by an appointed member and all enforcement is conducted by peer pressure. The soap-making group used to use this format also, but some members took out loans and never returned. The group diminished to 4 members who now make soap together and are extremely bonded because of the shared suffering.
We arrive at THARS (Trauma Healing and Reconciliation Services) in time for dinner. The food here is great. However, most meals consist of about 4 different kinds of starch. Rice, potatoes, pasta, bread, peas, carrots, something green and unidentifiable, but not bad tasting (though I am alone among Americans in my appreciation of its flavor), and fried bananas are all common staples. Everything a diabetic should not eat. Chris, still pretty green around the gills, just looks at the food and groans. I decide to eat his portion for him.
Some last minute brain storming for the teaching that starts tomorrow and it is off to bed. 
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