Year: 2011

  • then and now

    A seven year old girl once stood on the sidewalk of her Chicago suburb. Out of what seemed like nowhere to her, two dobermans appeared. They were growling and barking and showing their pointy teeth. And then they ran. They ran straight at her, looking as menacing as they possibly could. The little girl wanted to run away, to high-tail-it right back to her momma, but instead she was stuck like glue. She looked down at her Mary Janes willing her feet to move. They would not, she could not. She faced the onslaught without moving a muscle, like a deer doomed by the headlights that hold its gaze.

    A teenage girl stood at the edge of a cliff in her swimsuit with people jumping off the cliff all around her. She saw them dancing in the sunlit sky in slow motion for a moment before they hit the water with a thud and a splash. They would scream on the way down and laugh when they came up for air. But not her. She stood there, frozen. In her mind she was ready to jump, but her body remembered. It remembered the feeling of fear. The feeling of the dobermans.

    Tonight I feel the same feeling I felt then, all those years ago. The feeling of fear. I’ve worked so hard at living a life where I “feel the fear and do it anyway” but tonight I stand at the edge of that cliff and in the middle of that sidewalk so scared I could probably pee my pants if I thought about the fear long enough (although the peeing thing is not too uncommon anymore, seeing as a quick bladder comes adjacent to the gift of motherhood).

    Tonight is our very last night in our dear little house. On one hand I am ecstatic that all the packing and planning and more packing is coming to an end… on the other hand I am so afraid to leave everything that I know behind, including my language.

    This is the moment, our moment, His moment… and although I didn’t move all those years ago, I am going to move now. I’m going to move mostly because I want my boys to stare that doberman in the face and bark back when it comes running their direction. I want them to know that fear does not need to paralyze you, instead it can be the emotion that moves you towards achieving something that’s the best for you. We’ll see you in a week or two, from the coffee hills of Burundi. To make sure you get the most up to date info, follow us on twitter and become a fan on facebook.

    Love,

    Kristy

    p.s. Thanks for all your thoughts and prayers for our littlest guy. He’s home and recovering well from croup, but we are not budging until he is totally himself again. We will be staying with good friends until he’s ready to travel.

     

  • How not to Loose One’s Mind Crossing African Borders, and Other Useful Things to Know Before Driving to the Center of Africa

     

    I tried to come up with a nice succinct title for my thoughts about the journey from Durban, South Africa to Bujumbura, Burundi. But like the roads I took, it may look like an inch on the map before you but the reality is it’s going to be long, hard and nearly inaccessible by the average driver (reader). Both previous thoughts frustrate Kristy to no end. The drive to Burundi with little to no clue of where I was to stay along the way (or direction I was heading, in all reality) and the writing style that meanders between sentences as long as a Tanzanian highway and ever changing tenses.

    My journey of 5700 km (3,541 miles for you Americans) started as a fun tandem with friend and fellow Hope Church-ite, and French speaking Burundian, Alain.  The journey ended in a sort of race against darkness and a battle of nerves with drunk soldiers at the edge of Bujumbura.

    The start was 2 weeks late.  The reason being that newly purchased used vehicles need their log-book to get through borders.  My log book was doing African time wadding through the red tape of South African banks and Currier services.  The “I’ll make a plan” attitude of the shoot from the hip good-ol’ boy I bought my 2000 Toyota Land Cruiser Prado from didn’t exactly speed the process.  By the time it arrived my heart was already in the hills of Burundi, my mind on coffee, and my wife about ready to have an anxiety attack with the  sure mountain of details my optimistic and adventure ready self failed to attend to.  She mentioned food would be good thing to bring. Yes, and that I should actually should buy a map.  She also suggested plates and silverware/cutlery might be useful.  I could continue, but for my sake lets just say I’m thankful that my wife made me bring along a roll of toilet paper just in case.

    Morning 1. Tuesday.

    4:30 am start.  Shelly the creative director/videographer is at the gate to video me pulling off into the pre-dawn to fetch Alain.  The night before we were meant to leave but a very unpleasant phone-call about the sure death of Ella if we fly her to Burundi made it less then ideal to hit the road.  I made  a great call, a morning start was much better.  My good friend Cyril and I had spent the better part of Saturday loading the 4X4 with more house hold and coffee lab supplies then you can imagine.  No really.  Imagine….. your wrong, it’s more.  A couple more hours rest, family time and what I didn’t realize was to be my last good meal in a week took place.

    Alain loaded.  One small bag, still too big for the 10 inch of luxury (read luggage) space I allocated each of us.  Oh, and the nearly 150 lbs welding machine we squeezed on top of the already loaded roof rack.  Open road.  Full Land Cruiser.  No coffee.  Yet.

    West coast to northern South African border never was reached so quickly.  We two men… no, road warriors. A dynamic partnership meant to be.  What could stop us?  Botswana by dusk was our war cry.  We might make Burundi in 5-6 days!  This sunset banter was tossed around as we dodged flipped burning petrol trucks, police wielding speed cameras and finding the black elixir (coffee) half way in the coldest place in South Africa, Harrismith, Free State.

