spreading the goodness

Spreading the Goodness.

This phrase may have been coined by others, I’m attributing it to my distant cousin/feels-more-like-an-Aunt-….Mimi.  I shared Christmas with her and Cal in Kigali and we spent several hours in the kitchen together cook’n up goodness to share.

You see Mimi knows how good good things are, and that when you get a good thing it just has to be spread.  She grew up as a missionary kid in (at the time) Zaire, raised her own children in Ecuador & Colorado, and lived in other far off places like Jordan and now Rwanda. She loves hosting the multitudes and insisted that we feast with no less than 20  on Christmas day.  In preparation, she made sure that everyone would have a huge thick slice of slow-cooked pork, and we did.  This might not sound all that special if read from a land of abundance, but written from a place where good things are hard to come by, it means the world to us.

You’d think that living in the land of lack I might develop a poverty mentality. Secretly stashing chocolate in my closet then going overboard on eating goodies when I get a chance to break out of here. Truthfully, that was the habit for a while. But one day as I was reflecting on this little secret and realized ‘… actually I enjoy these things more when I share them. And you know what else… every time my chocolate supply goes low, someone else comes in with a whole bunch more. And you know what else what else… I don’t actually lack anything! No need to go crazy… just appreciate the good when it’s there.” Then I learned the little phrase from Mimi about spreading the goodness, and that she described the heart of what I was thinking.

Good things need to be shared.

It is so fun to bring out something special and delight in it with friends. Like this weekend when I took a recently acquired Camembert and olives upcountry to share with friends living in a remote area.  Then Lucy shared the Feta and made Greek salad for our picnic on the lake. I think goodness begets goodness. Later I broke out my specially saved  S’mores stuff to enjoy over a charcoal fire on their cold front porch with rain drizzling outside and gooey goodness all over our hands. It made the moment a memory.

It’s so good to spread the goodness.

Last night a lady from my Bible study invited us ladies over for a special meal at her house.  And boy did she spread the goodness.  She is wed to a German diplomat, and loves to host and make people feel special.  Let’s just say that the meal was extremely memorable. It was so fun to enjoy the evening with others who appreciate every bite, and thank our friend for giving us a taste of something different.

I hope to carry this with me forever.  Letting go of the need for greed, and practice generosity that gives others joy.  Feel free to call me out on it if you ever see me stepping back to the other side of selfish.

 

 

A post for the 29th.

Just because I want to write something with for February 29th… I’m simply doing personal headlines from the last week.

-Giant Papaya tree fell in my yard, miraculous tipping in the only direction where it would not crash through a wall or land on a house.

-I took a little solo road trip upcountry last weekend to visit some friends who live with the Batwa. Driving on what used to be the most dangerous road in the world, I couldn’t help but be so thankful I’m here in an era of peace and progression. How amazing to see this country making fragile steps forward and pray that it lasts.

-Read an outstanding book that changed my life as I read it. Will probably read it a million more times just to be sure I get it all: The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown. It was great. And will change your life. Read it.

-Skyped my sister and am so excited about the 3 articles she has coming out this month in 2 different Denver magazines. Here is one that’s about a friend of ours: http://www.5280.com/magazine/2012/03/renaissance-man

-Someone made the big mistake of loaning me season one of Prison Break last week. I’m now half way through season two. It’s taking over my life, both awake and asleep. Last night I was trying to figure out a secret new email address because I was on the run.

-I’ve made friends with a little jumping spider on my desk. It seems he has become somewhat like a pet.

-Caught the night guard sleeping on the job. Not a happy person when I’m the one to investigate why the dogs are going crazy and discover a guard sleeping who then says “I’m not asleep!”

-Getting ready for mom and dad to arrive! Hooray!

Tarzan and Jane

Dogs.

They’re mainly used to guard houses as people are ridiculously afraid of the creatures.  I get a little chuckle when my mutts escape and chase the school kids down the street. They run to the nearest tree then nervously laugh when they realize they’re lives are no longer in danger.  But it’s not just school kids. Sensible adults shriek with fear too.  One bully neighbor freakishly dressed in his tight spandex exercise pants and probably weighing in over +200lbs tried to pick up a rock to pummel my dogs when he got a scare.  I laughed at him, which did not help the neighborly relations, but I know my little guys are harmless.  As long as others think they’re vicious guard dogs, I sleep much better at night.  Given the source of their fear though, I understand how most cannot tell the difference between my little african mutts and the nasty street dogs.

During the war, the street dogs would come out at night and help themselves to slaughter on the streets.  Such images would traumatize anyone.  They are scary. If it were a cartoon, these would be the bad dogs selling drugs to innocent house dogs.  They have yellow eyes and creep me out even when I’m safe inside the car.  These dogs regularly cause trouble and come sticking their noses under the gate to taunt my dogs.

