Although I’ve already left, I wanted to post quickly about my last few days in Burundi, which in many ways summed up why I love the country so much. On Thursday, I was able to meet Marie Rose, one of only two female ex-combatants who are Members of Parliament (on which more later), and she told me more about the country’s reconstruction plans and what the government is doing to help women ex-combatants. Positive point one: the country is small, making it easy to access its movers and shakers. Later, Pierre Claver tells me that she donates most of her salary to help women ex-combatants access training or set up mutual assistance schemes, and works very closely to help CEDAC’s women’s programme. Positive point two: people really care about establishing peace and developing the country.

Thursday night, I went to a movie night at the marine house and had some beers, then stayed up late playing drinking poker. Positive point three: good beer, lively ex-pat community. Friday I rushed round like crazy trying to get stuff finished, including a trip to the market with Huy, Morgan and Carol to buy pagne, followed by a cheap lunch in a local eatery near the market. I also met up with Eric, who presented me with a carved wall plaque; it’s fair to say that it’s not something I would have chosen myself, but I said I would treasure it and meant it; I almost bawled when he gave it to me. Positive point four: Burundians are unceasingly welcoming and generous. Then Friday night I had the best party I’ve had in Burundi; started out with beer and brochettes with Pierre Claver, followed by a awesome party at Barbara’s house – very chilled out and met some cool people, including some members of Burundi’s gay community – awesome people who I wish I’d met earlier. Then on to another party at the house next door to the Marine House.

The party was allegedly organised by someone called Pierre, who worked for the EU, but no-one there seemed to know Pierre and no-one seemed to care – the doors were open to all. At the party I ran into several people (muzungu and Burundian) who I knew already – a couple of people from Iriba, where I’ve been working, and my friend Olivier, who works for UNHCR, and who poured me a gin and tonic so strong I literally couldn’t drink it. We danced beside the pool, then, almost inevitably, in the pool. As Isaac pointed out, it was like a particularly debauched scene from Emergency Sex. Positive point five: Burundians are party animals.

Saturday, I had breakfast with Pierre Claver during the travaux communitaire; like Rwanda, Burundi has regular ‘community works’. A lot of ordinary people seem to do them, digging drainage ditches, etc, but literally none of the people I knew ever did. Claver claims that it’s a waste of time because you just listen to political speeches; I’m sceptical about this – there seem to be an awful lot of people on the streets doing stuff – but it leads to positive point six: willingness to criticise the government. As I walked into town I was greeted by Amable, working as a security guard, and Eric Uwimana, who I interviewed on my first day of profiling. They wished me luck, and send me on my way. Positive point seven: a small town where you regularly run into friends.

Having been to say goodbye to Nana and retrieve my sleeping bag, I headed to Bora Bora for a final visit (positive point eight: the beach), before heading back to Pierre Claver’s to collect my stuff. A coke with Huy, a cup of tea with Morgan and a movie at the marine house completed the evening, before I grabbed an hour or two of sleep and headed off to get my bus at 5am.

In the spirit of honesty, I should point out that there were a few negatives as well, that also reflected my time in Burundi; Peace Exchange trying to rip me off so I had to walk to Face a Face, the fact that the buses leave when full, so the only place you can get a bus from the town centre is the bus station, meaning that you have to walk 10 minutes from Aroma, to get a bus that passes right by Aroma again 20 minutes later, having to wait ages for the bus to fill, people having no sense of urgency, not showing up when they say they will, and never returning calls. But although these things drive me crazy, they are more than outweighed by the positives, and on the whole it was a wonderful few days, a wonderful goodbye to some great friends, and to a country that I’ve fallen head over heels in love with, and that I hope I will be able to come back to soon.

A couple of days ago I read on the BBC about the funeral of the last British WW1 veteran, who died a fortnight ago, aged 111, and nearly bawled. A part of our history is now gone forever; there are a few others left, but only one who saw action, and none who fought in the trenches. Of course it seems ridiculous to be so upset by the death of a 111-year-old, and even more so to be sad for the passing of a period of history that we should be glad to see the back of. It is unquestionably a Good Thing that we no long send our young men to be slaughtered in their hundreds of thousands over pointless geopolitical disputes.

The sadness, therefore, comes from two things. The first is the feeling that in those terrible times, ordinary people did extra-ordinary things. But more important is the fear that now that the horror of the trenches no longer lives in memory, we may forget it. Of course we won’t really – there is a wealth of testimony, including an autobiography written by Mr Patch when he realised that his would be one of the last voices to tell of the past. And having vivid memories of total war did not stop Europeans going back to war within a generation. But Western Europe in the last sixty years has been one of the world’s great peacebuilding stories; as I write this I am wearing a hat with the European Union logo on it (Dad, if you’ve been looking for it, sorry), and we have managed to refrain from killing one another for the longest period in our history so far.

The memories of our past now serve more to bring us together than to force us back into conflict – again, something that Mr Patch saw as crucial. At his funeral, at his request, his coffin was carried by Belgian, French and German soldiers, a piece of symbolism that again threatened tears. But it was also this that showed the wider relevance; if he was only a survivor, his death would be distressing. But he made it a symbol of unity and reconciliation, showing that out of tragedy, we can find hope and progress.

Gerard Prunier has called the war that still engulfs the great lakes region ‘Africa’s World War’, and I have spent the last two months in a country that must be seen as at least as traumatised as Europe in 1919. There are groups that blame one another and demand revenge, but, unlike in Europe in 1919, they have avoided this temptation. I won’t labour the point by trying to extend the comparison too far, but for me there are two lessons to be drawn. Burundians who have known nothing but war have told me of their longing for peace, and their hopes for what their country can do now that they have it. But Europe’s lessons tell us that that is not enough; it would be harder to find a population more desperate for peace than Europe in 1919, but within 20 years they were back at war. The second is that peace is possible; it took a second attempt in Europe, but eventually we got there.

I shared this story with some of my Burundian friends, and one person gave me a response that was one of the most moving I have heard in this country; the hope that in sixty or eighty years, the last veteran of the Burundian war will be buried, his coffin carried by the descendents of all sides, and the sense that a piece of history has passed. I passed this reaction on to Pierre Claver and Marie Rose, a CNDD-FDD Parliamentarian, and no-one laughed. I think there is a real risk that this country will slide back into war, but the story of Mr Patch’s death reminded me that there is also hope.