Day 24

            Today is a down day. No work project that has to be done so we are allowed to sleep in if we want. I, however, have been awake by 5:00am every day I have been in Africa. Our down time will be spent at the beach. The water is warm and the sand is clean. Even I enjoyed spending time at the beach and I don't like beaches. Historically, my objections to the beach are threefold: sunburn, sand, and sweating. Sunburn - the name should say it all. Who wants to get burned? With my fair complexion (i.e., pasty white) I burn very easily and I don't like sun block. Sun block is counter-intuitive. I get up in the morning and take a shower so that I am not sticky and greasy feeling. To then apply a substance which makes me sticky and greasy makes no sense. Why shower? Sand - again people leave all logic behind when it comes to sand. We spend huge amounts of time getting the dirt out of our houses and cars, but when we collect all the dirt together in one place we call it a beach and sit in it. Yuk! Somebody came up with the great idea of paving the beach - we call it a pool. Sand gets everywhere. People walk around the beach like they just rode a horse because they have sand in places the vacuum cleaner wont go. Then they get into your car and build a mini beach in your floor mats. In the middle of winter you are still vacuuming sand out of the carpet from your independence day trip to the beach. Sweat - smelly bodily fluids oozing out and covering your entire body. Oh yeah this needs a lot of explaining as to why it is a bad idea. Everybody sweats at the beach, yes, even you ladies. I sweat…a lot. I don't perspire or glisten, I pour out bucket loads of clothes-drenching, friend-offending sweat. Why go to a beach where this is the primary activity. Even with my objections, I had a god time.

            While at the beach it becomes necessary to eat lunch. We order from the “hotel,” but soon discover we have overwhelmed the kitchen. Our first clue was the passage of two hours without a hint of food. Maybe there is a language problem we conclude and set out to investigate the delay in vittles. The problem, it turns out, is a shortage of chicken. At home we would simply buy some more and be done with it, but here it requires, catching, killing, and cleaning a sufficient number of birds to feed our crew. At least we know it is fresh.

            On the way home we see some venders peddling their wares on the side of the road and decide to stop and take a look. It is the same fare we are accustomed to seeing, but what is of greatest interest is Sophia’s ability to make grown men cry. I don’t care how reasonable the asking price is, Sophia will not quit her bartering until the vender is cursing her unborn children and selling their wares for less than it cost them to make it. She is so good at the haggling that others in the group give their selections to Sophia to do the bartering for them. I suspect that people were not really interested in making purchases, but just wanted the sport of watching Sophia dismantle and individual and walk away with a purchase for pennies on the dollar.

Day 23

            Today we went to visit the "Disabled Village." This was our original target village, but we could not get permission to work on the houses there. It is known as the Disabled Village because the government gave 400 acres of virtually useless land where disabled people could go and live on free of charge. I can't help comparing it to a leper colony where the undesirables of society are deposited out of the way. The village is in an area known as Kisarawe (be sure to role the r).

            Kisarawe is our destination, but there is no point in going anywhere in a van that is only at 150% capacity. Certainly we can squeeze in another person or two, so we make several stops along the way to pick up a number of folks. I don't know who they are or why they want to go with us usually. We just pull over, a few people get on smiling and babbling in Swahili, we squeeze together or double up to make room, and this process continues until we arrive at our destination. Today is slightly different. We still stop to pick up folks, but the reasons are more obvious. Our first stop collects three men whom I assume will be working on the houses (fundi - remember?). The second stop, the door opens, but I don't see anyone getting on, I just hear a lot of commotion. A minute later a woman emerges on the floor of the van, dragging herself by her arms - she has no legs. She vehemently refuses all assistance and pulls herself into a seat (we give her one by herself. Given her feisty nature and upper body strength no one wants to mess with her. Next comes Mr. Jackson. He has legs, but they are small, withered and useless so he drags himself on the bus next wearing flip-flops on his hands; a novel concept, but rather practical when you think about it - His disposition is more pleasant than the woman's and he squeezes in with us.