Dogs also cost money. During the East African Revival, it was said to Westerners that we “care more for our animals than we do for people.” Embarrassingly truthful. It reminds me of the rabbit in pearls in Bansky’s Pet Shop.

Never the less, I have two guard dogs, originally acquired when a missionary couple returned to England. I renamed them Tarzan and Jane… and they seriously live up to their names. Tarzan loves the sound of his own voice. Initially, I was not very fond of them but over the years we’ve become better friends and they’ve been the source of a few adventures.

Tarzan was rather traumatized from his snip-snip experience and associates a leash with  death. He’s pretty much impossible to walk because he just throws his body on the ground expecting something horrible to follow being chained up. Jane does better on the leash but is difficult to run with. Her frequent pee stops leave me continually yanking her collar off. This happened once in front of a street dog. The ‘baddy’ came strolling over to check her out. I picked up a rock and was ready to pelt him until some Burundians shouted in Kirundi and the animal responded and backed away.

Every now and then Tarzan and Jane plan escapes. They were digging under the gate for a while until I had a cement strip poured. It was always amusing to catch them stuck half way.  It’s not hard to keep them around. They respond well to a simple clap or ‘come.’ At least I thought it wasn’t difficult until one of the night guards almost lost his job.  He works on Sunday which makes me feel bad asking him to do anything other than feed the dogs and open the gate. He gets to sit and read.  But somehow he managed to lose the dogs 4 times.

The first time he phoned me an hour later to say the dogs were gone. I just had to pray they’d come back, which thankfully they did. The second time, (after being scolded for not just knocking on the door in the previous indecent) he knocked on the door 30 minutes after the escape.  Ugh! Gone again.  Third time he did better, but I was loosing my patience with the man as it’s not that difficult to chain them to the tree anytime the gate is open.  At least he told me though. It was 10.30pm and I was in my pjs.  I jumped in the car and went in the direction of their escape… towards the lake.

“Towards the lake” is the danger zone. You don’t go that direction in broad daylight… much less at night. No light. No houses. Only hungry people who will rob anything off you… including your shoes. Not joking. I know four people who have been attacked down there in the middle of the day. Only some of them came back with their shoes.

I grabbed a real security guard from work who saw the dogs run past the conference centre. We locked the doors and braved our way through the deep mud puddles in the direction of the lake. Praying hard, and looking for dogs, I finally spotted Jane dancing in the street. She was loving her big night out. Probably was the one who had the bright idea to run off in the first placed and then ditched Tarzan the first time he stopped to sniff something.  He’s the stupid one and just does whatever Jane decides anyway.

Just to recap on the cast of characters.

Olivia- in pjs and not happy.

Guard #1- scared of dogs.

Guard #2-scared to get out of car.

Road- really muddy.

Territory- dangerous.

Dog- disgusting.

I finally catch Janey, carried her to the car and plopped her in the back seat. Covered in mud and mad.  That’s when the night guard almost lost his job.  Thankfully, I forgave him, and he forgave me for getting mad, or it would have been rather awkward when he turned up at place where I was preaching on forgiveness a few months later.

I probably should have left the dogs to fend for themselves that night. Tarzan came home a little banged from a street fight, but rabies free.  It has been over a year since they’ve had a mad escape, and I’ve relaxed about them getting away.  They’re not my favorite animals. They stink, often get ticks and fleas, and really suffer. But I do love them. I’m responsible for them, and they alert me of any potential threats.  No diamond studded collars for these kids, but they’re better off than most of their kind on the continent.

Creepy Crawlies

Continuing the bug theme from of the roach post here are some of the other suspicious critters that make my house their home.

Acid Ants- You know it’s bad when the US Embassy has to send out a warning about a particular infestation. These things are nasty. If you squish them on your skin they’ll squirt poison all over you which will cause your skin to swell and blister. The other night I was doing my part to eliminate a few invaders at the conference centre. Stomping away the staff laughed at me and said ‘don’t mess.’ I told them I was protecting them, then one of the guys pointed up. The ceiling just outside the front door was alive with the red and black beasts! I screamed and ran away.  They look like this…

Excerpt from www.whatsthatbug.com

“Paederus species contain a toxic chemical (pederin) in their hemolymph which causes contact dermatitis in humans, usually as a result of slapping the beetle and crushing it against exposed skin.  The affected area becomes red, swollen, and itchy, causing the skin to peel when scratched.  Outbreaks of Paederus dermatitis have occurred in Africa, Asia, and South America.  You should not handle the Creechie Bug or Paederus Rove Beetle or you may experience contact dermatitis.  We would advise anyone who is unfortunate enough to become afflicted with contact dermatitis after an encounter with a Paederus Rove Beetle to seek prompt professional treatment.”

