Waking up and going to church on a Sunday morning is usually quite the typical and predictable affair. However, this Sunday was anything but ordinary...
Being informed the evening before that I was to accompany Pastor Emmy on his visit to one of the rural churches the next morning, we woke and left early for the ONE HOUR drive out of town down the long and windy stretches of dirt road that divide the countryside. Naively thinking I would be able to accomplish work during the car ride I brought along my journal to write it. After fighting to legibly scribble down a few of my thoughts I gave up and simply sought to enjoy the view. Driving for an hour and a half and stopping several times for no apparent reason it became clear that we actually didn't know where we were going. It wasn't that we were lost, as we knew where we were and we knew where we wanted to go, but the route in between was a bit fuzzy.
The further out we journeyed the more rugged the 'roads' became. At one point as we jerked and stalled our way up the hillside, I felt as though I was actually on a roller coaster making my way up to the top before the giant drop on the other side. However, on an amusement park ride it is all thrill, knowing that you will survive... being jostled along the Ugandan landscape the thrill is fun, but the question of safe passage is a bit more questionable. I will have to say though that our Driver, also named Emmy, is one of a kind and definitely displays impressive skills on a daily basis!
Clearly we survived our 2.5 HOUR! trip to the church, making a few U-turns and venturing down dirt pathways (forget roads!). Pulling up to the half finished church I was confused by the empty scene before me. With essentially no communication in English (I am in the only foreigner in the bunch) I was left to my own devices to determine what was unfolding before me. Slightly dazed by the journey, I stumbled out of the matatu and into the brilliant sunshine. Welcomed by the pastor we were escorted to a neighboring building, directed into a very small room and invited to take a seat. "Ah, we are having a quaint little Bible study, this will be nice," I thought to myself.
Oh NO! This was only the prelude to the day's concherto. Within moments a tray of coffee cups passed by, then the all telling teapot, and the smell. My stomach churned. That smell could only mean one thing, African Tea! Usually quite the tea officianado, I have not been able to handle tea in this region which really isn't tea at all, but spiced milk. Fresh from the cow unrefrigerated unpasturized milk that curdles my stomach at the sight. I prayed for strength as a piping hot cup was plunked down in front of me. Reinforcements were thankfully on the way in the form of plates piled with bread and bushels of bananas.
Plan of attack: swallow down a swig of the toxic tea and then inhale a piece of banana to cover the taste. Great in theory... not so effective in actuality.
The tea tasted as bad as I remembered from my village experience in Rakai and the banana did nothing.
Plan of attack take 2: dip bread into tea thereby dispersing the taste and lowering the overall level of liquid in my cup. Another brilliant theory... another unsatisfactory attempt.
The soggy sweet bread was slightly more tolerable then the tea itself, but hardly decreased the quantity of tea.
Plan of attack #3: swap cups with the small child who was sitting next to me who had all but finished her drink. Perfect in prospect but the only drawback was making the switch without 1) the host noticing and 2) the child saying anything.
Alas, I knew it could not be done. Trying to avoid eye contact with our host who noticed my lack of enthusiasm over breakfast, Grace thankfully came to my rescue offering to drink my tea and my stomach was saved!
Church began shortly after that, or rather, we entered into the already started service minutes later. Praising, singing and dancing commenced, followed by the obligatory long winded introductions, the "few words" by the mzungu and then Pastor Emmy's sermon. The service was actually quite pleasant and I didn't miss anything given my front and center placement before the church.
Retracing our tracks home we arrived shortly, thus concluding our 8 hour church excursion. Minutes later I was being ushered out the door once again, this time for a music event. Excited to be out in the evening for the first time since arriving I had no idea what was in store. All I knew is that it was supposed to be a night of Christian music. Entering the large rustically created gymnasium type room, I was instantly ushered to my seat. As you may have already guessed, front row center located immediately behind the table of honor - since being the only white person in the entire place I didn't already stand out enough!