            Kisarawe is about 30 miles away, but it takes us two and a half hours to arrive due to traffic and all the stops we make. We are pleased to arrive, but learn we are only at the government building where we must now plead our case to do volunteer work and hopefully get permission. We are all required to file into the office of the magistrate, or governor, or queen of the region's office (I obviously don't know her official title) where we are grilled on everything from how much it is costing us to do this project to which cities and states we live in. As our leader, Chris took the brunt of the interrogation. The magistrate (we'll just stick to one title) is an interesting type of bipolar individual. She would be sweet as syrup when asking us where we are from or while discussing personal matters about us, but would turn into a pit bull when one of her staff was slow at carrying out a command or when someone used Swahili in front of us. She required everyone to speak English in front of the "guests" and heaven help the person who forgets and slips into Swahili. It turns out that her refusal to give permission for work and tight control over volunteers is her way of protecting foreigners from swindlers. She makes sure that every dollar we donate goes to the building projects necessary and not to the pocket of a less than honest pastor or charity worker. She requires accountability at each step of the process, which is good. To make sure we don't stray from stated goals she sends two men with us to supervise the work. Why not, we have a van so what is a couple more people. (The legless lady still got her own seat.)

            We now head out to the village which is just a "few more kilometers." However, those kilometers are down a bone-jarring path in the bush, which eventually is impassable by our van, and we have to walk the last kilometer or so. Walking through the bush is a fascinating experience. We follow a path through grasses and shrubs that are taller than us under an equatorial sun that leaves almost no shadow. You get the sense that you are the only people on the planet. That is until you feel the urge to send an email, which was the case for me. I allowed the group to get ahead of me and around a corner so I could have ample privacy. As soon as I started to transmit my email I began to hear the voices of villagers running down the road (no, not the legless people) to see the muzungus. And see us they did, as I became the center attraction of local entertainment. My email had to be ended med transmission so I could catch up with the group.

            The entire village is waiting for us when we arrive. This is not a surprise because I have become accustomed to the practices here. Every project starts and finishes with speeches and a prayer. Chris and I both usually have to give a speech and I am almost always elected to offer a prayer. Careful not to offend anyone perceived as an authority or honored person gives a speech - usually brief, but not always. Today, five speeches seem to be sufficient to get the work started, but after the speeches a tour of several of the homes is in order. One of the homes we visit belongs to Mr. Jackson, the man with the withered legs. He built the home himself! Even for a mud and stick hut, this is an amazing feat for a man who must drag himself around on his hands. The house is much smaller than my bedroom at home and only 4- to 5-feet tall. He is extremely proud of his accomplishment and so am I. The people of the village support themselves by growing cassava (a root ground into flour) and maze (a strain of corn we would use for livestock feed). They both eat and sell these two products, which is about all the land will support. Their diet contains no protein, which is evident in the children, and they have no clean drinking water, which also contributes to their health problems.

            We left home at 8:00am and it is now three in the afternoon and we haven't dug, hauled, or pounded anything. We have about an hour to work before we must head back so we can be out of the bush before it gets dark and the driver can't find his way out. We make the four-hour trek home realizing that we had a one-hour workday and an eight-hour commute. However, we remind ourselves that physical labor is not the only work we are here to do. We are also here to listen to the stories of people and love them just as they are - and that we did.

Day 22

            Divide and conquer. Most of our team stayed at the Nuru Centre to work on the schoolhouse. Working on the school involved heading back down to the dry riverbed and schlepping sand up a steep hill and lifting the buckets over the wall that was created yesterday. Planning ahead is a lost art. Enough sand had to be hauled to level the entire floor. It took most of the day.

