Bullets in the Bedroom!

Just read through my last Blog from September 2015. My final line said something about Blogging more regularly. That was 6 months ago!

It's Good Friday. I have just completed my second Term as Head Teacher, with 0 days off sick. Granted, my body does feel a little less than great today. I have a sneaking suspicion that my face seems to inspire people to make the comment, 'you are going to rest now aren't you?'

But I've made it. We've made it. The King's School, Bujumbura, Burundi has survived two terms, in one of the hardest periods of time in the country. 

There have been so many challenges, I have at times begun to feel like the ball-bearing on a pin ball machine.  Many days where I have reached that point where I know I've got to laugh, rather than cry. 

Term 1 (September) found us with just under 50% of our pupils across the whole school. But all the 'signs' were good. Lots of people believed that Burundi was going to settle down and things would slowly get better. So we started back at school with a real sense of hope and expectation. Numbers would rise, slowly. We just needed to tighten our belts and ride the storm. 

I began to get used to the sound of gun fire at night. I began to be able to identify the different weapons used by the various factions trying to sort out their problems in the wee small hours. At school we learned to be compassionate to 'tired' children, who'd had disturbed sleep. Most mornings began with a .....'did you hear?  .....story.  But, life went on. Term 2 would come and lots of children would return to Burundi, and all would be well.

Unfortunately, nobody told the people here, who were having the significant disagreements with one another, that story.

Not a big bullet, I know, but big enough for me.

So, in the early hours of Friday December 11^th, the shooting became even more intense than usual. I was lying in bed trying to work out just how close it was, when there was an especially loud bang. It made me jump, quite significantly. It almost sounded like it was in the room. But I remembered what I’d been told about it being very loud if the shooting got close. So, I assured myself that this must be in fact just how loud it got. I laid in bed, determined not to be pathetic and wake up the others in the house. The shooting continued for the rest of the night. This was clearly a change from the normal procedure. I woke around 5am, still feeling a bit shaky. The phone messages started, school start delayed........delayed again. I did my usual early morning stagger from bed to bathroom. Shower. Then stood on the mat next to my bed, looked down to the floor and something caught my eye. Surely, not!? There, lying about 3 ft from my bed was a bullet. I looked up at the ceiling and there indeed was a nice bullet shaped hole. That loud bang ......was a bullet coming through the roof, through the ceiling and landing next to my bed. No wonder it had been so loud. No wonder it sounded like it was in the room. IT WAS!! There followed some very shaky, excited waking up of everyone else in the house.

(Apologies to my family who haven't heard that story - it seemed best to wait a while to tell it)

Sadly though, the effect of  December 11^th on the school was very nearly devastating. No more steady return of students. Finally, the families who were just about coping with the difficulties, had enough and called it a day. No more back to normal, coming for Term 2.

Term 2 (January 2016) found us with around 50% of our students, but this time with few good ‘signs’ to look forward to. This time also, with a huge ‘situation’ to deal with. We could no longer ‘ride the storm’ we had to face full on an issue that we had been avoiding for the past few months. 50% pupils, but 100% staff at the school. January and February were very difficult times. It’s a huge problem in a country without a ‘Benefits System’ to think about making people jobless. The situation at The King’s School was in no way unique. All across the capital employers were facing the same dilemma. More staff than required, but making someone redundant, could mean condemning them and their families to starve.

Finally, after much soul searching and discussion we found a solution. It was hard, but seemed to be the best we could do in such a negative situation. The end of Term 2 found us still there, still determined to give the children of The King’s School the best education we possibly can.

So what else have I done in the last 6 months?

After the Hydrogen Chloride had been poured on!

 In October I learned a hard lesson about gas!  I was busy trying to do quite a number of things all at once. Baking a cake being one of the events. The cake baking was turning out to be more troublesome than usual. At one point the gas got turned off accidently , so about 5 mins before the meeting at which  the cake was to be consumed, it was discovered to be very soggy in the middle.  In my rush, I opened the oven door, quick sniff, no gas smell. Grab the lighter. Turn the gas on. Oh look ! the gas was on all along. Flick the lighter on. Hand in the oven. BOOM!  Hand engulfed in flame. Bad words, uttered. Sudden remembrance of a fact contained at the back of my head. Gas in Burundi doesn’t smell. Twerp!  Second lesson I learned in this episode. Hydrogen Chloride is extremely painful when poured over the raw,  unhealed skin of a burn!!

As I said in my last Blog, my office is sandwiched between the Pre-school and Reception classes. I’ve learnt all sorts of new songs. One of the best is ‘ Today is my favourite day, it’s better than any other day. Yesterday, was a very good day, but today is my favourite day.’  Another good one, is a golden oldie, ‘Read your bible, pray every day, pray every day, pray every day. Read your bible, pray every day , if you want to grow.’ The second verse is new to me and always makes me smile.  ‘ If you don’t read your bible and pray every day, pray every day, you will shrink, shrink, shrink.’ Not so good for us short people. Clearly a lack of reading and praying going on somewhere!

My little frog expert.

One of the high spots of most of my days is break time. 9:30 am and Ardash  will appear. He will come in for his daily chat about the frog pictures on the wall. He loves to name them all. Slowly, we are looking up the names on the internet. Every day he reminds me that the blue and black one, ‘is a Poison dart frog, and you mustn’t touch it, because if you do you will get sick.’  Then he leaps around the room like a frog and disappears back into the playground. Some days a whole swarm of yellow shirts appear in the office. All picking things up and touching buttons on printers, computers, phones, it’s great. Keeps me firmly in my place!