The evening was certainly entertaining with an overzealous MC who looked like he escaped off some corny oldschool game show and the songs with choreographed backup dancing. Sitting through over two hours of music in other languages and being recorded close to a hundred times on camera I was rapidly growing weary of the evening and was just determining hour to make the least spectacle of a departure when the music stopped and three chairs were placed on the stage for 3 special people. "I'm safe," I thought, "no one here even knows my name so there is NO way I could be called on stage." Oh, so SO WRONG! "Pastor ____ can you please come forward, and the only mzungu white lady in the front row..." Yes, that would be me, just in case there was any question or confusion! Lets think of a more awkward moment shall we. I unwillingly made my way up onto the stage and took my place in the center chair. Three dancers were then brought up onto the stage to dance before each of the selected people and baskets were placed in front of them as a competition for a CD. I felt like I was trapped inside some very awful and very wrong international television program. Thankfully my dancer was an adorable little child who looked just about as confused and intimidated as I did. At first count the mzungu was leading (yes, purely out of pity and because of my skin color). New dancers were called to replace the first set and the music played again. Recount. Still leading, but barely. At this point I was the only one still sitting my chair and so I awkwardly stood, vowing that I would simply stand there but would under no circumstances be moved to dance. The music played again, the amusement of the situation had long sense worn off and just wanting the incident to end I joined in with my dancer much to the amusement of everyone present. The contest was then halted for cheating (no rules had ever been given!) and another tally of the baskets was taken. I was barely in the lead, still, but was just shy of the 50,000 shillings needed (when that number was decided I have no idea). The announcer turned to us and asked how we should settle this before turning back to the audience and stating that the CD could not be given for less than 50,000. Taking matters into my own hands I handed my nearest opponent a 20,000 note, giving him more than enough to be declared the winner. This was clearly unexpected, but after a bit of debating had the desired effect as I was finally allowed off the stage and back to my seat. Needless to say I departed the assembly a few minutes later.
Exploited as a fundraising tool for my skin color. Always makes a person feel good.
I do not even know what they were trying to raise money for. Hopefully it was a worthy cause.
Being informed the evening before that I was to accompany Pastor Emmy on his visit to one of the rural churches the next morning, we woke and left early for the ONE HOUR drive out of town down the long and windy stretches of dirt road that divide the countryside. Naively thinking I would be able to accomplish work during the car ride I brought along my journal to write it. After fighting to legibly scribble down a few of my thoughts I gave up and simply sought to enjoy the view. Driving for an hour and a half and stopping several times for no apparent reason it became clear that we actually didn't know where we were going. It wasn't that we were lost, as we knew where we were and we knew where we wanted to go, but the route in between was a bit fuzzy.
The further out we journeyed the more rugged the 'roads' became. At one point as we jerked and stalled our way up the hillside, I felt as though I was actually on a roller coaster making my way up to the top before the giant drop on the other side. However, on an amusement park ride it is all thrill, knowing that you will survive... being jostled along the Ugandan landscape the thrill is fun, but the question of safe passage is a bit more questionable. I will have to say though that our Driver, also named Emmy, is one of a kind and definitely displays impressive skills on a daily basis!
Clearly we survived our 2.5 HOUR! trip to the church, making a few U-turns and venturing down dirt pathways (forget roads!). Pulling up to the half finished church I was confused by the empty scene before me. With essentially no communication in English (I am in the only foreigner in the bunch) I was left to my own devices to determine what was unfolding before me. Slightly dazed by the journey, I stumbled out of the matatu and into the brilliant sunshine. Welcomed by the pastor we were escorted to a neighboring building, directed into a very small room and invited to take a seat. "Ah, we are having a quaint little Bible study, this will be nice," I thought to myself.
Oh NO! This was only the prelude to the day's concherto. Within moments a tray of coffee cups passed by, then the all telling teapot, and the smell. My stomach churned. That smell could only mean one thing, African Tea! Usually quite the tea officianado, I have not been able to handle tea in this region which really isn't tea at all, but spiced milk. Fresh from the cow unrefrigerated unpasturized milk that curdles my stomach at the sight. I prayed for strength as a piping hot cup was plunked down in front of me. Reinforcements were thankfully on the way in the form of plates piled with bread and bushels of bananas.