            Five of us went back to the deaf church to finish the job there. The da started with tamping down the floor so get it ready for cement. Tamping involves taking a rough hewn 6-foot board 3 inches thick by 5 inches wide with a 6-inch by 20-inch board nailed to the end of it and slamming it down on the ground to pack it flat. It destroys your hands and exhausts your shoulders and arms in no time. We had to set up a rotation between the three guys so we could last the day. Besides pounding the ground, we learned to put a thin skin on plaster to get it reedy for painting. The paint, about the consistency of skim milk, was applied with rollers that looked as though they were used to paint tanks in the second world war. The covers had nap shorter than the hair on Glenn's head and kept sliding off the roller body. I hate painting under optimal conditions, and these conditions were not optimal. However, we got the floor pounded, the walls plastered and painted, and the people were thrilled with the results.

Day 21

            The driver failed to show today so we could not go back to the deaf church to finish the work there. Instead we shifted our attention to building a schoolroom for handicapped children. The process is essentially the same as we had been using with a few significant modifications. The sand for the concrete was not delivered, instead we shoveled it into 5 gallon buckets in a river bed and formed our bucket brigade up a ravine to the school house location. An exhausting task to say the least. Next the buckets had to be filled with water and carried up the hill to the building site. The final ingredients are Portland cement and blocks (of a slightly less crappy composition than the ones used the other day. These ingredients are delivered (hooray), but the crew refused to unload the truck (boo). We had to form our brigade line again and pass along 600 55-pound blocks (two trucks worth). This may not sound like a task invented by the devil himself, but it is. Doing 600 reps with 55 pounds is brutal; I don't care who you are. For icing on the cake, there were ten 110-pound bags of cement.

            Once we recovered from hauling sand, bricks, and water we set about building walls. As we start working a few things become obvious. We are becoming a team and learning how to work together. We can give instructions without insulting and receive them without being offended. We are also getting better at the work itself. The fundi correct less and our walls are straighter (that is when Betsy is not busy pushing the walls over). We made a fair amount of progress getting four courses of blocks on the foundation, which put us up about 4 feet.

Day 20

            We head back to the deaf church for more concrete work. We mixed up mortar, we laid block, the fundi fixed the block we laid, we carried sand, we carried water, we laughed and joked with the deaf folks who came to help, we plastered cement on the walls (Chris Beam was particularly good at this), and basically did whatever the fundi told us to do. That is, as best we could understand. Keep in mind we had three languages going on - English, Swahili, and Sign. Miscommunications were the rule, not the exception. It made for some funny moments, as we would dutifully dump a 20-litre bucket of water exactly where we were told only to watch the fundi frantically try to get it back in the bucket.

            Another problem we ran into was that every African considered himself fundi and enjoyed giving instructions to the muzungus (white people). We didn't know at first which were the fundi and which were ordinary people on a power trip. It didn't take too long for us to learn who knew what they were doing and who didn't. Usually the load, bossy ones were clueless and the fundi were busy doing the job. All were lovely people though; even the bossy ones, and we learned to start telling them what to do. Some of us adapted better to block laying and mud slinging than others, but all contributed in meaningful ways.

            An interesting side note: women performed most of the grunt work. Carrying water, carrying sand, and shoveling were all done by women more than by men. Even when they brought our suitcases in on the first night, each weighing 50 pounds except for Chris’s and mine, which was a carryon bag, the women brought them in, often on top of their head. I guess some things don't change from culture to culture; the women still get the drudgery.

Day 19

            Our first work day in Dar Es Salaam. We can't work on the houses until we get permission from the governor (or whatever) of that region. So far she is being slow and stingy with her permission. Do not despair - we are not daunted. A sister church of deaf individuals is trying to build a building for its meetings. We have no skill, experience, or training in building block walls in Africa so we figure we are perfect for the job. Pastor Charles was excited to find out that I am a fundi (skilled craftsman) and excitedly told the church members and the other fundi that I had much skill and experience. Never mind that I can count on one hand the number of times I have laid block and probably don't need more than two hands to count the number of times I have plastered. In short, I am as inexperienced as the rest other than general building experience. So now there is the expectation of greatness where mediocrity would be a decent accomplishment.