Just a few - Yellow Shirts.

Well, I think that’s about it for now. I will try to keep more up to date with Term 3 progress. Tonight we have been blessed with a serious of explosions and some automatic gunfire, blasting somewhere across the city.  It’s actually been a while since we’ve heard so much. Still some differences to be resolved, unfortunately.

The King's School Primary - Term 1

One of my favourite photos - being escorted into school on a rainy day (by a security guard)

Another favourite - brotherly love on Sports day. 

I'm BACK !

Little did I know, when I composed my last Blog in February, that I was in no way on the road to recovery! I was in fact on a road that led to further sickness and ultimately to the surgeon's knife.
So now in some ways there is less of me, but in other ways there is more.
I am having to get used to the Burundian compliment that runs along the lines of , ' Mrs Liz, you look good, you look well.' at which point I say, STOP! don't say the next sentence. But they always do.
 ' You look fat!' I know they mean well. But it is so hard to take that as a compliment!

So yes, I am back in Burundi, after an absence of 5 months. I had to leave at the end of March and face major surgery. I was an extremely unhappy, miserable, sulky bunny. You really didn't want to read any Blog I might have written at that time.

One of my biggest achievements during that time was the knitting of small cardigans. Despite much encouragement to branch out and knit a variety of articles, I persisted in knitting the same cardigan over and over again. It gave me a kind of anchor in a life that otherwise felt like I was floating in limbo. To date I have produced 30 cardigans. I am still in possession of 28, as I am struggling with the concept of giving away. I like counting them, arranging them in various colour orders, and so on and so forth. I know. I can be very sad sometimes.
Another achievement was the watching of the whole 10 Seasons of Stargate SG1 and 5 Seasons of Fringe. Probably not really something that can be classed as an achievement, but I managed it. It did mean that there were points during March and April, where I struggled to hold on to reality. I started expecting aliens to appear in front of me at any minute. Worried that I might not actually be me, I might be myself from an alternate universe!

But here I am back in Burundi. Things have changed here in many ways, both personally and nationally. I will stick to commenting on the personal rather than the national!
I left in March a very frustrated and disappointed Year 6 teacher. Absolutely devastated that I wouldn't be able to finish the year with my class. Sadly, the school had to close not many weeks later. So ultimately I only missed two weeks of school. Lots of sad bunnies around at that time.
September finds me in a new role at The King's School. I am now the Head Teacher of the Primary school! How grown up do I have to be now?! Some days I have to pinch myself to check it's still me in my body. Some days I wonder if I have in fact accidentally walked into an alternate universe.

So far the experience has been positive. My office is situated next to Pre-school classroom. Pre-schoolers are little ones who have had their third birthday. They seem far too tiny to be in school. I've had some special times trying to placate bawling ankle-biters. One little man whose only language is chinese, spent a long time earnestly whispering in my ear and sobbing. He clearly believed I understood chinese fluently, as I nodded sagely and I kept telling him 'Mama is coming later.'
I stand in awe of these children who come to a new school and have to learn in a completely new language. I found school utterly confusing when I was 5. I distincly remember on my

Winner's first day in Nursery (Yes, his name is Winner!)

first day at school, the teacher asked , everybody to stand up. I wondered who Everybody was. It certainly wasn't me.

I think my favourite part of starting school has been the privilege of watching a very special young man finally make his way to school. His name is Enoch, but he is known as Mugisha (Blessing). He is the son of two very special teachers at The King's School. He has had to wait for the right time to begin school. As with so many times in life the saying 'every cloud has a silver lining' proves to be true. Due to all the disturbance in Burundi, only 6 children turned up at the Nursery. We have the capacity for 40. So, it is time for Mugisha to come and 'bless' us.  On some levels Burundian culture struggles to cope with those who are deemed 'different'. For many reasons, such children remain at home and shut away from society. Some of the reasons are purely practical. There is no such thing as disabled access in Burundi. The world is a  dangerous place if you find it diffcult to walk.
So it was, on Wednesday that Mugisha made his way up the drive of the Nursery, for his first day at school.I have a feeling that Mugisha is going to bring more to our lives than we can imagine possible.

Debbie the out-going Head, was renown for her ability to identify and name every child in the school. So I felt obliged to begin the process of achieveing the same feat.
One huge step I have made so far. Two children I had named Mini Igor boy and Mini  Igor girl (Igor being their big brother, who I taught two years ago) I now recognise as Charles and Olga. Three boys who look identical, I now know have the names, Duncan, Keffa and Echo. But sadly, I don't know which name goes with which child. I know that there is both a boy and a girl called Praise and a boy and girl Jesse. I can identify Hilary, Harry and Haylene, but only if they all present themselves to me en-block. If they appear indiviually I am stumped. Little Tommy is actually called Davy Yan.  I keep forgetting what Little Kimberley is properly called. I'm trying very hard not to identify anybody by their hair, because I've been tripped up by that mistake too many times before. But I do know that Keyla and Keysha both have braids.

I have also moved house for the fifth time! Technically, I am house sitting this year (and dog sitting).