    Then the border. 7pm.  Dark.  Ominous in the glow of  flickering florescent bulbs.

    The first border.

    The easy border.

    The border that beat us and nearly sent me home.

    Alain was denied entry to Botswana.

     

    Coffee Guy

     

  • breathe.

    breathe in

    and out

     

    as your daddy travels

    worried over dusty roads

     

    breathe in

    and out

     

    as your mommy cries

    but finds her strength

     

    breathe in

    and out

     

    as they force your airway

    to.open.up

     

    breathe in

    and out

     

    as our tribe huddles

    around your hospital bed

     

    breathe in

    and out

     

    as the morning tide

    creeps to your doorway

     

    breathe in

    and out


    because, my sweet baby love, your mommy couldn’t breathe again if you didn’t…

     

     

    photo by Krystal Muellenberg

     

     

  • A terrible, no good, very bad Father’s Day.

    You see, there is this cherub cheeked baby. He’s sleeping right now a door away. Today when his mommy took him to the doctor, the doctor asked her a very hard question. He asked, “How old is your baby?” She sputtered and stumbled over the numbers in her tired mind until she had to admit… that it would take her a minute to count.

    That little baby, who’s mommy didn’t know his age, is sleeping with shallow breaths, labored and frightening. He rattles and rumbles and gasps and then coughs while his whole body shakes… and then he whimpers. He sounds like a diesel truck that’s running out of fuel and being driven by shouting seal. Yes, a seal… it’s my story. That little baby’s mommy is so scared of that seal cough. The doctor said its croup. Croup.

    His daddy is crawling over dirt roads that look like mesh stockings for giantesses in the middle of the most ginormously gigantic country, Tanzania… a bah-zillion miles away on a day called Father’s Day. And it going to take him longer. A lot longer. His mommy is trying to be brave, but sometimes she cries. Today while she was crying, her oldest asked her, “Why are you crying mommy?” She replied, “Because I don’t know what else I can do.”

    She’s living in a house full of boxes and bins and cooking with only one spatula, a bowl and a pot… and facing the biggest move of her life. The biggest. And he’s not here. And her baby is sick. And she might have to give away her dog tah-boot. And her to-do list is so full and so long…. and its got lots of man-jobs on it. You know, those kinds of jobs that under typical marriage arrangements the manly-man might do? Not that she can’t do them, because if this year has taught her anything, it’s that she’s stronger than she ever thought.

    This is the part when I should tell you something inspiring and refreshing like, “But she’s keeping her head up” or “She’s soldiering on anyway” but really, she’s not. In her mind she’s saying, “What the heck, God? What the heck is this?” I’m just telling you the truth about her, as storytellers are supposed to.

    She’ll probably look back on this time someday in the future and smile, not believing she made it through so much all at once. Not today though. Today is more than just a “double-stink-day” or “a real crapper” in her book. No, today it feels more like there’s an anchor tied to her heartstrings and it’s mooring her in the deep. She’s longing for a time when she will pay attention to simple pleasures again… like adding up the length of time her baby son has been on this earth. Soon enough he’ll be so big that the months won’t matter to anyone but her anymore, so she feels terrible that three have come and gone without her recognition.

    I wish, for her sake, that there was a way of un-knowing that you didn’t know your baby’s age, because I’d tell her that trick in a heartbeat if I could. While I was at it, I’d wish her baby better too, seal cough and all. If only storytellers had the super hero powers they write about.

     

     

     

  • the eclipse

    On the night of our tenth anniversary this graced the skies. An eclipse of the moon. Ben and I chatted about how cheesy it was that we were both feeling sentimental that it was in the sky on this night. Of all nights.

    Tonight he drives for the city of Iringa, Tanzania.

    Happy weekend,

    Kristy

  • I miss him

    This is a crazy time to be apart. There are decisions I am faced with every day that I wish Ben was facing with me. Should I get this size plastic bin or is it too big for air freight? Should we go with this moving quote or that one? Should I pack this or toss it? Should we keep the dog or not? Do we NEED this there? How about this? And this? And this?

    I don’t mind making decisions on my own, but these are not just decisions… it’s the end of an era. To not have him here to talk these things through, to grieve with me, is like a weird form of torture. And the truth is… I tend to make much better decisions when I’ve got him as a sounding board.

    We have amazing friends, friends who I can talk to, who GET me. But none of them are him. They have swooped in and carried us… watched my kids, made me meals, just hung out. They were on the phone with Ben non-stop when his co-pilot had to turn back. Trying to make sure he was safe moving forward. They were packing boxes. Packing the vehicle. Loaning us cars. Loaning us silverware and bowls. Giving out hugs. THOSE kinds of friends. But I still miss him, and I hate standing here, looking at a house full of bins and boxes and breakfast leftovers without him here.