Plan of attack: swallow down a swig of the toxic tea and then inhale a piece of banana to cover the taste. Great in theory... not so effective in actuality.
The tea tasted as bad as I remembered from my village experience in Rakai and the banana did nothing.
Plan of attack take 2: dip bread into tea thereby dispersing the taste and lowering the overall level of liquid in my cup. Another brilliant theory... another unsatisfactory attempt.
The soggy sweet bread was slightly more tolerable then the tea itself, but hardly decreased the quantity of tea.
Plan of attack #3: swap cups with the small child who was sitting next to me who had all but finished her drink. Perfect in prospect but the only drawback was making the switch without 1) the host noticing and 2) the child saying anything.
Alas, I knew it could not be done. Trying to avoid eye contact with our host who noticed my lack of enthusiasm over breakfast, Grace thankfully came to my rescue offering to drink my tea and my stomach was saved!
Church began shortly after that, or rather, we entered into the already started service minutes later. Praising, singing and dancing commenced, followed by the obligatory long winded introductions, the "few words" by the mzungu and then Pastor Emmy's sermon. The service was actually quite pleasant and I didn't miss anything given my front and center placement before the church.
Retracing our tracks home we arrived shortly, thus concluding our 8 hour church excursion. Minutes later I was being ushered out the door once again, this time for a music event. Excited to be out in the evening for the first time since arriving I had no idea what was in store. All I knew is that it was supposed to be a night of Christian music. Entering the large rustically created gymnasium type room, I was instantly ushered to my seat. As you may have already guessed, front row center located immediately behind the table of honor - since being the only white person in the entire place I didn't already stand out enough!
The evening was certainly entertaining with an overzealous MC who looked like he escaped off some corny oldschool game show and the songs with choreographed backup dancing. Sitting through over two hours of music in other languages and being recorded close to a hundred times on camera I was rapidly growing weary of the evening and was just determining hour to make the least spectacle of a departure when the music stopped and three chairs were placed on the stage for 3 special people. "I'm safe," I thought, "no one here even knows my name so there is NO way I could be called on stage." Oh, so SO WRONG! "Pastor ____ can you please come forward, and the only mzungu white lady in the front row..." Yes, that would be me, just in case there was any question or confusion! Lets think of a more awkward moment shall we. I unwillingly made my way up onto the stage and took my place in the center chair. Three dancers were then brought up onto the stage to dance before each of the selected people and baskets were placed in front of them as a competition for a CD. I felt like I was trapped inside some very awful and very wrong international television program. Thankfully my dancer was an adorable little child who looked just about as confused and intimidated as I did. At first count the mzungu was leading (yes, purely out of pity and because of my skin color). New dancers were called to replace the first set and the music played again. Recount. Still leading, but barely. At this point I was the only one still sitting my chair and so I awkwardly stood, vowing that I would simply stand there but would under no circumstances be moved to dance. The music played again, the amusement of the situation had long sense worn off and just wanting the incident to end I joined in with my dancer much to the amusement of everyone present. The contest was then halted for cheating (no rules had ever been given!) and another tally of the baskets was taken. I was barely in the lead, still, but was just shy of the 50,000 shillings needed (when that number was decided I have no idea). The announcer turned to us and asked how we should settle this before turning back to the audience and stating that the CD could not be given for less than 50,000. Taking matters into my own hands I handed my nearest opponent a 20,000 note, giving him more than enough to be declared the winner. This was clearly unexpected, but after a bit of debating had the desired effect as I was finally allowed off the stage and back to my seat. Needless to say I departed the assembly a few minutes later.
Exploited as a fundraising tool for my skin color. Always makes a person feel good.
I do not even know what they were trying to raise money for. Hopefully it was a worthy cause.
1 comment:
great scott man, that sounds a wee bit sketch :(
just stay alive long enough to come back to visit once in a while!
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