Back with a house mate from the year before last. Recently we were both out with friends when some beautiful little kittens came up. We both went into kniptions about how lovely they were and how we might entice them into our bags to take them home. One 'friend' exclaimed, ' Oh no ,you two are going to turn into a couple of weird old ladies if you live together aren't you!'  Well how very rude. (But possibly true) Home is so much easier,when you live with someone who also forgets why they came into the room.

Well I think that has to be it for now. Hopefully, I will get round to writing on a more regular basis now I am 'fat'!

I Don't Want to carry Rhubarb!

I was so very sad. I'd just died and I felt an over-whelming sense of grief about it.

But then came the news that everyone had to move out of the building we were in. We all had to get out and go to the camp site. It was vital that we all went.

But I had just died!

No, we all had to go. Everyone. Each one had a different job to do. My job was to be a carrier. I had to take a bag, pick and carry rhubarb.

But I had just died!

I didn't want to carry anything. I wanted to be able to just run. To be free.

No! I had to carry rhubarb.

I started running. I didn't take a bag. I didn't stop to pick rhubarb. I was running. Running through the fields. I was dead. I was free. But they came after me. With the bag. Shouting at me. Telling me, that I had to carry rhubarb.

I fell face down.

I woke! Sobbing. With the words, “But I don't want to carry rhubarb!” ringing through my cloudy, befuddled mind.

Such are the dreams induced by IV quinine! “ I don't want to carry rhubarb!” is No 2 on my 'Most Memorable Phrases from November 2014' list. No 1 on the list, is the phrase, “ This one is full of Malaria.”

It all started weeks ago. At October Half-term, a long wet trek through the jungle, looking for baboons, left me with a significant asthma crisis. In the weeks that followed, I also discovered that my energy had packed it's bags and moved on, to who knows where. I began to experience the joy of dizzy spells. The need to rest, after walking up stairs. Making a list of all the things I needed to do downstairs before venturing on the trip. Using the 'student toilet' because it is on the same floor as the classroom. And so on and so forth. Anything that saved energy and helped me keep going.

My mantra became, 'it's just asthma, get on with it.'

No I didn't need to go the Doctor........why?.......because.......well, just because!

Slowly, slowly things got worse. But I am a firm believer in that saying my mother taught me. 'If something is being annoying, just ignore it and it will go away eventually.' On reflection, I think maybe she was trying to help me deal with my brothers, not sickness.

Eventually, the Doctor decision was removed from my stubborn grasp. I was escorted off to see the Pnuemologist. Who decided a course of steroids was needed. (Wednesday)

Friday (two days later) 5:25pm found me at the end of two days of Parent Interviews. Just about every body had gone home. I had my laptop, nebulizer and books in my ruck-sac. I am on steroids, I must be getting better. (I reason) It's ok, I can walk home. 55Mins later I stagger through the front door. The walk usually takes 10 to 15mins. How wrong was I? I couldn't walk home!

Monday, back to the Pneumologist. He's not in. So off to the hospital. Blood tests and chest x ray. Verdict. Severe anaemia. Solution. Blood transfusion. Sharp intake of breath. A blood transfusion in Africa. One slightly offended Doctor, who informs us that Black blood is the same as white blood! Oh yes, we agree, it's not that, it's just ….... do you screen it? Further offence taken. Of course. After a phone call for reassurance from a Burundian husband. The transfusion was set to go ahead.

Two weeks later, that phrase was issued 'this one is full of Malaria'. Yes, the blood is screened, but No, not for malaria!

 Everything needed to be done in a hurry, so I found myself in Jabe Hospital. My room happened to be located 20m from Jabe church. Jabe church we discovered has prayer meetings from 6am to 7am every morning. Evening prayer meetings from 6pm to 8pm. A Sunday service from 9am - 1pm. Oh, and by the way a few impromptu Prayer meetings from 1am to 3am!!  Guess what else we discovered, God is DEAF! Even at 2 am in the morning He needs to be shouted at. It is not possible to talk to God quietly, if you want Him to hear, you have to shout loudly, sing loudly, pray loudly!

Sadly, one of the biggest side effects of IV quinine is a thumping headache and ringing in the ears. Oh so funny to look back on. But not so hilarious at the time.

So that accounted for November and December!
The Christmas holiday saw a great new addition to my life. I am now mobile. The walk to and from school kept leaving me shattered, so I decided that it was time to invest in a Moto.
The plan was to just use it for the very simple route to and from school. This involved only a few junctions and very quiet roads. That I could manage (I hoped).
 However, once I discovered the joy of being mobile again, I realised that I could actually attempt some far more ambitious trips.
My strategy has been to flash a big smile at all the cars, buses, taxis, motos that appear to know far better than I do, which side of the road I should be on and whose right of way it is.
I am becoming increasingly skilled at 'pothole avoidance'. It no longer phases me when other drivers pull alongside me and shout 'Hey Muzungu!'.


This year was the first time I have spent Christmas outside England. It was an interesting experience. I hated being so far from family, but enjoyed seeing a different side of life.
 I think it's best just to put some photos in,

Christmas morning at CRIB, opening presents

Christmas dinner with some Street Children

Christmas Eve party

So it's been a long time in the pipeline, this Blog. A new laptop, poor power and internet have contributed to the delay. A serious absence of energy and brain power have also dragged things down.
But such as it is, here it is.

The final photo is a Red Bishop that visited  our compound on Saturday. It hadit in it's head that it had found a 'date' in the kitchen window.

The contrast in the photo says so much about Burundi.

A Few Firsts.

