Salsa, Tae-Bo, and Working Out by Candlelight

You would think at some point I would cease to be amazed at how small the world is, but it never seems to happen. My time here has been mind-blowing. It's one thing to see familiar things in Europe or even Central America, but somehow I thought heading to Bujumbura would be different. I mean it is a tiny country in the middle of Africa and it really isn't high on most world travelers must see lists. Not because it isn't beautiful, but years and years of war tend to keep the tourists away. Also, years of war and severe poverty have, sadly, pretty much ended the chance of seeing wildlife here. There are monkeys, hippos, antelope, and crocodiles, but nothing like the wildlife seen in some other neighboring countries. Given its isolation and lack of tourism, I sort of expected Bujumbura to be somehow removed from the rest of the world.

In fact, it has a fascinating mix of modern and traditional. I expected to see a woman in a beautiful floral print dress walking down the street with bananas on her head, but not carrying an H&M bag. I expected there would be amazing local music, but I didn't think that our driver and I would be trading Regina Spektor for Burundian rap on flash drives. I also didn't expect to be taking salsa lessons here.

Fatima, one of the Burundian staff attorneys working on the project, studied international human rights in Paris. Salsa is, oddly enough, extremely popular in Paris and she took it up while she was there. When she returned to Burundi about a year ago, she fell into the Burundian salsa scene. So now every Saturday she gives salsa lessons to a revolving cast of twenty-somethings who drop in for a look. Her co-instructor, Simon, is just as good as Fatima and learned salsa from a Colombian who was living in Bujumbura for a while. So my first Saturday in Burundi there I was, dancing salsa (or trying anyway) at a little strip mall called "The Heart of Africa," which also houses a day spa.

On my second day at work I asked if there was a gym in Bujumbura. Sure enough there is. "Le Sports Gym" is only a block or so away from my apartment. It has a serious case of 70s decor and some dated equipment, but it works. When I commented about the gym to Fatima the next day she said, "Oh, that's where I go. You have to come to Tae-Bo class. It's killer!" So two days later I was doing a mix of kick-boxing and martial arts to hits from Eighties. Fatima was correct; The instructor is great and in incredible shape.

Today I abandoned the office early due to the lack of electricity preventing any computer use and the insufferable heat. After working some in my air-conditioned apartment, I headed to the gym. I know a few of the guys who work out there regularly now and we did our "Ca va?" "Ca va." thing and I started lifting weights. After about thirty minutes the power went out leaving the gym in complete darkness and causing an abrupt end to the step aerobics class. People gave some hoots and hollers and started turning on their cell phones to use as flash lights.

I thought everyone would start heading for the door and that the frequent power outages in the city can really spoil your day. Then I realized that the guys in the weight room were pulling the curtains from in front of the windows in the weight room to let ambient light (such as there is here at night) in from the street. After they adjusted the curtains, they got right back to working out in the darkness. I considered leaving, but thought "When in Bujumbura . . ." and kept working out too.

I said to the group of guys that I was going to write to my friends in America and say that the guys in Bujumbura are so hard core that they work out even without lights. The guys laughed and said, "That's right you tell them Burundians LOVE to exercise." About then the staff started bringing in candles and lit them up and spread them around the gym. As they walked through the gym with candles ablaze some of the guys broke into "Happy Birthday" in French. Then one guy said loudly (in English for my benefit), "Where's the cake?" They all burst into laughter and we all continued our work outs by candlelight.

Auto Ecole (Student Driver)

As those of you know who have done much traveling overseas, one of life's great thrills is hurtling through an unfamiliar city, white-knuckled, as your life passes before your eyes while your taxi-driver curses at anyone and everyone and explains that drivers in _______ city are the worst in the world. Such encounters are a good reminder that traffic laws are, in fact, pretty fluid in most parts of the world. Given that Bujumbura is not really that big of a city I kind of expected the things might move a little slower here, traffic might be a little lighter, and the drivers less crazy. Not so much. The average driver in Burundi makes New York cabbies seem demure and patient by comparison.

As I was heading home for lunch today (relaxing while Fabrice navigated his way through the madness), I noticed one car that was not hurtling through the city at breakneck speed. And then I saw the sign - Auto Ecole. A student driver! Sure enough there was a young women, hands clutching the wheel at 10 o'clock and 2 o'clock with her eyes about to pop out of her head.

