Tag: risk taking

  • Land for Burundi Coffee

    Following @kristyjcarlson on Twitter and Instagram gets me excited about being part of this family of four that has their hearts set on helping a community in rural Burundi produce amazing coffee. I’m so happy to be a part of it.

    Building a coffee washing station in Burundi has meant taking on an obscenely huge amount of challenges and obstacles on the way to realizing the dream.  Let’s just say accomplishing something like this in Burundi has few more challenges in it than building that lemonade stand in Wisconsin when I was six.

    For months now we have set our sites on building this coffee washing station.  Finding the perfect location was key to making it a success.  After 3 years of sourcing and cupping Burundi coffee, I knew where we needed to be.  The place we were looking for was sitting in the middle of a triangle of the best coffee washing stations producing the best coffee in all of Burundi.  Besides the best coffee, it was a place where farmers are too far to carry their coffee to the nearest station forcing them to sell to local buyers at ridiculously low prices.  It has one river, bringing plenty of fresh clean water to run the de-pulper.  Sitting at the perfect altitude with a micro-climate that is unique and ideal for producing the kind of coffee that makes you (ok, maybe just me) go weak in the knees.

    Three years to make certain of this specific spot.  Months to get all the paperwork done and meet all the farmers to explain the vision.  Weeks to get all the signatures of the owners of the land willing to sell and the neighboring farmers as witnesses. Then, on the last day before signing, we find out that two of the five farmers don’t feel like selling anymore.

    What do we do?  Tomorrow we go back to the land to talk to the farmers.  The area co-op president and commune elder have talked through our vision and are coming with us to make sure that the farmers know the kind of impact this station will have on the lives of all 2,500 families in the four surrounding hills.  If they still decide they don’t want to sell are we back to square one?  No, the commune elder said that we can have the two hectors next to the spot we want that are owned by the commune.  The rivers the same, the slope is great, and the view is stunning.  He gets the vision.  He has caught hope.  He tells us that they will do whatever it takes to see us partner with them.

    We have found our spot and started to put down our roots.  This challenge is just one of many in our way, but if it was easy we wouldn’t need to do it, it would already be done. Am I Worried? No, but we are weeks away from starting to build on land that we still don’t own with money we still have not raised… It will all happen though, it will all happen.

     

    Coffee Guy

     

  • An Open Letter

    An Open Letter

    Dear One in the sky and in my heart,

    What is your plan?

    I would really like to know.

    The thing is, it’s hard work trusting you right now.

    Why that is, I’m not sure.

    Probably because I am a tiny speck and I never really understand what’s going on.

    It’s not like you’ve EVER failed us.

     Faith.

    It’s a funny thing believing in what you don’t see,

    and yet seeing it all around AT THE SAME TIME.

    You know about our curve ball,

    the one that has us LEANING IN for comfort.

    It’s not a Major League curve ball, more like Little League…

    but it changes some things.

    I hate change and YET

    when I look back, my FULLEST moments

    have been TRUSTING YOU

    through CHANGE.

    The births of them, the births of dreams… all the births and firsts that come from saying “YES.”

    Saying YES.

    It’s so hard sometimes.

    I’m going to cry the whole way through this YES, even though it feels so true.

    So right.

    So YOU.

    For the record,

    I stand here in AWE of what YOU’VE done for us.

    Tiny people. Blessed people.

    When I look back on life,

    my only regret so far is not saying YES more OFTEN.

    And BTW,

    “Thank You” is just not ever going to be enough.

    Love,

    Me

    p.s. Sorry for all the whining I do along the way.

     

  • Go Do.

    Go Do.

    expat kids, burundi, kigomaI can see it faintly through the cracks.

    An ache to be more like them.

    It’s a longing for the carefree-fall-into-bed-exhausted-but-happy days of childhood,

    but it’s also more.

    My boys teach me by example that it’s better to just DO life instead of planning it to the hilt.

    Life should be an expression of our God-given essence,

    not a time to let big dreams sit dormant in our souls.

    I don’t want to study and wait and worry.

    There is wisdom in planning, to be sure

    I often say I’m “planning” to avoid LAUNCHING.

    It’s all because of fear.

    Fear of failure.

    So what?

    If we fail… do we lose?

    Who is in charge of judging it a failure anyway?

    You? Me? That other guy?

    Worst case, we learn and we grow.