If there is one thing that I really love about teaching it is the opportunity to give children the chance to experience something for the 'First' time. Over the past few weeks I have had the privilege of facilitating a host of firsts. What's more, those firsts have been (ultimately) simple,  and easy to engineer. Which in some ways has made them even more precious.
Our first, first, was the glorious invention known as the sandwich. We have been studying Instruction Writing in Literacy, I had been reminiscing with myself about how I used to do practical sessions when we learnt Instruction Writing (in England!). 'It just isn't possible to do it here' I persuaded myself. It's too hard. I mean how is a person supposed to cope without commodities like ASDA? How can I buy all the things I need? There's no power for about 20 hours of most days. Our kitchen is home to numerous families of cockroaches. Where would I store the ingredients? How will I get it all to school? Oh, the hurdles were many and various. Where would I find enough plates, knives? How would I get the desks clean enough?  Basically, let's face it, I was having an enormous fat, 'weedy moment'.
With my host of reasons 'why we can't make sandwiches,' I decided I would just get the children to write down a set of instructions and leave it at the theoretical stage. Unfortunately, the excitement that just thinking about making sandwiches generated, was just too much for me to resist. How could I deny them the opportunity to actually put their theories into practise. No self-respecting teacher could ignore such an opportunity. I wandered around the room, jotting down the variety of ingredients that were appearing on the various 'You will need lists' .  Things that missed the cut - ham, salami, onions, egg. (all either too expensive or too difficult to procure in numbers) Things that made the cut - Lettuce, tomato, cucumber, cheese, mayonnaise and ketchup (and bread obviously).
Friday morning arrived. One housemate not feeling well, so needing a lift with another housemate on her moto. Moto normally goes to the Secondary school, not the Primary school. So hurdle overcome, ingredients made it to school. Previous shopping hurdles had been leapt by getting Richard our cook to go shopping for me! (due to retention of minor 'weedy moment')
Gradually, the awareness crept around the classroom that we were in fact 'making' sandwiches. The awareness grew to fever pitch excitement with the realisation that not only were we making, we were EATING! Yes, actually EATING the sandwiches, which we were making. We were making and EATING!! There followed hand washing, made a little less than easy for the second group, by the fact that the water was turned off!
One interesting fact: no where on any, You Will Need List, did the words butter or margarine appear. Instead it was agreed that one slice of bread would be spread with mayonnaise and the other with ketchup! So it was done. Sandwiches were made. It was in fact not at all traumatic. Every child was so engrossed in what they were doing, it never even occurred to a single one of them to do anything other than exactly what they were told. Nobody left their seat. Nobody dropped anything on the floor. They made. They ATE. Best of all, most came back after the lessons and said 'Thank you'.

 That was all in Week 4. Week 5 'Firsts' - buying a stamp - sticking a stamp on a letter - posting the letter in a letter-box! In Week 2, we wrote letters to The Dixie Grammar School, Market Bosworth. I had been beginning to wonder if I was ever going to get round to organising the Post Office trip, when I was suddenly inspired to delegate. It's not one of my strong points. My ability to delegate. I do really like to do things myself. Then I'm in control. I know what's happening when, how and why. But I have found that a somewhat challenging fettish in a country where I don't speak the same language as most of the people I need to deal with. We have now in The King's School a Public Relations Manager, so who better to organise to my trip?
 So it was at  11:15 on Wednesday 8th October, I am informed that our trip is due to go ahead on Thursday 9th October! Oh how I love delegation! I have approximately 15 mins left of break time to compose a 'letter to parents'. No point in asking for permission. No way I'll get all the letters back in one day. Most won't even find their way out of books bags in that time. Time to go into TIA mode. I'll just 'tell' them it's happening. (and hope)
Hope got us all there and all back in one piece. It got us on National TV news, because it was some special day at the Post Office. But best of all was to joy in reading all the 'Thank you' letters written on Friday.  For so many of the children, their favourite bit of the day was , sticking the stamp on the envelope. Followed closely by, the drinking of the Fanta we were given at the end of each tour!

High on the favourite list was also the discovery of The King's School, Post box (BP1560). It was crammed full of letters. It was in fact my favourite part of the day, because in the middle of the huge pile of post was a letter for me! 
There's nothing quite like getting a real letter.

Learning how to send and receive a Registered Letter.

That's it for now then. I've sat for about an hour labouriously downloading photos. But the computer, or the Wi Fi, or Burundi internet, has now decided to stop playing the game. Nothing is happening. It's been a long time since I've managed more than one Blog in a month.
There should be some topics for Blogging coming soon, as I have decided to buy my own moto! Me in charge of a vehicle on the wrong side of the road! Watch this space.

Press Post before the Power Goes Off! It's Nearly 10 pm!

I'm very proud of this picture.
 The first time all my children and grandchildren
have been together, plus all in-laws.
A day I will cherish for a very long time.

