It’s a Small World

Sunday morning church in Africa; hot, drowsy, and uncomfortable on a backless bench. I leaned against the rough brick wall, hoping to get some respite, when suddenly I stared into the eyes of a massive striped spider. I promptly decided to switch seats. I can’t worship next to a spider.

Of course we were late to church. This is Africa after all. No worries tho, no clock was ever consulted, and things proceeded at a comfortably unorganized pace. The church is in a small brick “strip mall”. Thankfully it has two doors so there was a slight breeze blowing through, making it bearable. Seth started us out by leading 3 songs. The best I can say for the singing was that it was a Joyful Noise unto the Lord. There were about 10 adults and 20 kids in church.

After a short prayer, Seth sat down and the stage was taken by Lance, who had a Bible Story for the kids. Everything was interpreted and edited (apparently) by an enthusiastic guy call Faustin. Afterwards we sang three children’s songs that included actions, which of course was great fun.

Richard brought the interactive message and Trevor lead us in three Mother Tongue hymns that were difficult to sing. Thankfully we weren’t in some proper USA setting, so this didn’t slow us down. One old man swung around and leveled me a look after a particularly butchered sentence, so I wondered what I had really just sung?

Church ended with Introductions. Don’t even think about standard introductions. Think long explanations of family, work, medical history, age, and anything else they suddenly decide to throw at you. We all stood to do the honors, and Faustin was Emcee. 

A lunch was planned in honor of the visitors, so after church we all hopped in the rigs and bumped down the road to Faustin and Grace’s home. Faustin rode with us and he was terribly concerned about the fact that Zach was riding on the roof rack of the pickup ahead of us. He was convinced that he would get thumped by a branch and desperately tried to get him to go down with much shouting and hand gestures. Not super effective from the inside of a car. Meanwhile, Seth was shouting and gesturing at us from the back of the pickup and come to find out we had a flat tire. It took a couple minutes to air the tire back up, and then off we went to the feast.

And what a feast! I hung out in the round, smoky kitchen with Grace and her daughters-in-law as they cooked chicken, posha, casava bread, g-nut sauce, cabbage and rice. They had three little fires going and kept them loaded with large pots of food. Watching them efficiently cook on the floor is always amazing. They sit with their legs sticking straight out front, nothing to lean on, and calmly chop onions amd tomatoes. Produce is stored in large clay jars and milk is in little plastic yellow bottles. Babies come and go, tumbling over their moms and the stacks of clean dishes. They get yelled at if they stand in the doorway cause it completely blocks the only source of light. The girls could speak very good English and were happy to chatter with me.

Meanwhile the men sat on benches under the huge mango tree and swapped stories. Old Amos, with his large, brown, mishappen teeth waved his walking stick and cracked jokes. A couple old women lay under the tree on old maize bags and kids screamed and played in the yard. There were chickens bouncing everywhere and the occasional spider would run over us. Eventually Amanda and I were moved to the tree as well, and some tables were brought over from the houses. The food was spread out, and Simon walked around with a little plastic teapot of water to wash our hands.

The food was amazing. Obviously, these women were phenomenal cooks. We dug in with our “clean” hands and ate till we were stuffed. Half way through the meal we had to pause for introductions since Faustin’s son Paul arrived. There were no corners cut, and we all had an opportunity to say a “word”. 

Fat and satisfied, we perched on our benches and began to tell stories and have testimonies. Faustin loves to talk and his well of words never ran dry. Old Amos had some testifying to do, and as he wobbled to his feet everyone laughed. He simply cannot talk while sitting. In the distance, we could hear a constant drumming as the neighbors tried to call the flying ants out of the ground. This is some kind of complicated ritual that involves building mud tunnels, burying buckets and hours of thumping, but apparently they taste so good it’s totally worth it. 

By mid afternoon I thought I would surely tip over in a warm, stuffed coma, and my back was loudly protesting the fact that it hadn’t leaned for hours. I may have even threatened to go sack out in the car, but no, there was more to come. Here came the in-laws with hot chai and fresh peanuts. It was truly delicious and helped keep me awake, for which I was very grateful. 

The sun had traveled well to the west when we finally rose to our feet for the grateful goodbyes. Faustin looked around hopefully for someone else to introduce yet before we left, and his eager eye found a neighbor lady that had somehow slipped through the cracks earlier. Once again we shared our names and life histories and then, finally, we were given permission to leave. There is nothing longer or bumpier than an African road when you need the bathroom.

Although the day was fascinating and precious, it was awful good to reach home and sit in a real chair and have a hot shower. Amanda even cooked up a delightful snack and we spent the evening relaxing.