What. An. Experience.
So, on Sunday I arranged to go to a town outside of Kampala called Mpererwe with Daniel (our Dinka Rek translator on the radio program) to attend his Sudanese church service. I had been eager to go to a Sudanese church here in Kampala, and the small church in Mpererwe did not disappoint!
I was greeted warmly by all of the beautiful Dinka men and women, and in usual form, I introduced myself to the congregation and explained why and for how long I am in Kampala. Also in usual form, they were thrilled to have a visitor to their church, and I was welcomed with many smiles and claps. I sat with a woman called Rebekka during the service, and she graciously allowed me to look at her hymnal book…but it was all in Dinka, so look was all that I did!
During the service, a little girl came and sat by me, and she was quite enthralled by a khawaja right there in her church. She played a little game that I’m going to call, Touch the Khawaja. While Daniel was preaching, I could see the little girl raise a pointed finger up to my arm. She quickly touched me, and then pulled her hand back. A few minutes later, she held all of her fingertips up to my arm. I could feel her light touch as her fingers whisped over my skin. I looked down and smiled. She looked up and smiled. Minutes later, again I saw her raise her hand, only this time she laid her entire palm flat on my arm. Then she rubbed my arm. I pretended not to notice so that she could get the entire feel that she wanted, but when she removed her hand, I reached down and rubbed her arm with a smile. It was only fair! =) She was absolutely precious, and since I couldn’t understand the sermon and she was too young to listen, we entertained one another.
When the service was over, Daniel asked me to say the closing prayer, which was a tremendous honor (though I’m not very good at public prayer). I lifted up the whole of Sudan and the people who are soon to be celebrating independence. I stood outside and talked with many of the congregration members after the service, and I also heard a man called Andrew’s entire story of fleeing from Sudan and living in Kakuma Refugee Camp in Kenya. It’s one thing to read memoirs and autobiographies about the atrocities, but to be standing face-to-face with someone who has witnessed such horrors is just overwhelming. I choked back tears, but I mourned his loss of innocence and childhood internally.
Two things really struck me, aside from the beautiful Dinka hymns, which never fail to move me deeply. First, a man thanked me for the stand that my American government has taken on the issues in Sudan. I was speechless, because I feel that my government has not done nearly enough and I am quite disappointed. I replied with, “Well, there are many, many people in America who are praying hard for Sudan.” What else could I say? Second, while Andrew was telling me his story, he told me about being part of the Red Army (child soldiers), and that the misconception is that the young boys were forced into the army…he said that they wanted to have the guns so that they could be the ones shooting. He was just a boy. Is this the world in which we live?
Now, I must back up a little and explain how we got out to Mpererwe: public transportation!
Daniel came to “collect” me just after noon, and we walked up Nyangweso and Kironde out to Tank Hill Road, where we caught a matatu (taxi van). We road that all the way downtown to the taxi park. I will not do this justice…only experiencing it can do that…but I will try to paint you a picture. Imagine that you have just attended a concert and the concert has ended. You are walking out to your car along with thousands and thousands of other concert-goers. People are streaming everywhere, traffic is jammed, and chaos ensues. Well, now imagine that in an African setting (minus the whole concert thing)…people everywhere, vendors selling everything imaginable, hundreds of taxies jammed into a “park” like sardines, no flow of traffic, no order to the madness, and little signs on taxi windshields displaying the area to which they will be travelling. You simply wander around the park and look for the taxi that you need. Luckily, Daniel knew where he was going, so I only had to dodge the vendors and follow him.
Once we reached Mpererwe, we had to take boda bodas out to the church. I had taken a boda boda prior to this, but this day I was in a skirt, so I had to sit “ladies-style,” which is sideways on the back of the motorcycle. Yikes! We drove down these washed-out dirt roads for several minutes and finally came to rest in front of a quaint Episcopal church. The entire time I had a death grip on the rear bar…I did NOT want to fall off into a mud puddle!
Following the service, a man called Cap (pronounced Shap) drove Daniel and I back downtown to very near the taxi park. However, it had begun to rain. Lovely. So, I throw my scarf over my head and begin traipsing through the city streets to find Cooper Taxi Park. It was one of those moments when I wondered why I am here and what I am doing. I was walking as quickly as I could while trying to dodge puddles and avoid being splashed by passing traffic, ignoring lewd calls from men alongside the streets, trying to avoid bumping into the crowds of people, and all the time trying to keep my giant ebony friend in my sights. Oh, and I was the only white person around.
Once Daniel found the taxi that would take me to Muyenga, he got me safely onboard, I thanked him for a wonderful afternoon, and he started to leave. He, obviously worried at my inexperience on a taxi here, came back to the taxi and made sure that I knew where to get off. I assured him that I knew where I was going, so he finally went to hunt for his Bunga taxi.
I arrived home safe and sound only 20 minutes later, and not more than 15 minutes after that, Daniel called just to make sure that I had arrived. Love it!
It was such a fantastic day, and Daniel has invited me to go to another Sudanese church somewhere else outside of town this coming Sunday. I truly can’t wait!!