Initially, I was about to begin this Blog with the word 'so', however I realised that the use of such a word would be entirely inappropriate. Gradually, it dawned upon me that I should put my Connectives lesson from last week into action. Thus, I am trying to use as many of the connectives we learnt, as possible. Therefore, I am having to create rather a lot of waffle. In addition to the waffle, it is my intention to start the Third Year of Blogging from Burundi. Moreover, I have chosen to start this Blog as opposed to continue marking the stack of 44 books which contain copious amounts of inane drivel, trying to achieve the same result that I am now. On the other hand, well actually I can't think of what's on the other hand, consequently this particular sentence isn't going to make much sense. Nevertheless, that got two more connectives out of the way.
Furthermore, I have learnt a valuable lesson tonight.  When you have two groups of Literacy books to mark, 23 belonging to Group A (classic A as in slightly more able than Group B) as well 21 belonging to the said Group B. Always mark Group B’s work first! If you start with Group A and 2 hours later move onto Group B, you will eventually ( I’m not sure, that use of eventually actually qualifies as a connective) want to bang your head on a wall! Finally, I have now used all fourteen connectives from our lesson in Week 3, Term 1. Thus (again, because I like thus a lot) the Blog can begin.

A great by-product of that little exercise, I feel a little more compassionate towards my pupils, especially those for whom English is a second language. It was quite taxing on my brain. I now see why so many of them drifted off into the realms of ‘nonsense writing’.

Still trying to avoid the use of ‘so’ to start a paragraph. Here I am back in Burundi for a third year. 6L of 2014 to 2015, have made a much more positive start than the previous 6L. The previous 6L are now consigned to the history book. Now I can look back and laugh! And oh how I’m laughing, well on the inside, sort of, well at least I’m not sobbing anymore, I can at least smile about the experience. The new 6L, have no lesson saboteurs, no academic terrorists, no concentration killing guerrillas.  The new 6L are that usual mix of, nice, naughty, spacey, serious, quirky, quaint and just what you’d expect to find in every Year 6 class. It’s looking so good, that I am in fact planning to take both Year 6 Literacy classes to the Post Office for a ‘field trip’, as I did in my first year here.

The many faces of Harry J Salmon. Newest grandson. I spent many precious hours with him over the Summer.
Miss him rather a lot now.

Sweepings from the kitchen floor, after and over-night Baygon spraying!!

As I enter my third year, I have begun residence in my fourth house. It is an extremely nice house in many ways, but has one serious draw back. It has a rather a lot of other residents. Cockroaches! They get everywhere. My best Cockroach story so far....... Tucked safely inside my mosquito net on my second night here, I am awoken by that ever-so-wonderful sensation that something has just crawled across my arm. I speak sternly to myself, refusing to put my torch on. Because I know if I find the culprit, that will be the end of sleep for the night. Thus, I limit my panic to frantic brushing of my arm and the area of bed nearest to me. Back to sleep. Unknown time later, I am awoken again by the same awful sensation. Positively yell at myself not to turn the torch on and find out what it is. After all it only felt ‘small’. Leave it, I reason. You don’t want to know. There follows, more frantic brushing of the arm and bed. Back to sleep. Daylight appears. I wake up. I look up. There hanging from the mosquito net above my head.......... is a big, fat, black cockroach!!!!!!! Swift exit from the bed. Lots and lots of frantic brushing of the arm. Lots and lots of strange noises like urrgggggghhhhhhhh  and arrrrrrrrgggg. Cockroaches are so, so not nice and I so, so don’t like to share my bed with them.

This incident led to a very serious dilemma. I have trained myself to get used to the somewhat claustrophobic confines of a mosquito net. I have even reached the place where I prefer to sleep with a net, because I hate being woken by that pppppfffffeeeeeeeeeeeeettt noise in the wee small hours. But if something that size can find its way in, I am not sure I want to be tucked up beside it.  My only consolation was the fact that I was using a temporary mosquito net, which didn’t quite fit the bed. With the arrival of the proper net, I decided to continue keeping the mosquitoes out and me in.  The net is so well tucked in though, that it is a major manoeuvre getting in at night. A number of times I have been safely ensconced in my den with, torch, phone, alarm clock, inhaler (yes it is a huge bed) only to look out and see my kindle sitting happily on the outside, smiling at me!

Having spent another Summer at ‘home’ and returning once more to Burundi the edges are beginning to blur around the boundaries of where I feel home is now.  Although I was made aware of how unsuited I still am, to some aspects of life here.  It was Friday afternoon, I had gone to visit the cash machine, up the main road.  I was escorted by my son’s dog (Sparta) and housemate (Ed). Unusually we’d had a successful visit to the cash point, actually coming away with cash in our pockets.  It’s great that Burundi now has cash machines, what’s not so great is that they are not very reliable, more often than not they make all the right noises but fail to spit any cash out. However, this fine day, we were successful. We were happily striding back down the hill towards home, when I noticed a rather fearful sight heading up the hill towards us. A herd of Long-horn Burundi cows. It’s been a long time since I have faced  this particular cultural challenge. Very quickly, I informed Ed that I was not very ‘good’ with cows. He seemed unaffected by this revelation. No, Ed I really don’t like cows. Again, Ed seemed unmoved by this revelation. And they were getting closer. My instinct was to run in the opposite direction, back up the hill. But clearly that would be a ridiculous course of action. I spotted two cars parked at the side of the road and announced to Ed that I would stand by them, hoping that Ed would protect my open flank. But oh no! Horror of horrors, Ed nonchalantly wanders off to the other side of the road. He abandons me.  The cows are literally yards away.