Given that there appear to be no real road rules whatsoever, I wondered what one learned in driving school here. In the spirit of a Lima taxi driver who told me, "Son, the whole thing only works if everyone follows the rules or no one follows the rules," here are what I imagine to be the Bujumbura Driving School's Ten Commandments:

1. Drive as fast as you possibly can all the time.

2. If you drive a motorcycle, and particularly a moto-taxi, do whatever the hell you want.

2.5. If you drive a huge Land Rover with UN painted on the side, do whatever the hell you want.

3. At all times you must be ready to pass on the right or left of the car obstructing your forward progress.

4. Rule 3 is applicable whether or not the vehicle in front of you is attempting to turn right or left at the same moment. Note: whether the driver has declared his or her intention to do so by signaling is irrelevant.

5. If you approach an intersection and one, two, or three cars are already stopped and attempting to make a turn, pull right up beside them. They are clearly morons and not in a hurry or they would have already made their turn or crossed the intersection.

6. Honking of the horn is mandatory in the following situations: a) seeing a relative or friend driving or walking on the street; b) expressing frustration with slow drivers, stalled traffic, women drivers, elderly drivers, or incompetent traffic cops; c) clearing the road of bicyclists, pedestrians, livestock, and fowl; and d) appreciating the loveliness of a female pedestrian.

7. Headlights may be used in addition to the horn in all of the above situations depending on the time of day, the user's stress level, and the idiocy of drivers, pedestrians, bicyclists, livestock, and fowl that you encounter.

8. The presence of a large number of cars, trucks, pedestrians, bicyclists, livestock, and fowl in a narrow, congested space is not an indication to reduce the speed of one's vehicle.

9. The handicapped, elderly, and small children, while warranting assistance, deference, and adulation when encountered on foot, are merely annoying obstacles between Point A and Point B for the driver and shall be treated as such.

10. While the above rules remain in effect, some deference (for reasons of personal safety and potential for massive structural damage) must be given to individual cows, and in particular herds of cattle, in the road. Goats may be evaluated on a case by case basis.

Minister Do Nothing

Before this entry I should issue a classic disclaimer. The views represented in this blog are my own and do not represent those of the American Bar Association or the United States Government. No one in either camp suggested I write that, but somehow I felt like I should.

As an American coming to a developing country to "help" with a project, I wanted to be very conscious about not coming across as condescending or a know-it-all. I really wasn't worried that much about either, especially the know-it-all part, since I knew NOTHING about working with child soldiers until I got here. But nevertheless, I have been really trying to keep an open mind and rid myself of preconceived notions about how things are here. I've been keeping it up pretty well even though I hear stories daily, from locals and ex-pats alike, about the rampant corruption, the lack of effort on the part of the government to do much of anything, and the of formal government as a thinly veiled political party operation, etc. etc.

Still, I thought, there must be some government officials that are working hard and doing good work. So, going into our meeting with a government official working on the demobilization of former soldiers I was thinking positive thoughts. The government set up a formal agency for demobilization, reinsertion, and reintegration through funding by the UNICEF and the World Bank among others. The agency, in conjunction with some non-governmental organizations, demobilized almost 3,000 former child soldiers (in addition to adults). The program was also supposed to reunite the youth with family members and provide medical, psychosocial, and vocational services to reintegrate them into the community. Most folks agree that the reunification with parents and extended family was a success but the reintegration, well . . . not so much.

We decided we should meet with an official in the demobilization bureau so they knew about our project and we could find out what they were working on. We entered a nondescript office building in downtown Bujumbura and were directed to the fourth floor. We were ushered into a dark, highly air-conditioned office for our meeting.

The government official we encountered was slovenly dressed and not overly friendly. Fatima and I introduced ourselves, shared a little bit about the project, and asked what the government was working on now in the area of child soldiers. The official immediately announced that he knew very little as he was new to the job. He said he needed to call the individual who worked specifically with child soldiers. We said that would be great and he grabbed the phone. We heard him say, "Oh, he's out sick today. O.K." He apologized and then attempted to explain their ongoing work with child soldiers.

As best as I could translate he said something to the effect of "Yeah, there were some kid soldiers. Now there back with their families. Some got jobs. I suppose some are married. Maybe some job training. Yeah . . . that sort of thing." That concluded the report. He asked if we had questions. Fatima, putting on a brave face, asked what the government was working on in terms of preventing re-recruitment of former child soldiers in the face of an upcoming election and fighting in the eastern part of the Congo. He said they had a plan going but really couldn't share a lot of the details. And that, concluded the meeting.

Fatima asked if I had any final questions. As politely as I could, I said, "Is it possible for us to meet with the gentleman who works with child soldiers when he returns to the office?" The official said, "No, I've fully explained the situation and told you all you need to know." We gave our official "Merci Beaucoups" and headed for the door.