    Ben is blitzing his way through Zambia in order to get to the Tanzanian border by nightfall. He’s over 2,250 kilometers away and all I have to say is MOVE IT, BUDDY! MOVE IT!

    Moving stinks, and my eyeballs are burning. Again.

    Kristy

     

  • what would you do?

    Friends of this blog, I really need your help. I know that this is a decision that only we can make, but I need to hear your outside perspective. I need to know what you would do if you were me, more for the comfort of knowing I’m not alone in this than anything else.

    You see, we have this Great Dane named Ella. She’s almost ten and has lived a long life full of bed laying and couch stealing comfort. I love her to bits. She has been through so much with us. Even now, like she does every few minutes, she has found me and curled up at my feet.

    We want to take her with to Burundi, we really truly do. If we do, she will spend 30 hours in a small crate overnight in hot Ethiopia. She won’t be let out, given water or food or cared for all all. She will be treated like cargo, alive or not. When she finally reaches Burundi she will have spent 30 hours in that small crate in hot and then cold and then hot conditions. She will have been loaded and then unloaded and then loaded again and then unloaded. She will have been terrified. I know my girl, she hides under the desk at the whisper of thunder.

    Then there’s this great family. They are neighbors and best friends all rolled into one. They have a big place with a huge garden and lots of spaces for exploring. They have two dogs that love Ella already and two kids that she has been around since they were born… and they have offered to give Ella a home.

    Ella’s breeder thinks the trip will kill her, she told me putting her down might even be the best option. Ella’s vet thinks she will handle the trip with ease, even though he preformed major surgery on her just 6 months ago. Who’s right? In the end, let’s be real, this is probably not as much about Ella as it is about me. I don’t know if I can let go. Not of her. I’ve let go of my house, my car, all of my stuff… until this point the letting go has felt GOOD. Like a new lease on life, like a chance to shed some pounds and live lighter. But now, at the thought of Ella, it is only pain that I feel.

    I know she’s just a dog, but she’s more than that to me. I know she’s old and spending the money to get her there might only allow us a few more years with her at the most. But my heart breaks at the thought of leaving her behind.

    What would you do?

    Love,

    Kristy

  • Ten Years Ago…

    …in a land far far away from the one we’re in now, we got hitched. You remember, hunny? We took this pic on our first anniversary, when we had only lived in South Africa for four months. Weren’t we cute? Awww, I think so. Look, no wrinkles or grey hairs! Ten years in and I love you more than I did then, I just wish you weren’t trekking across Africa today. Of all days.

    Our big plan to go to Italy for our “ten year” will have to wait. There’s a bigger dream in motion. I’m with you in this and as you blitz for the Botswana border having lost exactly one day, I want you to know I love you… I love you for just making a plan and carrying on. I love you for not knowing where you are going to stay tonight, even though it freaks me out… big time. I love you for always being resourceful, determined and cute while you’re doing it. I am so proud of you it hurts. Cross that border babe, I am with you in spirit.

    I love you,

    K

  • STUCK

    I’m sorry to say so but, sadly, it’s true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you.

    You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch. And your gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a Lurch.

    You’ll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump. And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a Slump.

    And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.

    You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked. A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin! Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? How much can you lose? How much can you win?

    And if you go in, should you turn left or right…or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite? Or go around back and sneak in from behind? Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find, for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

    You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space, headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

    The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.

    Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.

    Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting.

    No! That’s not for you!
    Somehow you’ll escape all that waiting and staying. You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing. With banner flip-flapping, once more you’ll ride high! Ready for anything under the sky. Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

    Dr. Seuss

    The thing you need to know about Africa is that there is always a “thing.” That “thing” always means a delay. Which means, when traveling in Africa, plan in an entire day just for waiting. Africa is a continent whose people spend an unheard of amount of time waiting. Waiting for a document, a doctor, a bus… you name it.  It’s like the Dr. Seuss’ book Oh the Places You’ll Go where he writes about the waiting place.

    Last night, after leaving at 4am and reaching the Botswana border in record time, Ben and Alain (Ben’s traveling companion) were not allowed through. Despite being on a UN passport, Alain needed a visa he did not have in order to pass through the border. He had called ahead to the Botswana Embassy weeks before, spoken to an uninformed person, gotten the wrong information, and that person in their little office miles away brought Ben and Alain’s trip to a screaching halt.

    They drove 4 hours back from the border into Pretoria where they planned to go to the Botswana embassy early in the morning.  When they arrived at the embassy today they found that it was closed for file taking (what IS that anyway?). Tomorrow is a public holiday here in South Africa, so everything will be closed. After phoning the Botswana embassy and the Zimbabwe embassy numerous times, it has become clear that Alain can not continue the trip with Ben. This means finding another person to continue the 7 day trip with Ben, at the last minute. Or, Ben goes on alone. They are loosing precious time, and we need to figure out these next steps fast.

    If you pray, send up a prayer.

    Love,

    Kristy

     

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