            We wedged 19 of us (14 in our group, 4 fundi, and Pastor Charles) into a twelve-passenger van along with our tools, cameras, backpacks, and supplies for the day. Everything you need for a day of hard labor…except water. Who needs water when digging foundations and hauling block in sub-Saharan Africa? It probably won't be over a hundred today…I hope. After about an hour of digging a trench for the foundation our tongues were swollen and sticking to the roof of our mouth. We were desperate for water. Chris said we should be able to get some water after we get blocks. So we hiked to the brickyard to buy some blocks for the walls and foundation.

            The brickyard was an exciting place. The yard workers could not seem to stop laughing at us, and one inebriated worker was having such a good time he was jumping up and down, doing cartwheels, and hand stands. Of course the cause of all this acrobatic behavior was our very own Lizzie. He was preening for her like he was the only rooster in the hen house. He proposed to her, offered to buy her shoes, and made it crystal clear he would like to have children with her. Chris tried to find out how much the guy would be willing to pay for her, but Lizzie had something to say about that transaction. Everywhere we went Lizzie caused a stir among the local males. She is such a flirt.

            We formed a fire brigade to load the blocks onto the truck. Now when I say "block," erase from your mind any idea of what you think a building block is. These blocks have minimal cement in their composition resulting is a rectangular block of wet sand that if handled very gently can be used by a skilled fundi to erect a wall. If mishandled or the block just doesn't like you large chunks of it will break off, or the whole thing will just dissolve into a pile of sand. Anita discovered how delicate the blocks could be when she was handing one down the fire line and the block spontaneously crumbled into bits loading about 18 pounds of wet sand down the front of her shirt. She handled it like a trooper and kept passing on blocks.

            We got the blocks back to the work site and started the process of wall building. Mostly this consisted of carrying blocks (55 lbs. each), shoveling sand, mixing mortar, carrying cement to the fundi, and occasionally actually constructing the walls. As promised our water arrived and we went throughout it like locusts through a bean field. In no time we were looking lustfully at the swill used to mix up the concrete. We know it will mean a week of diarrhea later, but we calculate if it is worth it to slake our thirst at the moment. No one succumbs to the temptation and we survive to laugh about it…or at least talk about it.

            When we run out of daylight it is time to clean up and go home. Daylight ends consistently at about 6:30 pm. We head out for our rush hour drive home. Hot, tired, hungry, dehydrated, and sitting on top of each other we were a little punchy. We laughed the whole way home. This wasn't difficult thanks to Sandy. Sandy has a guffaw that is positively contagious, and the ability to laugh at absolutely nothing. Some random thought must pass through her brain and she breaks out in a belly laugh that spreads to the rest of us. Her attempts to tell us what is so funny only deepen the laughter until some one is about to pee their pants (they apparently have not mastered the art of pre-emptive peeing). We stopped to exchange our US dollars for Tanzanian shillings and immediately began exchanging our shillings for cold drinks…they never tasted so good.

            Dinner, devotions and half of us passed out while the other half wrote about our day and stayed up too late.

Day 18

            Charles asked me last night if I would preach this morning and I readily agreed. When we got to church he had a special seat for me up front and a large bottle of water. Half way through the praise and worship music before the message, Pastor Charles leans over to me and says, "You can preach from 11:00 to 12:00, but don't feel rushed if you want to go longer it will be fine." I've never preached an hour-long sermon in my life; I don't think I am going to feel rushed. I prepared material for a 20-30 minute sermon. Now I know why he gave me so much water. This is going to be interesting.

            I got through the sermon. I don't know how long it took, but waiting for translation stretched it out significantly. No one fell asleep, not even the Americans, so I felt it was a success.

            The first thing I did after church was get rid of my tie. The inventor of the tie did not have Africa in mind when they came up with that fashion statement.

            Pastor Charles announces that we are going to go swimming for the afternoon in the Indian Ocean. We first stopped at a place that had a number of pools and beach access. It sounds idyllic - it's not. The beach access was so littered with sea grass and trash no one wanted to attempt it in bare feet. The pools ranged in color from green to dark brown depending on how many kids were in the pool and what they were doing in the pool. We didn't want to let our imaginations run to far with that one, most decided not to swim. I ventured into one of the green pools in an attempt to cool off. I avoided putting my head in the water because I believed that to be akin to giving myself a swirly in the locker room toilet. Some may question my decision to go in at all, but I was hot.

