After a gruesome civil war, Burundians search for opportunities to progress
Story by Michelle Leis & Erin Peterson
Wedged between the Democratic Republic of Congo, Tanzania, and Rwanda, sit the rolling hills of Burundi, a small east African country. It is a country with rural landscapes, crudely cultivated fields, and mountainous slopes of eucalyptus and acacia trees. Winding rivers weave their way through the hills toward the world’s longest freshwater lake, Lake Tanganyika, in the southwest, and plateaus of savannah grasslands and banana groves settle the terrain in the east.
It is hard to imagine that only a few years ago this beautiful countryside doubled as a place of mass murder and chaos during the ethnic-driven civil war and genocide that occurred from 1994 to 2006. And yet, even before their most recent war, Burundians struggled to live in a country marred by extreme poverty, political instability, and virtually no opportunity beyond subsistence farming. Today, Burundians face an epic challenge: to build up their war-ravaged society and reframe their private lives in the face of a horrifying past.
Twenty-seven-year-old Peter Ndaje grew up among the violence and uncertainty of the war that now shapes his generation. His teenage years were spent literally running and hiding for his life in the African bush; many of his childhood friends did not survive. Today, Peter is part of a small minority of Burundians who have a job. He procures supplies for Village Health Works (VHW), a Burundian-American medical clinic founded by his brother Deogratias, a man whose incredible story of survival was recently documented in theNew York Times bestseller Strength in What Remains. In a personal interview, Peter opened up to Ethos about his experience growing up in Burundi and his hope for the future of his country:
“You see, we are the children who grew up running away for life and living in the forests. Others who did not go through this had a chance and time to at least be with their parents and at home. Even though they were extremely poor, at least there was peace, and people could have a conversation at home and hear what their parents said … I grew up being afraid of death and uncertain of my tomorrow. I would thank God every single day I had a meal and was able to make it through the day.”
Peter grew up fighting for the chance to go to school, and in his free time, he would help his mother cultivate food on their land. But during the war, his education and family time took on secondary roles to survival. Peter and his family chose to separate out of fear that they might all be killed if found together. Throughout the conflict, he did not know where his family members were or if he would ever see them again. He believes it was a good decision to separate, “but traumatizing, of course.”
Like most Burundians, Peter was raised almost exclusively on a diet of cassava—when it was available. The tuberous root looks similar to a yam and is the staple crop for approximately 500 million of the world’s poorest people because it is a hardy plant that requires very little water to survive. Unfortunately, cassava provides starchy calories with relatively little nutritional value. In fact, the leaves, stems, and roots of the plant contain toxic compounds that produce cyanide when eaten, and long term exposure can be fatal or lead to health complications like goiters.
According to the CIA, over 93 percent of Burundians work as subsistence farmers, but less than 36 percent of the land in the country is arable. It is no surprise then that malnutrition is abundant; nearly two-thirds of the population consume less than the minimum level of calories needed as determined by the UN Food and Agriculture Organization.
Agricultural development in Burundi is far behind modern standards—only 210 square kilometers of land are irrigated in the entire country—and soil erosion caused by overgrazing and deforestation threatens an already insecure food supply, among other things.
Although Burundians have endured civil war in the past, Peter feels that he and his contemporaries have suffered more than past generations because of the length and gruesome nature of the recent conflict, which came on top of the extreme poverty that already burdened the masses:
“I think our generation has seen the worst in the history of Burundi. We are children who have known no peace or progress or had the chance to be protected. We feel the whole world has abandoned us as if we are not human beings like the rest of the world, especially in rural areas. We just have been confused and overwhelmed.”
Burundi has a population of about 8.7 million people in an area roughly the size of Maryland. As the second most densely populated country in Africa, part of Burundi’s struggle with poverty is tied to overpopulation; the average woman has more than six children over the course of her lifetime. With such high birthrates, most women lose at least one child to the consequences of poverty: death by preventable illness like malaria and diarrheal disease. Approximately one out of every five Burundian children will die before their fifth birthday, according to the World Health Organization (WHO).
As a child and young adult, Peter experienced the debasing power of extreme poverty, but now he finds strength in his work with VHW; “misery has been thoroughly humiliating and dehumanized us, but I personally consider myself one of the luckiest people having been able to survive and do the work I do at Village Health Works for the community.”
VHW goes beyond curing people’s illnesses and strives to address the social determinates of bad health. The clinic provides services that resemble that of a local government; the organization subsidizes the cost to attend the nearest primary school, supplies potable water to the town and surrounding villages, and supports agricultural development with free starter plants and demonstration gardens.
VHW’s development of local infrastructure is a big step in a positive direction, but still, Burundians must overcome traumatic memories of the war. Achieving reconciliation and mental stability are awesomely daunting tasks, especially when there are virtually no opportunities in place for people to receive professional counseling and psychotherapy. In fact, there are only 200 physicians in all of Burundi—that’s approximately three doctors for every 100,000 people. In contrast, the U.S. has 267 physicians per 100,000 people, according to the WHO.
Culturally, it is taboo to speak of the dead or remind people of the conflict between the Hutu majority and Tutsi minority ethnicities. “It is very hard to talk about tragic things between people who have a history of genocide. Once you do, there is suspicion, and fear, and mistrust,” Peter says.
He believes a crucial step for progress is to acknowledge but not dwell on the past: “That is how reconciliation can happen—by not talking about politics or who did what during the genocide. After all, it was not about Hutus and Tutsis, it was really the misery that got us into the horrible many years of bloody events where neighbors killed neighbors—even relatives killed relatives to own other people’s belongings or because some crazy politician promised them heaven if they kill.”
The most recent civil war was incited by the 1993 assassination of Burundi’s first elected Hutu president Melchior Ndadaye. Prior to Ndadaye’s election, Belgian colonialists and the Tutsi minority ruled the country. After the assassination, factions of Hutu and Tutsi militia and civilians began openly fighting, resulting in the death of tens of thousands of people and the displacement of hundreds of thousands more people.
“We blame each other for our own miseries by accusing the others. There is no compromise and there is always scary tension whenever [the war] is brought up. It brings back horror and awful memories. We are a society extremely ill-educated. We are so challenged by misery. I think, step by step, we will be able to open up, but that will take several years.”
According to Peter, educating the public is the key to progress in Burundi, but “good health is prerequisite to be able to do things: study, raise children, grow food, etc.” Relations between ethnic groups remain fragile, but Peter sees amazing potential for inter-ethnic community building through the clinic. Far beyond healing sick bodies, VHW gives the poor and downtrodden a chance to see how they can “improve their living conditions and have hope for a better future.” Perhaps this is because of the organization’s model of focusing on the needs of the community, needs that are determined by the people whom the clinic serves as opposed to outside parties.
“If nothing positive is going on in the community, all you have is a tragedy you carry with you. But if there is something like VHW, there is smile and joy and you forget tragedies, you see hope and good future. That is the best way to heal. We have seen this among many people who have started to move out of their homes to get involved and be closer to our clinic where good things have been happening—that is therapeutic.”

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