Celebration and Sadness

Grand celebrations seem few and far between here in the village, but this last weekend was the setting for a terrific wedding for us to enjoy and be a part of.

Saturday I headed with Lauren and the Millers to the local Catholic church. On the way we passed by the house of the groom’s parents, where the reception would take place later. They were preparing the food for the afternoon and invited us to come in. We tried not to stare at the basin they were standing around.

Did you see that?  How about closer…

These were the entrails of some animal—probably a goat—that we were meant to eat later at the reception.  We tried to refocus our energies on getting to the wedding on not thinking about this particular delicacy which would await us. J

We arrived at the church an hour late (the only weddings we have attended haven’t even begun until 2 hours after the scheduled beginning) and were LATE wazungus (white people). This title isn’t easy to come by in this land of “Pole pole ndio mwendo” (Slowly, slowly is still motion)!

Hastily peering in one of the mud-block windows, we caught a glimpse of the priest uttering the final marriage pronouncements. We were surrounded by other late-comers in their Sunday best. One of them, a Mama whom I have gotten to know a little bit, insisted on ushering us INSIDE, which meant shoving past people who were literally jammed into the doorway and the back of the church, and we were kept wondering where we would be able to squeeze. There is nothing like a crowded African church as an argument for small hips! My friend, Mama Euni, shoved some people off of their seats so that we could sit there. Humbling. And not the first time this has happened.

We thought we had come to the end of the service (after all, the bride and groom were married), but the service lasted at least another hour. The Catholics have the best singing around, hands-down, and it was amazing to hear their many voices and harmony sung at the top of their lungs. There was lots of dancing up and down the isle, two offerings were taken, and the priest had people bring up their grain for him to bless it towards the end. Evidently this was a multi-purpose meeting.  Here is the grain people had put outside the door of the church (I thought it was a pile of presents).

Finally, when we thought we might be dangerously close to dehydration due to profuse sweating, the people started dancing towards the front in what looked like the end of the service.  We watched from the back, enjoying the unreserved joy and elation of the moment.  I was taken by surprise when  another older lady came back, grabbed my arm and pulled me up the isle where everyone around me had their hands in the air, singing like crazy, dancing ecstatically.  Really, evangelical or not, there was no option but to dance along. J  They were filled with joy at this happy event.

The GORGEOUS bride

Who said the getaway car was only for the newlyweds?!

After lunch and a nap back home, Amy and I returned to the reception.  A big, dark storm had thundered in, but we all waited out the rain under the edges of the small mud huts and the tarps that had set up especially for the day.  After it cleared, we sat out in the muggy courtyard where they had set up HUGE loudspeakers, a stereo and a microphone.  More dancing, the emcee talking through every bit of it, including compliments for the bride and groom, encouraging things like, “He looks good.  He looks like Obama!”  We ended up missing the rest of it (and those inevitable intestines) as we bowed out early and headed home to make dinner.  I couldn’t help but PRAY that someday many of these people will dance and sing  and celebrate their freedom and forgiveness found in Christ! 

There is no short-cut to good village relations, and weddings and funerals seem to be the main route to get us there. We had another opportunity yesterday, as one of John’s church members passed away in the morning. Only 16 years old, she had died of elephantitis, a rather gruesome and painful disease that had affected her leg. She had been in for treatment, but the leg had burst open shortly before she died yesterday. Because she had been sick, they wanted to bury her right away. The hole was dug, her body buried before the afternoon was over. There were about 300 people at her funeral, and Pastor Pele (a pastor who preaches at the church we go to and the same who helped John get this church going) was able to give a clear salvation message to all of them. This was an incredible opportunity!

Dave and I came up to the house after 5, walked past the freshly dug grave with beautiful flowers arranged on top of it. We entered through the thorn bush fence and were greeted by four bibis (grandmas) sitting on the dirt. They seemed to be most of the funeral party who was left. We said our Pole’s (very sorry) to them, and they greeted with the customary, “Tumeshapoa”—“We have already cooled off (recovered).” This always takes me by surprise, but it is the culturally appropriate response after the body has been buried. We sat with the ladies and the grandfather of Joyce, the girl who had died, and just chatted with them. Joyce and her grandpa had been baptized about a month ago. Her grandpa was so sweet and had life and light in his eyes, even though he was obviously sad. After a time, two motorcycles came up the path with some women, one of whom was wailing loudly. When they arrived, she ran from one little mud room to another, as if searching for Joyce, who we found out was her biological daughter. She had come from Mwanza and hadn’t been able to make it in time for the funeral. It was painful to watch and listen to her as she wailed at the grave, then sat down in the courtyard opposite us, surrounded by others.

The death of young people is so common here. It sometimes seems like if it isn’t one thing--lack of clean water, poor hygiene, inadequate nutrition--, it’s another—poor medical care, lack of basic knowledge of disease, superstition and fear of the spirits. While we get used to hearing about it, we are always grieved to see the reality of another life taken so early. In Joyce’s case, we have reason to rejoice for her. As John said, “Imagine being a Christian for only three months and then getting to meet Jesus.” And for Grandpa, there is also HOPE.

We pray that Isaiah 9:2 would also be true of Kitongo, Tanzania:

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light, those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shined.”

May we be messengers of LIGHT and HOPE!