Furaha Asubuhini

It is Saturday morning in Bujumbura, Burundi. I am sitting on the doorstep of the home of Danny and Annie, Ben's brother and sister-in-law. It is warm today, but if feels good to me. Outside, clothes on the line wave in the breeze. Much to Ben's sadness, the mangoes on the tree are still green; however, the starfruit and bananas are ripe and ready to eat. Ernest and Pasi are working with the rabbits, guinea pigs, and poultry in the back yard, keeping an eye on the cranky turkey that sometimes chases them across the yard. Little Ruthie, Danny and Annie's daughter, is standing next to me and babbling delightedly as we watch one of the choir groups practice right on the front lawn beside the banana plants. All day, we will be hearing the melodious sound of Kirundi praise songs float through the open windows of the house. At night, the drums echo through the city and rumble gently against the walls of the compound. From here, I can see Eric herding Danny's goats and a woman carrying her mtoto mchanga (baby) in a kanga (wraparound skirt) on her back. It is quiet on the compound today-- the school children from Discovery School are at home and the Deaf boarding students are resting or playing soccer in the field across the compound. The sewing machines and carpentry workshops from the trade school are silent for the weekend. The quietude is a contrast to the streets outside the compound-- just outside the open gates, I know that the the dirt streets will be filled with people coming and going. People come and go by foot, by bike, by pikipiki (motorcycle),  and by car. People in traditional clothes, in Western clothes, in rags, well dressed, carrying big bundles on their heads or bikes, barefoot or wearing sandals, running, walking, standing, talking, chatting, yelling "Umuzungu!" if one of us white people happens to pass by-- all doing life on the dusty, helter-skelter streets. Horns will be honking constantly as cars and pikis warn bikers, pedestrians, and other cars to watch out! There are no traffic signals here, and driving on the narrow two-way streets are always an adventure.



     But here on the compound, it is peaceful. A pale yellow butterfly flutters past me. I send up a prayer for Ben and Danny, who are on a weekend trip to bless a small village with animals and the Word of God. Although I cannot understand what the choir is singing, my heart joins with their song in blessing God and thanking Him for who He is and what He has done.