Crab Spiders- I don’t think this is their official name, that’s how they move and what they look like. Initially we were enemies. I mean come on, it’s a spider. And they get HUGE. Like the size of the palm of your hand huge.  During my first year here one fell off the ceiling and under my bed. I had to get the night guard to come inside and help me tear my room apart but the thing disappeared. I slept with the mosquito net super tucked in. Now I’ve made peace with them and enjoy watching visitors freak out instead. I’ve learned they don’t attack people, they eat mosquitoes, and don’t make webs. Even though they move freakishly fast in weird directions like a crab, they’re kinda fun and for the first time in my life, a spider is my friend.

Sugar Ants- Leave your teaspoon on the kitchen counter for a minute and you’ll return to see it covered in tiny little sugar ants.  They say your first year here you get disgusted and immediately sterilize your spoon. Second year you brush them off then continue stirring your coffee.  Third year, don’t even bother and just keep figure it’s extra protein.  I won’t admit how many times I’ve subjected guests to ant infested food.  Some things are just too valuable or tasty to throw out because of a few little ants. And if you’re reheating the soup anyway, it will be safe right? One trick is to put the ant attacked item into the sun for a few minutes. It works like magic and all the ants go away.

Ticks- These suckers cured me of spider fear.  They attack my dogs, crawl into the house, and are difficult to kill. I have more than one reason to hate them for life, least of which is the lyme disease they’ve given to several members of my family.  To knowledge lyme isn’t in Burundi, but they still make the dogs sick every year. Poop pups have to get a weekly bath of something they use for cows, and it makes them really sleep. It’s actually amusing to watch them drowsy and drugged, but at least it keeps the pests off their back.

Gecko- Not Geiko. I love these guys. They eat the bugs, come in all sizes and are just fun live wall ornaments. They also freak out the newbies, but their cute little wiggle across the wall always wins folks over.

Flying Termite Thingys- At least I think they’re termites. They look like flying worms and hatch when it rains. It looks all pretty and fairy tale-ish until they start invading the home, crawl under the door then fly up to the lights. At that point it’s all out war.  Clare and I had an epic battle last year. I’d swat them out of the air and she’d spray them with a nerve agent. It’s all a bit manic, but this year I’m equipped with the bugzooka. In some parts of the country they’re a delicacy and people eat them. I won’t be joining them.

 

5…6…7…8

I love to dance. One of the reasons why this place is great for me. I love most forms of dance and have been known for the occasional tooth-brushing dance party.  There is just something fun about brushing your teeth to Bohemian Rhapsody.  I took cotillion in middle school, swing lessons forever, and taught several cadets at El Cid how to impress the ladies on the dance floor.

Despite the love, one form of dance ended twenty three years ago.  It was a rather tragic finale to an otherwise successful ballet career.  No, no injuries involved. Instead, a moment that instilled a long-lasting fear of being forgotten.  After two companies and three recitals, including my favorite, The Ugly Duckling, this little ballerina was forced to call it quits when she finished class and discovered the car pool left without her.  The ladies in the office were nice and gave me a cherry flavored lolly pop while they called my mom to figure out where I belonged… but the damage was done.  Turns out the whole situation was a set up.  One of the other girls in car pool purposely told the driver of the day I was being picked up by someone else.  Her mom made her phone later and apologize, but that was the end for me.  And all this, just before a recital where we would be dancing with lace parasols.

I moved on to other forms of dance and sports, forever fretting when my parents were late, but I never again donned the little pink shoes.  In high school I had to visit a dance shop for tap shoes for our high school production of 42nd Street (which rocked by the way!) but I still shunned the more graceful and controlled dance.  Until about a year ago.

It started when Clare moved in.  Sweet, English, fun and coming to work for 6 months, she was a real ballerina who went to dance college and everything, then had a for-real tragic ending with a painful injury.  Somehow she convinced me to buy ballet slippers then we stared balance and toe exercises together.  Nothing too difficult or drastic, and in the security of the house where I was sure not to be forgotten.  Of course it all came to a screeching halt with the dramatic toe incident of 2011 that involved a barefoot Sunday rugby match. I’m convinced the toe exercises aided in a faster recovery.  Clare left before I was ready to be on my toe again and the shoes are barely stained red from the dirt and colors of the floor.

