My back ached as I stretched and awoke form my slumber. I rolled over and groaned, “What time is it?”
“Ten to seven.” My team mates replied.
It was Sunday and we were meeting Carla, a woman from Alabama who lives here in Rockoco, to go to church with her. She was planing on preaching and wanted us as Mazungoos (white people) to make the 25 minute trip by car with her and our ministry contact, Godwin, who often drives for her.
everyday view from our room (thanks for the photo rachel)
Faith Mission Church was the same as many other churches here in Africa. It was unique in the fact that it had no walls; instead just logs propping up a woven straw roof.
We were ushered to the front of the church were we sat as honored guests on plastic chairs and hand mad wooden benches. The rest of the 40-some congregation who were there sat on the floor, on grass mats.
Church commenced with a sunday school class for the youth that started around 8am and went for about 30 minutes. Then there was, to my surprise, an english worship time after that complete with whistles, shakers, and sticks beating jerry-cans to keep the rhythmic beat. People jumped up and down and never stood still. Dust would fill the church as the repetitive jumping would stir up the ground beneath jovial feet. Many people would shout and burst into high pitched, war-chant sounding cries. Like something from Zena the warrior princess. I caught myself chuckling at times… I must have fit right in when I was laughing.
After the worship, the children and youth left their grass woven mats and headed out to a nearby tree, settled under its shade and learned new worship songs and dances. Then it was time for the adult service, were everyone listened intently to Carla’s teachings and responded with “Hallelujah” and “Amen” when she said something that they agreed with.
After the service, the youth were invited back under the open-air canopy for offering. Praises, laughter and music filled the air once again as people approached traditional looking baskets and dropped their offerings inside.
The service ended with a mass prayer time and everyone came to shake our hands as a thank you to us for coming all the way to their church.
the red dirt roads
On our bumpy ride home, we passed a man on a bike who had what looked like a catfish, so we inquired about the price and the next thing you know, we’re headed down the road with a catfish tied to the front bumper.
the mutant fish.. it was a monster.
That night, I offered to clean and cook the fish, and it turned out quite well… I managed to muster up some onions and an orange from the market. I boiled the fish in a big pot of water, with zest and basil that I had brought with me from Rwanda. We mashed sweet potatoes and sauteed some onions to go along with our ‘catch’.
That’s one for the books!
I look forward to our next adventure in a Ugandan church and at the diner table with interesting quazine! Actually the other day a boy from the village brought in a baby leopard from the bush… so maybe we’ll let him get a bit bigger and we’ll be able to cook him up… just saying?
baby leopard… i wasn't kidding! (thanks to rachel for this photo)
Thanks for reading!