    Not bad odds.

    I say, let’s GO DO IT.

  • Sometimes I want to fly away.

    Sometimes I want to fly away.

    fly away, real life moments, raising boys, long miles coffee projecthasselblad 501 C, boy at window, long miles coffee projectIt’s true. I sometimes wish there was an open window and I could just fly myself “home” to the people who have loved me from birth and the places that I have seen forever. This week has been hard for me. The “toughness” of life in Africa has seeped into my being and I have found myself wishing I could just fly away. Until you have lived it, you might never know what I mean. We all have our own challenges that are unique to us in this life, and I am not saying my life is more of a challenge than yours… but I am saying there is a difference between visiting a place like this and LIVING IN IT. If you are going through something tough this week HERE IS ME saying to you that YOU ARE NOT ALONE. I am journeying too. I’m having a “tough one” too and I appreciate your bravery and the decisions you are making to pull yourself up by your bootstraps.

    I sometimes go running on the streets of Bujumbura. I’m a “gym” or “health club” (or whatever you call it in the US of A) girl at heart, but sometimes the road calls and I just have to get on it. Often, as I run, Burundians will shout out, “COURAGE! COURAGE!” I love that in both French and English this word is the same. This week, via Brene Brown’s beautiful book The Gifts of Imperfection, I learned that…

    “The root of the word courage is cor– the Latin word for heart. In one of it’s earliest forms, the word  courage had a very different definition than it does today. Courage originally meant, “To speak one’s mind by telling one’s heart.”

    Now when people shout, “Courage!” at me I can’t help but think, “Thank you. I need it… but not for this run.”  I need courage to tell my story even when it hits bumpy parts. Courage to continue on. Courage to stay firmly on the ground for the time being.

    Love,

    me

    images DSLR and Hasselblad 501C

  • A Christmas round-up

    I think our whole family is finally coming out of our “we just got here” coma. We made it home to America in time for Christmas!  In case you are new to the blog or just don’t get a chance to read every post (how could you!) we’ve rounded up a highlight reel for you.

    We began our move by sending the vehicle first. Ben left to drive our South African purchased vehicle from our home in South Africa 5,500 kms through Africa to Burundi. The first day of the journey his traveling companion had to turn back because of visa issues. He went on to do the drive alone (here’s my nifty map of the drive) which scared the crap outta me. The trip was not exactly convenient. I was left alone with two kids and a mostly packed house on our ten year anniversary.

    Then, as Ben drove on, my heart was tested and it was almost more than I could bear. My sweet littlest little got sick, so sick. We were in the hospital, friends were watching my oldest (some of the best friends on earth), and I was just praying that my littlest would breathe.

    Our littlest made a full recovery, and Ben eventually made it back to South Africa. When he did he was feeling pressure that we should have moved to Burundi already because the coffee was rolling in. That made my heart break because I was not ready to leave my lovely South African life. Certianly not before our schedule said so. But then we were there, it was time to jump. Ready or not.

    And we did. We landed with a thud. Into a house with 20 construction workers crawling all over it, a film crew following us around, and a kid throwing rocks through windows. Ben began cupping coffee all day long every day to try and catch up on his job. The boys and I just tried to survive. Every day was a test of my resolve to stay… and we had only just landed.

    Eventually the construction stopped. Not because they were finished, but because they ran out of money. I didn’t care. I was happy just to have them out. We began to make friends. I knew how to drive through all of this and life gained a rhythm. And we found ourselves preparing for a big day. Our biggest little’s first day in a French speaking school. When that day came, soon after so did another. A very unplanned for day. Ben had a potentially life threatening staph infection. We were faced with questions. Should he be airlifted to Kenya or South Africa? Should we risk the care in Burundi and stay? We decided to stay.

    He recovered, but I was tired. Tired of living at a flat out crazy man’s pace. We decided to make some changes. Changes that would ensure we could live life better. We found a nanny, we set some work boundaries, we made time for things that mattered. Then I lost something. Someone, really, who had journeyed with our family for what felt like a century, even though it was just a decade.

    Somewhere in there I got my first medium format film camera. I began to shoot. It was more than just a camera for me. I fell in love with the beauty of slowing down. Of taking time for things that need time. Of appreciating one thing at a time. The list goes on. My kids began to thrive. They made friends. Great friends. We began to see that this decision of ours, to be in this crazy place, might just be a blessing to all of us after all.

