The Prayer Group
On Sunday morning, I went to church with Wasike, in Kisamis. As a Catholic, I always enjoy experiencing mass in other countries. As a general rule, services are much longer but the singing is better!
After a 2 hour service – which was in Kiswahili and wasn’t actually mass because the priest did not turn up, I was ready for the walk home. Wasike explained that now it was time for community prayers in a parishioner’s house. To be honest, I felt there had been enough prayers for the morning but my rule in Africa is to say yes to everything unless it is life-threatening (to myself or others) and even then, I sometimes bend the rule – as evidenced by my motorbike ride the day before.
That would be grand, I told him and off we set back towards town. I have never been anywhere but the main street in Kisamis so it is with interest that we head down a narrow alley. We dodge between houses, avoiding the cows and goats who wander freely, pass the shared latrine and reach our host, Jennifer’s house.
I am warmly welcomed and shown to the sofa, which is covered with a throw. As soon as I sit down, I am reminded of Uganda. Many people had sofas there but cushions cost extra so you just sit on the wooden frame.
It is bum-numbingly uncomfortable and I am squashed like a sardine between Vivian and Wasiske. I really hope it’s not a long prayer meeting. Who am I kidding? I check myself. I am such a whinge although, like many people in the West, I have really very little to complain about!
When everyone has arrived, I count 30 of us. I cannot believe we have all fitted in. There is a hymn, then prayers, then Samuel (the Chairman) turns to me. Will I say a few words? I don’t know why I hadn’t anticipated it. I was probably focused on the fact that I no longer had any feeling in my legs. But I have rarely attended a church in Africa without having to deliver a sermon. Fine. I speak for 10 minutes – the minimum time that is acceptable – and focus on the sense of community within the church, irrespective of country. It goes down well.
Time for tea and bread (plain.) An extraordinary thing happens. I sip the tea and it doesn’t seem to taste as horrid as usual. In fact, it’s actually quite nice. What is happening to me?
I use the excuse of taking some photos, to stand up. It is almost impossible to move but with some wiggling and jiggling, I manage to edge my way to the door. There is lots of chat and lots of laughter. Soon it is time to leave and we head off. I reach home at 3pm, having left at 9am. It may constitute the longest church service I have ever attended.
Baby Millicent and Granny Millicent
I am always surprised and a bit overwhelmed by the warmth and the welcome I receive in Olepolos. The kindness I am shown is almost universal and more than makes up for any of the challenges I face. It was a long but lovely morning.
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