All the while this is going on, there sits a very jolly Burundian, on a wall just feet from where I am cowering behind the cars. He is happily informing that he is hungry and has no money. I have already said I’m sorry about that. In the next few seconds my life turns into a horror movie. The cows split up and come around both sides of the car, I am rapidly becoming surrounded. That’s when total panic sets in, I flee the 6 feet it takes to get to the jolly Burundian, and I quite literally hide behind him. He displays a mixture of mirth and confusion, what on earth is the crazy muzungu doing?  A cow with huge horns stops and faces the strange sight of laughing Burundian and quivering muzungu. I communicate to my protector that he should make the cow stop staring at us. Which he does amazingly easily, considering the obvious danger we are, with the flick of his fingers. Then it’s over. The cows have gone and I am safe once more, if not a little embarrassed at my rather pathetic ability to cope with the ordinary. My jolly Burundian informs me once more that he is in fact still hungry. Now I have a real dilemma, he has just protected me. Can I really just walk away and not offer him some reward? But all I have in my pockets are 10,000 fbu notes. 10,000 fbu is like a month’s wages to this man. It’s far too much to give. But it’s that or nothing, which is far too little. I ponder for a few seconds, then the decision is made. Why not? Everybody deserves a ‘lucky’ day, and today it can be his. I pressed the 10,000 into his hand and dashed away, to sound of his enthusiastic thanks. Despite the trauma, it was good to feel that I had the opportunity to do something surprising for someone else.

So ........(I had to do it in the end!) many things in life here are finally feeling normal. Power cuts, cold showers, mosquito nets, white boards that are not connected to anything, cobblestone roads, the absence of Supermarkets, milk in bags. But every so often something catches me and reminds me I’m far from ‘home’. Like cows and cockroaches and children begging in the streets.

(My sincere apologies for the random placing of photos around this Blog. The computer just didn't want to play ball!)
 

 

Creative Curriculum !

Mega oooops! May appears to have disappeared along with two weeks of June. It took with it any vestige of decent Internet connection we had in Bujumbura. Since Easter the Internet here has been supremely frustrating. It has taken 10 minutes for me to get logged on as far as beginning to start writing this Blog. Already the red error message has flashed up three times, telling me the connection has been lost!!
This situation has at least provided me with a launch pad for the subject of this epistle. It is the acquisition of new skills whilst living in Burundi.
Life Skill Number 1:  Multi-tasking whilst working on the Internet. To avoid tears of frustration and hair loss. I have had to develop a system whereby I have a range of activities happening whilst waiting for pages to load on the net. My computer has a small icon in the bottom right corner of the screen. It is two computer display screens ( one sits behind the other, slightly off-set). This icon has become an important part of my life. It's job is to show the 'situation' regarding the computer's connection to the World Wide Web. If the icon displays a globe it's good news, we are connected. If the globe disappears it's bad news. Then we are just connected 'Locally'. Local connection is a waste of space. It's not connection at all. It's pants, rubbish, useless and often brings tears to my eyes.
So the skill is, watching for the globe. When it appears, rapidly clicking refresh on all the pages trying to load and then hoping it stays long enough to complete the action.  Alongside this, it is wise to have a game of Solitaire running. Plus an activity that does not require Internet access at all. I have to say though that icon watching is infinitely more preferable than, the other skill I have been developing lately. That of reading by candle light! Having power and intermittent connection will do me, when the option is often no power at all.

Life Skill Number 2 :  Avoiding Splash-back when flushing the toilet. Most days the water goes off around mid-morning to return late afternoon. This situation requires the novel activity of flushing the toilet using a jug or bucket. My first few attempts ended in the slightly uncomfortable and unpleasant experience known as 'Soggy feet'. I spent some time trying to work out exactly which water had landed on my feet. My conclusions led me to the resolution that I would have to master the art of avoiding the said 'Splash-back'. So now I have it sussed. Stand with your feet placed as far away as your arm reach allows. Aim to send the water from the jug into the toilet in a smooth, steady action. Do not throw at too great a speed. Try to position the entry of the jug water to hit the front part of the toilet bowl. The really strategic thing is the positioning of the feet. It is imperative that they are placed as far from the toilet as is humanly possible. 
Thus, I have not had to ponder again just what liquid is decorating my footwear, for some time now.

Life Skill Number 3 : Wall walking and plank balancing. Kinindo ( the residential quarter I live in) has been undergoing a programme of ' road renovation' for the past 10 months or so. This has involved an elaborate system of digging ditches, dumping rocks and sand, removing rocks and sand, filling holes, making holes, creating drainage ditches, destroying ditches, re-making ditches, removing sand and rocks, dumping sand and rocks. (yes I know I said that one!) But that's what it has been like. It is totally beyond rational, logical explanation, the system that has been applied to the process. Gradually, brand new cobble-stone roads are appearing. The affect of all this on me, has been the requirement to find ways around the road works, in order to find my way to school. Most of the roads first have a drainage ditch constructed along the edge. The walls of these ditches provide very useful walk ways when the road is covered with a mountain of rubble or a huge machine flattening or digging.
When I was young, I like most children had this magnetic desire to clamber on every wall possible and do a dare devil impression. I can still hear my mother's words ringing out, ' If you fall and hurt yourself, don't come crying to me.' 'Now look you've gone too high, what are you going to do now? I told not to go on there, but did you listen to me. No. '  ' Why can't you just walk along the pavement like everybody else?'  and so on, and so forth.  Now here I am, nearly 50 years later, in a 'wall walkers' paradise. Only one slight glitch. My body is no longer in 'wall walker' mode. My balance isn't quite what it was. The 5 kg of rucksac on my back, gives me a bit of jip. So as I totter along the walls, accompanied by sniggers from any Burundians viewing my antics, I try to imagine myself 6 years old again. Ready to scale any obstruction and dare to cross the thinnest of bridges. So far I have conquered every challenge put in my path. I am however, looking forward to a two month break back in safety obsessed Britain. Where I will have clearly marked pedestrian access past all obstacles I encounter on the road!