Living in strange places often affords opportunities to do things I never naturally would have pursued.  Maybe it’s the lack of hobbies, social activities or whatever… but today I’m about to commence the activity put on hold for the last 23 years.  Wouldn’t you know it, a former professional ballerina is starting up classes for adults. We were supposed to start last week, but TIA and we were locked out of the room because the key cutter copied the wrong key.

So I’m a little nervous, a little excited, and finally ready to learn elegance and control.  Hopefully it will help my French too as I’ll have to be brave to respond to the other girls with more than “Oui & Non.”

This time I’m driving myself.

 

girl vs. wild

My nightly war on terrorism is a fierce battle that requires agility, bravery, and the right weapons.

It began over a year ago when I was reading in bed and heard something in the back yard. A scratching sound kept distracting my reading. I wondered what kind of destructiveness the dogs were up to, but it was only when I walked to the window that I realized the sound was coming from somewhere in my bed. Thankfully, there were boys staying in the house. Brave John came to my rescue, tore the place apart, and tossed a pilliow at my feet. That’s when I saw the figure of a large bed bug squirming inside the pillow case that had been next to my head.  He grabbed the pillow and we headed outside. I was curiously terrified to discover what might emerge when he emptied the contents. To my horror, it was a three inch cockroach. We killed it.

As if this incident were not bad enough, things were taken to the next level over the last year.  It was not until the beasts entered the green zone of safety inside my mosquito net that I finally took aggressive action.  Something just must to be done when you’re woken up by a cockroach arrogantly marching across your face.

I had a few weak instruments of death but I never really had the upper hand.  Their spawn are everywhere. The kitchen is infested, and the large ones like to chill out in the shower drains then attack at night.  I regularly wake up to find the suckers squirming on their backs, and only help aid the death process by spraying them with the nearest can of bug spray.  It was fairly difficult to launch an aggressive attack until this November when I became fully equipped with several combat weapons.

The Battle Line:  “Magic Crayon” or “Chalk-of-Death” gave me the first advantage.  Just like your kindergarten teacher’s white piece of chalk that put your name on the board, this thing looks innocent but can be used for firm discipline. It is packed with poison and works instantly.  You simply draw the battle line and bugs are immediately rerouted. Those who bravely cross the battle line, die within seconds.   There are scribbles all over the kitchen wall where I circled a line of ants within a stick figure’s head or artistically protected the cabinets and counters. It’s beautiful and affective.

Preferred weapon of war: The Bugzooka! ( http://www.bugzooka.com/ ) This little guy transformed my world.  It was a birthday present from my sister and brother-in-law who must have found it on a late night infomercial. It made me a pro.  Despite the warnings not to leave it cocked, I find it absolutely necessary to keep it ready to fire.  When I walk in the kitchen at night and the power is working… I flip on the lights to discover the little beasts attempting a take over.  They launch open assaults but scatter as I come near with my bugzooka. You have to get pretty close to suck them up, but I’m quick and only getting better. The website says it’s the ‘kinder, gentler way to win the war on bugs.’ Ha! The simple suction may be a peaceful way of doing a round up… but it’s no longer gentle when I apply my…

Weapon of Mass Destruction: Boiling water.  I do not negotiate with terrorists.  This one is the doozie and they never knew what hit them. If the electricity is working, it’s the most efficient chemical free method to destroy a whole company at once.  One particular busy evening I rounded up about 30 roaches in the bugzooka.  But then I had a dilemma of how to get rid of them.  I didn’t want to just dump the creatures in the garden and risk a re-entry.  Deet actually destroys plastic (imagine what it does to your skin) so I try to minimize the use.  Then my eye caught the glimmer from the kettle.  With joy and an evil laugh I popped it on, took my bugs outside and poured the water into the contained area of the bugzooka.  It was glorious. It kills and sterilizes at the same time.  Now, if there are lots in one space, I leave the lights off, and just pour boiling water over the counter.  Another busy evening I discovered 4 bug bunkers under the water bucket, water filter and other dark damp places. No more… boiled water applied, critters flushed out… war on bugs is getting easier.

There are other crawling thing in the house. Some are welcome, some not so much. We’ll talk about them another time.

12 days of Christmas African Remix

This is so worth sharing… Made by some friends of a friend, their African 12 days of Christmas rings super true. Extremely clever, and if you’ve ever seen an African music video, you’ll also note the style is not over dramatic… possibly could have even used a few more cheezy frame transitions.  And I’m not being simplistic by lumping in most of the continent into this style of music video… it’s all indicative of videos ranging from Nigeria, Uganda, Kenya, to Tanzania and even Burundi.  A few have even been filmed here at our very own conference centre.

I can personally relate to the screaming preachers, roaches, power cuts, pot holes and delicious plate of matoke.

Enjoy!