A Mission to Save More Than Souls

When Carl and Eleanor Johnson first came here, their primary goal as missionaries for the Protestant Brethren Assemblies was to preach the Gospel.

Fifty years later, their assignment has moved beyond spreading the word to serving as inadvertent hosts of a camp filled with 5,000 refugees who have fled the ethnic terror that threatens to tear this tiny Central African nation apart.

The camp simply sprang up six years ago, as frightened civilians fled to what used to be a missionary station in this picturesque capital.

As patrons of the refuge, the Johnsons have unintentionally found themselves embroiled in the simmering conflict. Although friends and relatives have beseeched them to forsake Burundi, the couple have felt compelled to stay--hopeful that one day the country will be saved from utter despair.

“We’ve been very happy, on the whole, very satisfied,” said Carl Johnson, 83, a former resident of Baltimore with a penchant for humor. “We feel like we’re home.”

But in recent years, their adopted homeland has turned into a killing field. More than 200,000 Burundians have died in attacks by ethnic Hutu rebels and counterattacks by government forces since 1993, when Tutsi paratroops killed the country’s first democratically elected president, a Hutu.

Tutsis, a minority here, control most political, financial and military institutions. Intensified peace negotiations during the last year have failed.

As insecurity mounts, Johnson Camp--as it has come to be known--has been flooded with primarily Hutu civilians fleeing fighting that has uprooted families from their land.

“[Hutus and Tutsis] used to live happily together,” said Eleanor Johnson, 84. “There was a lot of intermarriage. The conflict has widened the gap between them.”

The couple have been a force behind encouraging international donor groups to give food and medical aid to the camp dwellers, in the absence of local assistance.

Residents live in tin shacks or under plastic sheeting hung over wooden beams. When it rains, dirt tracks running throughout the camp turn into rivers of brown slush. Close quarters mean that diseases are easily spread; dysentery and tuberculosis are rife.

But the Johnsons work at keeping spirits high by organizing extracurricular activities such as choir and music classes, and ensuring that schools for the deaf and blind operate despite the lack of basic facilities.

The couple’s presence also has helped the camp to remain in place, despite the wish of many Tutsis here that it be leveled and the people sent back home.

Burundian officials worry that the camp might be infiltrated by the Hutu rebels.

“If they see Johnson Camp as a strategic point, they could use it,” said Gerard Ndayisenga, a senior government advisor.

The Johnsons, however, insist that prayer--not politics--is their mission.

“We’re bringing the word of God and seeing people converted,” Eleanor Johnson said.

Married for 60 years, with seven children--one of whom has adopted three Burundian girls--the couple have forsaken the conveniences of modern-day America for the cramped quarters of a small brick house. They depend on kerosene lamps, candles and an electrical generator for light.

When “Old Man Johnson,” as he is affectionately known, makes an impromptu tour of the camp--a copper-colored cane in hand--children flock to touch and greet him.

“They are very generous,” said Emanuel Bariwegure, 42, who has lived at the camp since it opened but has known the Johnsons since he was a child. “If they had not been here, many more people would have died.”

“They are incredibly good people,” said Los Angeles native Sharon Kellman, an official with the U.N.’s World Food Program, which regularly provides rations to the camp. “I find myself wondering if they can be human, they’re so loving and caring.”

The Johnsons are considering retiring next year. But many feel that their souls will remain in Burundi.

“They are,” Kellman said, “an institution here.”