Life Skill Number 4: Avoiding throwing up when encountering Cockroaches in my coffee. Twice now I have experienced the somewhat disconcerting feeling of, 'there's a lump in my coffee'. The first time it was small and slightly squishy, behind my teeth. I managed to take it out of my mouth with my fingers. A brief glance at the contents of the fingers, revealed a large black ant. The black ant was deposited in the coffee mug and I managed to continue my conversation, without revealing the fact that internally I was screaming. 'Yuk, Yuk Yuk, arrrgggghhh, errrgggg, pththtpththtpththt.'
The second event was slightly more dramatic. I'd left a cup of black coffee on my desk at school. From which I was taking the occasional swig. All was going well, when I took a large swig, only to find my mouth almost filled with a large lump. This time no delicate removal with the fingers. I SPAT the lump back into my mug. It landed with a soggy plop on the side of the mug. It was enormous ( about 2 cm long). I did manage to contain my aarrrrggghhhh, eerrrhhhhh, ppthtptthhpptthppthth's mostly in my head. But then I spotted a student watching me avidly. So I showed him. The whole class the duly viewed the offender in my mug and sympathised with their own versions of aarrrrgggghh, eeeerrrhhh, ppttht's. The really terrible thing was, that when I returned to the mug later,  just to check, in a sort of sadistic torture yourself way. The offender was regaining consciousness and struggling up the side of the mug. For that atrocity he found himself having a swimming lesson in the toilet bowl. Ha!

Life Skill Number 5: Remembering where you are when the lights go out! I'm sure you all think this is very straight forward, if you live in a country where power cuts are a rarity. I have now learnt the importance of making sure that as the sudden darkness engulfs you, the last thought you have is  'where am I?' Failure to actively locate oneself can result in some quite scary disorientation. I have been known to stand for a good 30 seconds, trying to remember precisely where I was, when the lights went out! A step in the wrong direction, or a swing of the arm, can be quite costly. If I am in my own home now and am plunged into blackness , I am proud of the fact that I can usually, within seconds, make my way to my bedroom, locate  my wind-up torch and be back in the light, without any mishaps. If I am not in my own home, I have to say, my strategy is to stand/ sit still and wait for someone else to risk life and limb finding a light source.

Well I think that's about it. My second year in Burundi is drawing to a close. In two weeks time I will be flying back to England, itching to meet my new grandson, who was born last week. I'm gradually getting the hang of living in Central, East Africa and very much aware of the fact that I like it much more than living in not-so-sunny England. But I wouldn't give up my two months home, for anything. So long as, I don't actually swallow any cockroaches in my coffee, fall down a drainage ditch, slip on spillage from a toilet flushing or poke out an eye whilst groping in the dark, I think I'll be happy to stay in Burundi for the foreseeable future. Oh....... and so long as I don't spontaneously combust one day, when I'm getting hot and bothered waiting for the little globe to re-appear!

PS: After two frustrating failed attempts to attach photos to this Blog, I am admitting defeat and publishing pictureless.  Sorry.

PPS: Well I will publish ......... when the stupid red message that says, 'An error occurred while trying to save or publish your post. Please try again. Dismiss'  Naffs off, my screen!

PPPS: What is really annoying, is that the little globe is there! So somebody is lieing to me! If it's the little globe I shall be very disappointed indeed.

PPPPS: And I can't even press Dismiss. Because that does absolutely nothing useful at all. And I've tried again, lots of times and that doesn't work either.

PPPPPS : At least the globe has disappeared. But now it's back, so why doesn't the red message naff off as well?  Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrggghhh!

Percentages or Blog?

I'll start with the excuses shall I ? The ones about why I seem to have almost missed my April Blog slot. Well I've been busy. I know, so has everybody in the entire universe. But I still feel it is an excuse that can be aired. Also I've been ill. Now I thought I had bronchitis and aggravated asthma, but turns out it seems, I have a worse case of Procrastinitis. Technically, the bronchitis issue has been over for a number of days. I fully intended getting this blog written during the Easter holidays. Well, actually I was all set to start on Easter Monday. But then....... Next I had the rest of the week, but then ..... And now it's Tuesday 29th April. I'm back to school, holidays over and I really should be doing detailed preparations for a lesson on percentages, tomorrow. In fact, it is the prospect of the percentages that has finally pushed me into blog action. Percentages or Blog? No contest!