As we got out of earshot and headed down the stairs, Fatima shot me an exasperated look and asked what I thought of the meeting. I replied, "Totally Useless." Fatima laughed and said, "Now you have seen first hand how it is here. Now you know why it is non-governmental organizations who do all the work." We both decided that he was such the cliche of the lame government bureaucrat that it was almost comical. Almost, except for the high stakes and important nature of his job.

A few nights later at a dinner with two well-connected ex-pats (an American and a Canadian) I learned the back story. In the official's defense, he really had just been on the job eight days because his predecessor was sacked for receiving kick-backs in a some sort of corruption scandal and after doing what most everyone acknowledges was a horrible job! Also, it turns out that the entire Demobilization, Reinsertion, and Reintegration agency is closing at the end of December. So, eight days in and 15 days away from closing it was a little easier to understand the nonchalant attitude. Still the agency is closing its doors leaving much of the work undone (after two fully-funded phases) and with major world funders extremely unhappy about all the money they have forked over with mixed results.

As it turns out, in light of all this, our project is very timely. Either there may be a third phase of the demobilization effort that the project can be an "official" part of or there will be no third phase and a real need for follow-up with youth and young adults that have not received services. Needless to say, my learning curve has been steep and month is seeming like a REALLY short time to understand the politics and grasp the complexity of the situation.

Anchorage and Bujumbura. Sister Cities?

If you had told me two weeks ago that the first place that would come to mind when I landed in Bujumbura was Anchorage, Alaska, I would have thought you were crazy. And, I have to admit, that Anchorage actually wasn't the very first thing that came to mind.

The first thing was Star Wars. The Bujumbura airport has to be one of the most bizarre I have ever seen. It consists of three big, white, conical buildings. Imagine giant mushrooms with big picture windows on the front and you're half-way there. Who knew George Lucas and Oscar Neimeyer had collaborated? After two back to back red eyes, and a bleary day in London in between, it really did feel like I'd flown to another planet. Sorry I can't show you a picture of the airport buildings, but those guys in fatigues with AK-47s really discourage snapshots.

Bujumbura is located by a large lake, Lake Tanganyika (the second deepest lake in the world after Lake Baikal in Russia), and on the other side of the lake are huge mountains that are in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). Most of the city lies on a flat plain between more mountains along the edge of town. The business center is down on the plain not far from the lake while some of the wealthier residents live in gated compounds on the hillside with in houses with lake and mountain views. For those of you who have never been to Anchorage it is similarly situated on the shores of Cook Inlet with mountains across the inlet and more mountains bordering the city to the East. Anchorage and Bujumbura both have around 300,000 residents.

Both cities are, shall we say, slightly challenged in the architecture department and it's kind of a haul to get to both places. You really don't pass through Bujumbura or Anchorage on your way to anywhere. Bujumbura's location (between Rwanda, Tanzania, and the DRC) and thirteen years of civil war definitely give it a rough and ready, Last Frontier feeling. While Anchorage has it's beluga whales and bears, Bujumbura has hippos and crocs. You even see high school running teams training on the roads that go up into the mountains here, just like in Anchorage.

One thing that is very different, however, is the crushing poverty here. While Anchorage may not have the prettiest buildings you have ever seen and some people still live on dirt roads, it is fabulously wealthy and well-cared for compared to Bujumbura.

Burundi is one of the poorest countries in the world. The only real income generators are the coffee and tea trade and government. While there are wealthy residents here, there are also many poor neighborhoods in the city where wooden shacks with tin and mud dwellings with thatch stretch out along the shores of the lake and onto the hillsides. Running water and electricity are not available in much of the town and lots of residents use community public phones. It is not uncommon to see people carrying recently killed chickens by their feet walking through downtown. Many residents eek out a living selling shoes and fruits and vegetables on the sidewalk outside the main market. The war halted most progress, of course, and some areas, like all UN facilities and the European Union offices, remain heavily bunkered.

One of the saddest physical remnants of the war is the University of Burundi building. A beautiful facility on the mountainside with a sweeping view, an Olympic-sized pool, soccer fields, and tall, modernist chapel that stands shuttered, paint peeling off, and windows shattered. The place has a perfect view of the city and was, also, the perfect place to launch mortars into town. It has just been to costly for the government to reopen it now that peace has returned. While the physical and emotional injuries from the war seem to be much greater than the structural ones, it's hard not to believe that the gleaming white walls of the abandoned university building, visible from almost everywhere in Bujumbura, aren't a daily reminder to the residents of the debilitating effect of war.