    And now it’s Christmas and I am so thankful to be in the land of warm and consistent showers… no matter what the temperature is outside. Merry Christmas to you and yours.

    Love,

    me

  • Sometimes, but not always…

    Sometimes, but not always, I think this might be too hard for me.

    There is a frustration growing in my belly so intense I think I might explode with it.

    It radiates, strengthens with each breath, and flutters around my insides like a caught bird.

    Sometimes, but not always, this world makes me want to scream.

    Loud.

    So I did, and nothing happened

    except a ripple of sourness from it touched every being in its path.

    This world is full of suffering

    corrupt, void of rules, hard, overwhelming, unjust and completely NOT MINE…

    and yet totally mine, intensely beautiful and intensely ugly all at once.

    One of my all time favorite women in the world

    (and second mother to my kids)

    left to return to South Africa today.

    I tried to keep busy after she left.

    I opened my computer to prepare the blog post of a life time.

    Beautiful images from the coffee hills.

    The first time I had been in the hills without a baby on my hip, thanks to her.

    I was met with technical difficulty after technical difficulty.

    It’s just not possible to share them right now.

    This might seem little, and it is, but it rides on the back of something huge.

    Feelings of frustration and aloneness.

    Don’t get me wrong,

    I am getting to know some beautiful souls here in Bujumbura.

    There are people here who have a strength I may never know.

    People with a vast faith in humanity and an amazing capacity for good.

    They are incredible specimens of humanness…

    and yet today,

    as Thobe left, I wanted to run after the car shouting

    “Take me with you!

    Take me home!”

    but there I stood, strangely and insanely rooted to this journey.

    Love,

    Kristy

  • Dear Family,

    Hope is the belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one’s life.[1] It is the “feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best” or the act of “look[ing] forward to with desire and reasonable confidence” or “feel[ing] that something desired may happen”. [2] Other definitions are “to cherish a desire with anticipation”; “to desire with expectation of obtainment”; or “to expect with confidence”.[3]


     

    I believe in us. I believe beyond all hopelessness, and even though this transition is hard I “expect with confidence” that God is with us during every step.

     

     

    My coffee guy. Even though your brand new (to you) roaster is broken, even though you have spent over 6 hours in the last two days at Burundi Home Affairs wading through bribe after bribe in order for us to get a visa that will only allow us to stay here for another 28 days, even though you are bearing a burden heavier than I’ve ever seen you bear… I have hope. I believe in a God that can carry us if we let Him. I believe in you. You are the only man on the planet who could do this with such grace. Your capacity to keep smiling is insanely irritating, and I love you for it.

     

     

    My big little. You threw a rock through the window tonight. I know you are struggling. It makes your mommy wet her keyboard to think of it. To watch you battle with life overwhelms me. I want to protect you, to shelter you from some of the things that are a part of adjusting to this new life, but I can’t. I will be here, right by your side, protecting you from evil, but letting you experience this life with your.whole.being. You are a fighter and I see you testing your strength everyday. I wrote this for you the other day while you were playing with some kids:

    6 speak French

    1 English, and that one with a confidence lost

    1 parent watches

    wishing it could be different

    wishing his tongue could fly over the words

    just fly

    It’s true, all of it, except one thing. I don’t wish it to be so, I already SEE it. I see you talking in French faster than your mom and dad ever will. I see you playing with friends, shouting to them in French, not letting me in on what you are saying. I see it all. I see an amazing man, facing the world with confidence, love, and with abilities far beyond those who surround you. Abilities that living here have given you. Kids who grow up outside their parent’s home culture are just plain awesome. You are just plain awesome. I see it all, I believe it all.

    My littlest little. Oh, my baby, you have my heart. You make us all laugh every day and we NEED that. You tire us out too, with all your getting.into.everything.ness But then I remember as I discover the entire contents of the medical supply cupboard all over the floor… you are healthy, ingenious and beautiful. As you climb into the sideboard with all the plates, and break one while you are at it… you are healthy, ingenious and beautiful. When you sit on top of the dining room table proud as a peacock for climbing there… you are healthy, ingenious and beautiful. You are already soaring in Burundi, your family is all you ever needed. Thank you for reminding me of that truth.

    Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Hebrews 11:1

     

  • 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

     

  • 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

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