Mental pleasantries

This still isn’t a description of Burundi, not quite yet. It’s just my thoughts. Actually it’s not even that – it’s just the thoughts I know how to write down. So it’s about 1/100^th of my thoughts. An amuse-bouche of ponderings and a circumlocution of an update.

…..

My freshman year I had to make a website for the Chapel Hill-Carrboro Resident’s Council for an APPLES class. I got it done and was pleased with the end product, but pretty much hated doing it. Then, because student groups often fail to trick someone into doing it for them, I ended up maintaining 3 other sites throughout college. Didn’t enjoy a one and I’ve gained a great appreciation for those people who do that stuff for you.

So I came to Burundi and I’m creating a website.

But anyway, um, ah, yeah…

BUT, I declare that if I’m going to spend the day in front of the computer fiddling with navigation bars and producing poor translations and seeing beautiful weather outside but not walking through it, I’m damn well going to bob my head in the process. Yeah. Yeah!

So I went to see him again. He should be my new best friend!

And I have a secret weapon to help me do it. Have had since freshman year, after discovering that Hannah Poston possessed the most unique dorm room on the hall and probably on most other halls: Arabic phrases scattered on every wall, tapestries hung, clothes used as interior decoration, poetry poetry poetry, a bookshelf dedicated to magical books (truly magical), a smelly roommate, and the most perfect music possible. Perfect because it fit her, it fit her room, and it had all the sounds and messages that I had always wanted to hear but didn’t know how to find. And I don’t think she knows it, but I’ve discovered almost of all of my favorite music through her.

Down the river, down the road, Little Rock, Tokyo, dusty trail, Flagstaff, in a faded photograph, Thunderstorm, Golden Sands, Cape of Horn, Pakistan, Surinam, Highway One, Chinatown, smoking gun…

So she made me a couple of beautiful CDs. To this day, iTunes recognizes them as that: Hannah’s Beautiful CD 1 and Hannah’s Beautiful CD 2.

They’ve got the perfect put-you-in-a-good-mood-no-matter-what songs. A lot of girl music. Not girly, but girl – power girl indy-pop. The storylines cute and smart, the tunes a perfect backbeat for cock-your-head-to-the-side-and-chicken-bob-at-the-neck dancing. Think Julia Stiles in 10 Things I Hate About You, but with more soul. Or if you’re lucky enough to conjure this image, think Hannah Poston.

Minneapoliiiiiiiis. Minneapoliiiiiis. Minneapoliiiiiis. MinneAP-ah-lis.

I’m sweating like mad in here. I put deodorant in my bag today so I could put it on after I walked back to work from lunch but it’s not going to do any good. What would do some good is a change of shirt and a fan. And probably not bobbing to music– no! Not an option.

Meet me at the backshop baa-a-by, you’ll bring a little ukulele, I’ll take a reel, make it alright, let’s make a song on the eight track tonight.

Alright so the contact page is done and the partners page is pretty close, at least the images worked – good, but they’re not working when I try to publish them, and is that how you say “…while it’s under construction” in French?

There is a beautiful woman in the office now. A Burundian doctoral student from a UK University and a lovely learned British accent. She’s writing her dissertation on women in peacebuilding in Burundi. Hey, I like peace and women too! In fact I can think of few better combinations. I might have to hit her up for her results once she’s developed a few. Or maybe she wants to contract me to do some legwork.

Op, it’s time to go. Right then.

Thanks Hannah.

Develop this.

(Note: forgive the poor formatting. I'm new to this.)

So, good things happen here. It’s totally true they do. (I think I’m supposed to be writing about them, and I will.) But stretches of boredom happen too, and this happens to be one of them.

Today, pretty much any worthwhile work I have to do depends on my downloading a program. It’s not working. Pop goes the connection or whatever else and once again, I restart the download. And wait. 20 minutes. 1 hour. Yeah….

Okay, so maybe this just isn’t one of those days where I’m productive at work. In time, I’m sure I’ll have tons to do and look back on these days with envy. Collinsworth affirmed that I can handle adversity at work – I did in fact work for Save Darfur, STAND, and JP. But - even if useless and infuriated, I was at least active then. After a week of latency, I am getting pretty restless. This is the point in the car ride where I start singing really loud and squirming upside down in my seat.

The thing is, there would be a natural solution to workday boredom if I were most any other place. Just go do something. Right! It hurts, it’s so logical! I’m in a totally new country and there is so much I haven’t seen or photographed and I love to explore towns on my own.

Ah... right…. that’s exactly what I can’t do here.

For safety reasons and because there is no map of Bujumbura and I don’t have a clue how to get around and because I don’t know any place worth going by myself right now… I can’t actually go anywhere and do anything by myself. Nooooo, don’t let the muzungu out alone.

Sure, I’ve been spoiled: I’ve lived on one of the most beautiful campuses and I’ve traveled in the most beautiful city possible. I like Paris and Chapel Hill and Carrboro and the pedestrian lifestyle. I was very very used to going out on my own and very very happy to do it.

Too happy?

Could that mean… I’m just not a developing world kinda girl?

I'm not in Pfafftown anymore.

