April 15, 2007
The most amazing things happen when you least expect them to. I was at an orphanage in Bujumbura, Burundi (Central Africa) last month. I was working with a group of boys many of whom had lost their parents in the war. Some of the boys were ex child soldiers.
The orphanage has a group of boys who play the drums. Burundi drummers are world famous for their incredible precision drumming. I was totally fascinated by the drummers on my first day at the center. The drummers were practicing for a welcoming performance the next day for the United Nations Special Representative for the Secretary General, Madam Coomaraswamy. (I was traveling with Madam Coomaraswamy and a UN delegation representing the office of Children and Armed Conflict.)
I asked one of the drummers if I might possibly play with them for two minutes the next day just to see the surprise on the delegation’s collective faces when they spotted me drumming. (I have played the drums in the past and felt comfortable with the drumming style.) The drummers, ranging in age from eight to sixteen, heartily agreed. I practiced with the drummers and learned my drumming part. The next day I went to the orphanage early to get ready. I was greeted with great enthusiasm from the guys. They whisked me off to one of the huts in the back and proceeded to dress me in one of the green, white and red robes worn by the drummers. Beaded bands were tied to my head and arms and a sacred necklace was placed around my neck. I asked about the necklace and was told that I was going to be the drum leader for the day and the leader always wears the necklace. What an honor. All I wanted to do was play for a few minutes just for fun and they made me the drum captain. While dressing me, the drummers said a small prayer for each part of the outfit. I was on the verge of tears the whole time because I could not believe what an honor they had bestowed upon me. I was the first white person that has played with that group.
Suddenly there was a flurry of activity as word spread that the UN contingency was arriving. I realized that I really wanted someone to film the event because it’s something I want to remember for the rest of my life.
I asked if anybody could use a camera. Only one boy in the group named Pascal could speak English. “No”. He said. “But I pray to be a journalist. I will do it.”
“Okay”, I said. “You are now a journalist. Please make me look good.”
I placed my very expensive digital camcorder in his hand and showed him how to hit the record button.
He was beside himself. He had never held a camcorder before. “Thank you sir,” he said. “Thank you so much.” He then started filming. Badly at first because he got a little too excited with the zoom control. He got the hang of it later though and took some nice footage of me playing with the group.
Playing with the drummers was one of the most powerful and moving experiences I have ever had. I wanted to move away from the drummers after playing for a few minutes but they kept of pulling me into the circle. I continued my important job of being drum captain with a spear and a shield in hand. (The movie will be coming to a blog near you soon.) My dancing was something horrible but it was totally overshadowed by the acceptance and warmth of the “boys in the band”.
After the performance one of the councilors from the center said. “Trevor, you will not believe what you did today.”
“What?” I said, horrified. Fearing that I had offended someone.
"When you made Pascal a journalist you gave him the best gift he has ever received."
“I did?” I said.
“You gave him your trust. It is worth more than you will ever know. He will soon be leaving this orphanage and who knows what he would have done. I really think he could be a journalist. It’s something he has been talking about for a long time because many journalists from Reuters and United Press International, they come here.”
I did not realize what impact my simple gesture made.
I looked back over my shoulder as we drove away from the orphanage toward the center of Bujumbura. In the dust behind our UN vehicle I could see the boys from the orphanage crowded around the gate-waving goodbye to us. I scanned the crowd and my eyes found Pascal. I could see him mouthing the words, “Thank you.”
I cried softly all the way back to the hotel.
An e-mail was waiting for me upon my return to the United States:
Dear Trevor,
I am sorry for the mistakes that I will make in this message. How is it nowadays?
I want to greet you very well and I am ok. I have an exam tomorrow because we are in the end of second term.
Other day I will write you many thanks for your trust and for giving me the chance I will remember forever. Have a nice weekend and I will never forget you.
It is Pascal (journalist) from Bujumura Burundi.
I was amazed. There is an internet connection at the orphanage! I wrote back to Pascal and got this message in return:
Dear Trevor, hi!
I am so happy for this moment to write to you. Let me first of all thank you because you always answer me whenever I send you a letter. May God bless your kindness to exchange news with me and I hope you are doing well as I am too! Not so?
The other Pascal and my older brother are fine and they convey you greetings and best wishes. How I wish we will meet again! I pray God that he gives me that chance once again.
Concerning my admission to the center, it’s quite complex. But in few words, I came to the centre because all my parents passed away because of the 1993 civil war. Then I had nobody to care for me. I couldn’t even think of studying, but thanks be to God I now study. May God continue bestowing blessings on people like you who help others.
I COULD have written much more if I were to use the ordinary way of the post. You can give it to me so that I write more.
Let me wind up here wishing you all the best, see you.
Pascal (journalist) from Bujumura Burundi.
Posted by trevor at April 15, 2007 09:45 PM