Church

On Sunday, I went to a French church. Of course I can’t speak French any better than I can speak Sango….and I can’t speak Sango at all. In Africa, the men sit on the left side and the woman sit on the right side. Faye (Jim’s wife) wasn’t feeling well so it was me and the boys. When we got there a female “usher” would guided me to the place I were supposed to sit…which happened to be basically the front row (there was one row in front of me for the younger girls…I guess so they could see better). The ‘pews’ were basically a long somewhat thin bench with no back. Every other row of women had four woman to a bench…except mine which only had three of us. I wasn’t sure if that was b/c I didn’t move over far enough when I got there or if they weren’t particularly fond of sitting close to me.

Throughout the service, I felt particularly sure that I was supposed to continue to face forward no matter what. However, I sincerely wanted to turn around and watch everything that was going on. As with most churches, they sang and preached. I would just stand and clap with everyone else not having a clue what they were saying. To take offering, they file you up front one after another to the offering box. I know that people get annoyed when the pastor’s in America preach on giving but I don’t think the guilt trip can compare to publicly having to show everyone that you do or do not have an offering. And again, the men had one box and the woman had another.

The French service starts at 7:30 and only lasts an hour and half maybe two. Then the Sango service starts which can last considerably longer. People were gathering around outside for the next service. Soon the children realized that white people were in the service (at least that was my perception) and began peaking their heads in the doors at the front of the church. I felt like making faces to them but thought better of it since I was in the front row.

When we left the service, there were a few ICDI employees present that could speak English if I talked slowly. So, we stood around to talk…I think it took no more than 1 minute for a horde of children to stand around staring. I never know what to do with that. I struggled with the same thing in India. How do you engage well when you can not communicate? So, I would say Bala-o (hello) and waive. As we were leaving, I shook one of the children’s hands…which is a common greeting. It triggered a chain reaction and every child wanted to shake my hand. Some would even just touch my arm and run away giggling.

I think everyone should experience what it is like to be a minority in a group of people. It is most certainly difficult at times when you sort of want to blend in and just explore. However, I will admit that although I am a minority I am considered “rich” and respected because of my color. Whereas I know there is a difference when you are a minority and treated as second class. I wish it was not such an amazing thing to be different…I wish it could just be common and transparent. That is not to say I don’t think differences shouldn’t be celebrated but I wish it was accepted more…I am not sure I clearly understand what I am saying.

Anyway, that evening the Swedes (about 5 people who are on a short term stint in Africa), a french lady, and the ICDI American personnel got together for a church service. It was such a sweet time. Someone had a guitar, another just spoke about what God was laying on his heart, and we prayed. Afterwards, we just ate snacks, drank tea (or coffee) and talked. It was simple and it was beautiful. I get tired of the presentation of church sometimes and it is nice to just worship, celebrate, question, and pray together…nothing fancy. The cool part is it was an assortment of countries and backgrounds…we each prayed in our own language….it was just neat.