Kirundi dancers at the Easter Fayre

The end of term was thoroughly blighted by my dodgy breathing apparatus. After fending off many offers to be tested for a variety of interesting illnesses, I had to give in and visit the doctor. Medical visits have to be almost top of my list of  'Most Hated Activities In My Life'. But I have to say I was relatively impressed with the Burundian Health care. I suspect it had a lot to do with the fact that I could afford to pay for my care. Nevertheless, it was very slick. First, I had a consultation with the Doctor. Who spoke French. Which I don't speak. But that's great, because my brain stayed in the car park. Fortunately, my chaperone spoke very good French and tolerated very well, the fact that although she thought she had taken a 51 year old woman into the hospital, it turned out, she had accompanied a jibbering heap of nonsense. So the Doctor says I need an x-ray. What do we do? but go back to the desk. Pay for an x-ray 10,000 fbu ( about £4.00). Walk down to the x-ray room. Have a chest x-ray. Wait 30 mins for it to dry. Walk back to the Doctors office, clutching said x-ray. Doctor looks at x-ray. Prescribes medicine. Done! No 3 day waits for appointments. No waiting for results to be returned to the surgery. All done and dusted in less than 2 hours.
However, the jollity ends there. I was also condemned to 'rest'. In my book you go to the doctor, get medicine and go back to work. But oh, no. The doctor had said (in French) that I had to rest. It seemed that I could not claim ignorance of this order, as an argument for continuing to go to work!

The littlest Burundi drummers I have ever seen!

 Big problem we were just days away from the high spot of our year, the Easter Fayre. There was so much to do and I had to stay at home 'resting'. Needless to say, I had to learn (not for the first time in my life) that the world will not stop spinning just because I am not taking part. In fact my class and the staff of the King's School pulled together and did a fantastic job. I was allowed to go and sit and pretend to be helpful for a few hours on the day. It was great to see everybody, enthusiastically working to produce our second and best Fayre so far!
The first week of my holiday had been planned for a very long time. My house mate from September to December 2012 (Rachel) Who married Isaac in January 2013. Moved to Uganda in January 2014. At Christmas they visited Bujumbura en route from the USA to Kampala, ready to set up home and await the arrival of their first child, in mid March. We decided then that I would go and visit in the Easter holidays. Baby Mubezi would be just a few weeks old and I could go and be surrogate grannie. I'm not a seasoned traveller. I have made it from Leicestershire to Burundi, I know. But my list of travels is actually quite short. Whilst in Burundi I have only left the city on a handful of occasions.
So, I had been eagerly anticipating my venture to Kampala, Uganda.
Sadly, on the day he was due to be born baby Elijah Mahoro Mubezi died. He never made it outside the safety of his mother's womb. He gave no warning as to why he wasn't going to join us. His dutiful dad, Dr Mubezi had listened to his heart beat in the morning, but at some point later in the day, he left his body behind, skipped this part of life and went on to better things.
So I flew to Uganda with a heavy heart. I wanted to be with Rachel and Isaac, but was also aware that I would be facing great sadness. There was nothing I could do to make it better. Nothing I could say. Just stand with them in their grief, for a short time. Elijah has left a huge hole in their hearts. But Rachel and Isaac have shown enormous strength and faith, in dealing with their loss. Sometimes it is so, so hard to understand 'why' things happen the way they do. Both Rachel and Isaac believe that God has a purpose in all things. It's extremely hard for them just now to make sense of His plans. But I want to pay tribute to the outstanding faith and trust they continue to place in God, in the face of their overwhelming grief. They are holding on to His promises and refusing to be shaken to the point of letting go. It was an honour and privilege to stand with them, if only for seven days.

Handing out stickers to the children in Village.

Whilst in Uganda I visited Village. It is the rural area of the country, where much of the population lives on subsistence farming. Again, my understanding of life was rattled and shaken. I was humbled by the honour and respect I was shown. Isaac's elderly mother went to great lengths to make sure we were given the best of everything she had. People who have so little, but do not seem to begrudge giving it away to those of us who have so much.
Uganda also saw an enormous shift in my previously held concepts of the 'Easter Chick'. You know the little yellow, fluffly thing, that pops up on cute cards, made by small children.  It always looks so cheery, having popped out of it's little egg and looking forward to a fun packed life of Easter and chocolate. Well, in Uganda there were lots of Easter chickens. They were packed in crates, stuffed in plastic bags (with their head out of the top), wedged in cardboard boxes, hanging off the back of bota botas, swinging from the handle bars of bicycles, in sacks under the seat on the bus. I didn't see any looking terribly chuffed with their situations. In fact most sounded quite displeased by their plight. I think that was possibly down to the knowledge that they weren't destined for chocolate consumption. They seemed to know that the consumption was going to involve them.


Isaac's mother

Kampala is a city I won't forget in a hurry. It's one hugely redeeming feature was that everybody was driving on the correct side of the road (in my humble opinion!). Another positive, it has proper supermarkets. Like proper, proper big supermarkets. However, never have I seen so many people crammed so tightly into such a space before. It is a seething mass of humanity and the associated transport used by that humanity. At one point I was sitting on the back of a bota bota ( moped) weaving in and out of the nose to tail traffic. I so wanted to be able to capture the moment and show everybody who knows me. I wanted to say, look at me, in the middle of all this. A 51 year old grannie from Hinckley, Leicestershire. It was exhilarating to think that I am still able to push the boundaries of my comfortable existence and do something outrageous and new.
So that's it really. That's most of what happened in April. Although I must also point out, that there have also been lots of ordinary times. Getting up a 5:30am, going to work. Marking books, exams, writing reports. Sitting at home in the dark through power cuts. Reading books, playing endles rounds of solitaire, because there's no television. Eating rice and beans for three days in a row, because I haven't managed to get to the shops to buy anything else. Blogging is very much the 'highlights'. There's lots of normality in between all the excitement.

I'd like to just end by asking that if you are a praying kind of person, remember Isaac, Rachel and Elijah. They have a long hard journey ahead of them.

Our feast.

The Fish market, Kampala.