            We opted to walk down the road a half-mile to some more hospitable beach access. The water was great and yes, Judi, I did put on my sun block. There were a couple of hazards in the water: Sea grass that liked to wrap around your leg or be flung through the air by one or your comrades - relatively harmless unless you get a handful right in the face. Pumice, which would appear suddenly under your feet to deliver small cuts and abrasions - somewhat more harmful due to the drawing of blood. And finally there is Roger swimming under water to sneak up, grab your leg and scare you - essentially harmless if you are male (not a target), but potentially terrifying if you are female.

Day 17

            Travel Day. We spent the morning shopping and bartering for things we do not need. The prices are great and become even better after some hard-core negotiations. We work up an appetite with all our haggling and grab some Ethiopian food for lunch. It's so much fun to eat with your hands. You just keep waiting to hear your mother say, "Use a fork. You look like a barbarian." but she never says it and you eat the whole meal while nurturing your inner barbarian.

            Chris and I bid farewell to our wives (and to eighty percent of our luggage) as we leave for the airport. The world began its correction process after giving me two emergency-exit seats on flights I am now stuck in the middle for our flight to Dar Es Salaam.

            A couple hours of waiting in the Dar airport is rewarded by the arrival of the rest of our team. All 12 members and 24 bags arrive safely. Pastor Charles arrived on time with a bus that looked sufficient to carry all of us comfortably. I underestimated the space consumed by 25 suitcases (1 more was added because Chris and I had one we were sharing). We all crowded in and sat as best we could with towers of luggage threatening to fall on us and occasionally making an attempt. However, we all arrive safely to the Nuru Centre, which will be our home for the next two weeks.

            Our accommodations are pleasant. We sleep in a workshop where disabled Tanzanians make jewelry to sell. The girls share a room with Esther, a 19-year-old handicapped girl. She is gracious enough to allow 8 American women to crash in her room. Us six guys slept in the room next door. We had two showers to share, cold water only that did double duty as a bathroom. One had a toilet and one had a choo (pronounced with a long O sound). A choo is a hole in the ground for waist and is the most common form of toilet found in Tanzania. It requires greater aiming skill than a toilet does, but I find it kind of fun (let's just keep that between us). Having a toilet in your shower is actually a very practical idea (aside from the wet toilet paper). How many times have you been in the middle of a shower and heard the call of nature. You rush through the end of your shower to attend to more pressing matters. You get the picture.

Day 16

            The day started very early again as we got up at 12:15am to head to the airport - it's off to Nairobi. We arrive about 5am and decide to take a drive through the Nairobi Game Park (i.e., mini safari). It was fabulous, at least what I can remember of it. We were all so blitzed from lack of sleep we had to eat protein bars to stay awake. We saw many exotic animals living in their natural habitat - lions, baboons, rhinos, hippo, antelope, and all matter of birds. We even saw a lioness with her cubs. Not much to say other than "wow!" I did discover a new way to torment Kim with the smell of teriyaki beef jerky. Anybody who hates the smell of beef, in any form, deserves to be terrorized.

            After our safari we had lunch at the "Carnivore," an all you can eat meat restaurant, courtesy of an anonymous donor (Thanks Fred & Vickie). The food was great. I never had such a variety of animals and body parts in one meal. Off to the guesthouse for a nap before dinner.

            After dinner we spent some time together chatting, praying, and finally accessing the Internet. I was able to upload through Day 10, but for some reason the blog still does not like my pictures. I'm no professional photographer, but I thought at least some were good enough to share.

