But there was a skeleton in Mbazumutima and Natalie's closet love affair. His father was murdered by members of her tribe during the genocidal killing which swept Burundi in 1993, sparking a vicious, ethnically based civil war that rages still.

The affair was doomed. Natalie renounced her beau, forcing him off in misery to the capital, Bujumbura. And on the road, disaster. Mbazumutima was ambushed by rebels and taken hostage into the bush. He finally escaped his captors, but that is the way neither of the gods nor of the writers of popular soap operas. Mbazumutima sought out Natalie, only to find her sobbing her way up the aisle to wed a more ethnically correct suitor.

Unlike, say, its Australian near-namesake, Burundi's Umubanyi Niwe Umuryango - Our Neighbours, Ourselves - scarcely exaggerates the dramas of everyday life.

The country's post-colonial history consists of a vicious power struggle between the minority Tutsi tribe and the Hutu majority, studded with appalling bouts of violence. The tit-for-tat massacres that cost Mbazumutima his father claimed around 250,000 Burundians. The ensuing war, between the Tutsi-led army and various Hutu rebel groups, has claimed up to another 100,000.

Last Wednesday, Burundi's real-life plot took a happier turn. In a ceremony presided over by Nelson Mandela, Burundi's cabal of powerful southern Tutsis, the country's rulers almost since independence, ceded the presidency to Domitien Ndayizeye, a Hutu.

The peace process is deeply flawed, with the main Hutu rebel group refusing to take part, and fighting escalating around the country. Yet it stands as the clearest sign that Burundi's Tutsis no longer live in terror of their marginalised neighbors. And for that, in part at least, they must thank their favourite radio soap opera.

Broadcast twice weekly since 1996, Our Neighbours, Ourselves shows the stupidity of tribal prejudice on the smallest scale. It was created by a team of smart young journalists, partly in response to Rwanda's hate radio, Radio Mille Collines, christened 'the Voice of Genocide' for its role in inciting the slaughter of 800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus in 1994. The soap opera's reach is enormous. According to one recent survey, around 85 per cent of the population are regular listeners; there are tales aplenty of peasants saving their precious batteries, or walking many miles to the nearest radio, just to catch its 20-minute episodes.

The secret, all agree, is that it is screamingly funny. 'It's very good at finding humour in very negative situations, and at making fun of people doing terrible things,' said Lena Slachmuijlder, director of the donor-funded Studio Ijambo radio station which produces it. 'It's never moralistic in terms of "he's doing something wrong, so he should go to jail". It's more, "he's doing something wrong, and what a fool he's making of himself!".'

Burundian humour, which delights in word-play and burlesque characterisation, suits the soap well. But it has taken the genius of Marie-Louise Sibazuri, its Belgian-based author, to turn it into a national institution. 'She's an excellent writer, a very cre ative person, someone very committed to doing good for her country,' said Slachmuijlder. 'And she's always on the dot in terms of the underlying reasons for conflict on a community level.'

And often, as Sibazuri shows, such conflicts can be resolved. Take the trials of Vera, a young office worker recently detained at an army roadblock. She is consequently late for work and lambasted for laggardliness, until her colleagues - from across the tribal divide - speak up for her. Embarrassed, her officious boss backs down, the office gives three rousing cheers, and Vera sets to work.

By including many such non-tribally specific conundrums, Our Neighbours, Ourselves reaffirms its impartiality, said its director Michel- Ange Nzojibwama. Crucially, it gives out conflicting clues about what tribe characters belong to.

'We want people to wonder who is from which tribe, and then fail to come up with an answer,' said Nzojibwama. 'We are showing that ethnicity must not be a barrier to love.'

Rose Marie Nzojibwama, one of the show's stars, gives a grittier analysis. 'People must realise that the war is not just about ethnicity, it's about a race for power,' she said, seated in Studio Ijambo's recording studio, a script on her knee. 'Burundians must realise that what they have in common is their misery, they are all the pawns of politicians with big cars and smart houses.'

The show has a striking lack of action, with most scenes recounted in conversations among small groups.