Food and Drink

Shores of Lake Tanganyika

Ex Child Soldiers, Obama, and 50 Cent

On Sunday morning we headed up to a neighborhood in the mountains on the periphery of Bujumbura (the capital and largest city) to meet with some former child soldiers. I was with Fatima and our driver, Fabrice. Because of the absolutely insane drivers, road conditions, and security issues, the office has a car and driver. Fabrice is 26, super friendly, has a big smile, and loves Tracy Chapman, Bob Marley, M.I.A. and Beyonce. Needless to say, we get along great. Check out Fabrice's picture with this post and Fatima is the young woman with glasses talking to the group of former child soldiers in the photo posted below.

The goal of the project I'm working on is to provide services and legal representation for kids and young adults who were child soldiers in Burundi's bitter civil war to help them reintegrate into the community. The war, which lasted more or less from around 1993 until 2005/2006, was fought along the same ethnic lines as the war in Rwanda - Hutus versus Tutsis. I'll write more about the political situation and the war in another post.

Many children were recruited to serve in both the rebel and government forces. Lots of those kids were actual fighters, while others were porters, cooks, etc. Many young girls were also recruited and used as "wives" or concubines for the soldiers. Children as young as eight were taken away from their families and forced into service. For those of you who haven't read Ishmael Beah's memoir "A Long Way Gone," about his time as a child soldier in Sierra Leone, I highly recommend it. It is a harrowing account and a hard read, but his graphic descriptions really capture the horror and trauma that many kids around the world have gone through. The war, of course, impacted many children. By some estimates there are 800,000 orphans in Burundi. While all kids are exposed to trauma during war time, child soldiers, for obvious reasons, tend to be the hardest hit and are faced with anger, mistrust, and stigmatization from their communities when conflict ends.

The project, funded by the American Bar Association, is just getting going here and there are two staff attorneys and I working in the office at the moment. We are in process of reaching out to non-governmental organizations here to find out who is already working with child soldiers and how we can partner with them and avoid duplication of services. One challenge of the project is how to identify former child soldiers that may be in need of assistance. During our outreach we met Emmanuel who works for a non-profit that assists a group of former child soldiers. Fatima and I really wanted to have a chance to talk to some of the youth and young adults to find out what they thought would help them and what they they think the project should look like. Emmanuel told us we could meet the group of kids he was working with.

I was a little bit nervous as we headed to Sunday's meeting. What would these kids be like? How would they react? Were we causing more problems asking questions about their past? Who were we to be asking about such personal things? The kids were in the classroom you see in the photo below when we walked in. The boys speak primarily Kirundi and Swahili but most speak some basic French. I found out after the meeting that some also speak English pretty well.

Fatima and I introduced ourselves and Fatima began to ask the boys some questions in Kirundi. As we went along she translated for me. Most of the boys really just wanted to complete their education. Some had changed their names and gone to private school for fear of being target or re-recruited. Others had done some vocational training but hadn't finished. One boy showed us his skinny, slightly deformed leg. He had broken it fleeing during an attack, had it repaired in a hospital, but then was sent back to the front lines and broke it again. Since then he had not had proper medical care. The project hopes to do a media campaign. We asked the boys if they would help create the messages for the campaign and, if so, what they would like to say. Their response was they just wanted people to treat them as human beings. As I tried to keep it together, I was struck by how polite and attentive the boys were and how serious they were about sharing their thoughts with us. I really had a hard time getting my mind around the fact that these young guys had been at war.

At the end, we asked if they had questions. They sure did. Where did I live? Was I married? Did I have kids? Was it my first time in Burundi? Did I live in a house? Was I going to come back? I talked about my apartment and the big buildings and the millions of people. I mentioned that I had lived in Alaska and one kid proudly piped up that it was near Canada. I was impressed. I drew a map to show where I live now and where I lived in Alaska. I pointed out that one kid had a New York Yankees hat on, even though I don't think he knew what the NY meant until just then.

As we concluded the meeting and took pictures, the real teenagers came out in them as they swarmed around us. Where were the presents for them? Did I like 50 cent? Could they email me? Two parting comments were the best. One kid asked in English if I voted for Obama. I said I sure did. Then he said, "Do you think he'll do a good job? I said, "I hope so and I think so. He is a good man and a smart man." The young man replied, "I hope so too. " Another young man, with his baseball hat cocked at angle, said, "When you go back to America, tell 50 Cent that Eric says hello. I really like him."