Day 15

            Consulting day. We spend the morning into the early afternoon consulting with the Friend's Peace House about a counseling center they want to open. Their plans look quite good, but need a fair amount of editing for grammar and wording if they want to apply for grants or get support from the English speaking world. I found it challenging to wordsmith a document that required rewriting of whole paragraphs while maintaining the feel and voice of the original author – challenging but fun.

            For the afternoon we went to a church where ten thousand Tutsis were slaughtered. It has been converted into a museum that is almost overwhelming to go through. When you enter the church you see piles of clothes sitting on benches that were the clothes warn by the victims. Behind the church are crypts that we entered. Inside is shelf after shelf of skulls, bones, and coffins of the thousands killed there. The skulls told a chilling story of how people were killed. The four methods of killing were hand grenade, gunshot, machete, and club. It was not difficult to tell which method of death many skulls suffered. The visit left us rather somber.

            Of course the solution to overwhelming grief is rampant materialism…so we went shopping. No ordinary shopping experience will do after such a sobering tour so we went to the "Artisans Village."

            The Artisans Village is a parking lot surrounded by approximately 40 stores. My non-scientific survey of the dozen or more shops I visited revealed that they all carry essentially the same crap. Nothing has a price tag, because they need to size you up and see how much they can take you for. All of this would be tolerable if were not for two facts.

1. The shop owners stand outside their shops and beg you, with the fervor of a starving child, to enter their shop with promises of better prices and better selection than the other stores. Hollow promises indeed. I suspect that most of the stuff is imported from China.

2. The members of our group of the female persuasion bought the lies. They found it necessary to enter every shop, inspect all the goods which were identical to the last store that the left, barter over items, leave the store, discover all the other places had the same "goods," then return to the ordinal store to restart the haggling. Then there is Judi's woven basket obsession. Her eye is able to discern 18 different shades of blue and apparently all 18 shades were represented in the shops and need to be compared. I would be retrieved from my post in the parking lot to offer my opinion. I would stand dumbfounded before the two baskets on which I was to pass judgment. In my mind all I could think was "These look exactly like the ones I made a decision abut 20 minutes ago…and the other day. In fact didn't we already buy these baskets? Maybe this whole process is one of the marital quizzes to see how well I am paying attention. But if I don't take this comparison seriously I fail the "you don't care about the things that are important to me test." It's not worth the risk." I furrow my brow in deep concentration, allow the tension to build for a moment, and then announce with conviction and confidence (this is no time for half measures) "The one on the left! Definitely!" I hear, "I think so too," and get out of the shop as quickly as possible breathing a sigh of relief.

Day 14

            Hiked up the hill in town this morning. Kim struggled a little, but kept pushing through like a trooper. Her Crones wanted to act up, but we were busy praying it away. We toured the Friend's schools and introduced ourselves to several classrooms ranging from seniors down through kindergarten. We were supposed to say something about ourselves when we introduced ourselves. Judi would go right after me and every time she told the class she was my wife the whole class would erupt into applause and cheers. It caught us all off guard and Kim got excited about her turn since she loves the applause. She announces that she is married to Chris the teacher and paused (insert cricket sounds here). Not a peep could be heard. She figured it must be because she identified Chris as a teacher so she modified her strategy for the next classroom. It didn't help. Several more modifications without benefit left Kim bewildered and the rest of us guessing. Judi was beaming having been applauded and cheered all day. Chris concluded that they were all cheering because they were amazed I found someone to marry me. Whatever the case, it was an interesting cultural experience.

            After lunch, we debriefed our teaching with David. It was a bittersweet time since we knew when we were done that David would go home, and we didn't want to see him go. We planned for several return trips (Shhh…don't tell Judi), and looked at a variety of ways we may be able to use our skills to benefit THARS. We also had several requests from our Rwandan contacts at the Friend's Peace House to come and do training for them. We could come here every year and not run out of needs for a long time. I don't think Judi will allow me to do that, but she is far more ready to return than anyone would have predicted…well actually Chris predicted it.

            We said our goodbyes, which was highly emotional for all of us. We have all grown to love David and will miss him very much. I look forward to the next time we get to minister together. He feels like a kindred spirit.