So I received this a while ago…

-----------

You’re Invited!

What: Work at the Burundi Leadership Training Program, Learn about conflict management and Burundian politics, Immerse yourself in the dual worlds of (1) an expat community in the developing world and (2) the developing world itself, Take in the sights (Mountains and Beaches of Lake Tanganyika) and sounds (French and Kirundi) of this intimate central African town.

Where: Bujumbura, Burundi. The capital city of one of the 10 smallest countries in Africa (roughly the size of Connecticut, or Belgium).

Seated across from the Democratic Republic of Congo on the banks of Lake Tanganyika, the real Bujumbura can be sensed on its roads. The road surface varies from a few nicely paved “freeways” lined with periodic billboards, to stones inlaid in the dirt (think cobblestones unflattened,) to dusty streets UN vans and trucks overloaded with Burundians swivel around nonchalant walkers and cyclists carrying any and everything. Circling the town, walls and guarded entries stand in front of impressive houses (formerly belonging to the Tutsi elite, now occupied by expats), and in town leave your personal space behind you to walk through the throngs at the central market or down the sidewalk. Sidewalk meaning of course, side of the road.

When: August 14 to Christmas-ish.

After that, real life (read: work) begins. That is, when you get a job. Which means, more bluntly, you should be looking for one. Or someone should be offering you one. In case anyone happens to be looking for a smart, fun employee who’s been in Burundi. Cause you are and you will have been. Some people are probably into that. I bet.

Why: The country is at a fascinating crossroads of war and peace – or boxing match, if you will. In one corner, extreme poverty, a dense population, ethnic conflict, corrupt political leaders, no access to the sea and a pretty thuggish neighborhood… In the other, a brand new government and a slew of foreign groups trying to keep it on it’s feet! Who will overcome in this battle for peace and stability? Hop on over to find out.

----------

Hmm, interesting invitation, I thought. I do happen to have this interest in conflicts and conflict-affected areas that I picked up somewhere between Pfafftown and Paris. So when I walked into Virginia Carson’s office last September to say Hi and she handed me this, I thought Why Not? UNC seemed keen enough on the idea to give me a travel grant and that’s supporting me for a brief internship.

Et donc, voila. A week in, I've cashed the invitation in for 1 soccer game, 1 afternoon-long peace celebration at a lovely (and huge) local church, 3 days getting used to the office and its work, 3 nights out, 3 house guards, 1 cook, 1 gardener, $50 from a poker game, 120 malaria pills, plenty of papaya/mango/pineapple salad, and a healthy regular serving of Amstel.

I've been to much worse functions.

Work = Play

My job for the summer is playing. It’s not all I’m doing. I’m getting some quality reading in, I’m learning how to do yoga and swing dance, I’m studying for some tests and I’m getting applications ready for life beyond Burundi. But I’m getting paid to play.

My clients are talkative, tiring, and typically less than four feet tall. They ask lots of questions and have high standards for me. One minute I have to be a lion and chase them around the yard, the next they want to wrap me up in a parachute. They stage little competitions, and due to my long-lost finesse with the hula hoops and jump ropes, they win every time – and I’m pretty sure they planned it that way. They make me eat chocolate and cheerios as fast as I can; I even have to stick out my tongue at the end to prove they are gone. At my objection to an activity comes a confused look of disappointment. These are tyrants.

Their names are Bailey, Jamie, Nick, Julianne, Emma, Annie, Delia and Giovanni. Sometimes they bring friends along and I have even more bosses for the day. They have the best quality of a leader; they don’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, but they really know how to make you want to do what they want. For example, the painting episode. I decided to paint with Bailey and Jamie on the first day I sat for them. They globbed paint all over the plates and paper, created indecipherable pictures, then proceeded to move the paint from the paintbrush to their fingers to their legs and arms. Mess made, we went to clean up and I figured we’d wait a while until painting again. How naïve of me.

The next day, about 15 minutes after I got there, the girls ask when we’re going to paint today. Hmmm, later, I reply. Go get your sticker books and we’ll do that for a while. Sure that enough distractions would hold me over until their mother came home, we stickered – “Is is later now?” – and Little Bear’ed - “Is it later now?” – and snacked - “Now??” – and I realized I wasn’t getting out of it. My ruse wasn’t enough for girls who wanted to paint. Plus they held the trump card: the declaration “You said we could,” strengthened by raised eyebrows and a sad little pout.

I have been sitting on babies for a long time now, and it’s changed a good bit over the years. For one thing, there’s beginning to be less of an age difference between me and the mom than the kids. I can feel it in a lot of ways. Yesterday afternoon, as I was watching Nick and Julianne play Freddie the Fish on the computer and my eyelids started getting heavy, Julianne timidly asked if I was tired. She seemed perplexed by it – it was the middle of the day, after all – and I wondered if that ever happened to her sprightly nine year old body. It struck me that this might be the main difference between us now. I still like to play dress-up and hide in treehouses and not clean up too. I love to run and catch and jump and fall. They just don’t get tired. And this would help explain how when I got home, I wanted to plop on the couch and fall asleep at 9:30. Like a grown-up.

When did that happen?