            Kirsten showed up late for dinner. Unfortunately for her we lingered after dinner. We probed her for all the details of her love life, and then asked to use her Internet card. So at least we violated her privacy before we exploited our relationship with her to get what we want. She says she doesn't mind at all so I figure she should either be nominated for sainthood or she is desperately lonely. I'll assume the later. The Internet connection was too slow to upload the blog so I will try again later. If you made it this far into the blog you realize that I have given up the notion of including pictures. It takes too much bandwidth to upload.

Day 13

            Two representatives of the Friend's Peace House met us in the morning to take us to the Genocide museum. It was fascinating and powerful, but only told the story from one perspective, which was a disappointment. The peace in this country feels very fragile. At times the air almost crackles with tension. It is against the law to ask someone their ethnicity (i.e., to which tribe they belong), and questions about the tribal conflicts are considered rude. They have peace but no reconciliation and are handling the problem by ignoring it and saying it is resolved now. It isn't.

            After lunch we went to the Friends Peace House to meet with the staff and hear about all the programs they have going. As so often happens, tragedy brings about good things. The Peace House has a number of wonderful programs to help the people of Rwanda. We would benefit from many of these programs, but we have too much to see our need. We had a question and answer time and agreed to meet again on Thursday to consult with them regarding a counseling center they are trying to establish – the very thing we can help with.

            At dinner tonight Kirsten was suspiciously missing. Perhaps she was at the hospital have her ears treated for over use.

Day 12

            Monday morning we are breakfasted and ready to go by 8:00am. The drive was beautiful winding through mountains, crossing the Nile, and overlooking breath-taking vistas. We pulled over in the middle of nowhere because our driver needed to "check his email." Judi was fascinated by this and wanted to go with him so she could check her email too. We kept her from following explaining it was very personal email. When she saw him disappear into the bush, the lights came on for her and she understood his need. We were merciless with Judi after that.

            When we got to the border we had to exit the vehicle, fill out substantial paperwork to get our exit visas for Burundi stamped, walk 50 feet to a different window in the same building, complete the same paperwork, get our entrance visas for Rwanda, get into a different vehicle and continue our trip. It was all a bit strange, but it worked to get our visas taken care of and get us across a border.

            We got settled into the Friend's Guest House in Kigali and took off for the "mall" looking for an Internet café and a place to exchange some cash into Rwandan francs. We found both, but I was still unable to upload my blog, as I had to use their machines. Needless to say, in a 3rd world country, they were all windows-based machines.

            At dinner we made another new friend while in Rwanda. Kirsten (sp?) is a young girl from New Jersey fresh out of college. She is working in the Friend's library and living here alone in the same guesthouse at which we stayed. Kim and Judi decided she was lonely so they peppered her with questions (Judi) and told her endless stories about our adventures (Kim). Chris and I warned that they had her trapped and that she would avoid us the rest of the week. Kirsten assured us she was fine and that she hasn't spoken to native English speakers in a while. Vickie just watched and laughed.

Day 11

            Another Sunday, another new church, not quite as large as the last one, but every seat was taken. Two songs were sung in English for our benefit. Everywhere we go we are treated like royalty. They have us get in front of the church and introduce ourselves. We always let folks know about the people back home who are praying for them. They appear to be very encouraged to know that people from a wealthy country like the USA care enough about them to pray.

            After church we had lunch with the vice-speaker of parliament. A few weeks out of town and I'm hob-knobbing with important political figures. I'll check my schedule when I get back to see if Obama has called for lunch, or maybe just coffee so he can get some pointers.

            When we got back to THARS Judi was feeling ill - so much for the superior gender. She needed to stay home while the rest of us went for an emotional and informative ride with David. He walked us through his ordeal with the war in Burundi when soldiers pulled up to his campus where he was talking with students and opened fire. The traumatic events of that day and the weeks that follow are contained in David's book "Unlocking Horns." I recommend it.

            Dinner and packing complete the day as we prepare to head up to Rwanda.