Churching it

I accompanied Sande to church this morning.  I was ready at 8:30, since he told me the service was at 9, but I wasn’t surprised that he called me at 8:45 and showed up at about 9.  So we arrived around 9:30 (which, according to African-time, was just about right).  This was the first time I have really gone off the main road in Nyamata.  The church, Anglican, I'm told, was a rectangular building made of orange-colored local bricks, with unprocessed wooden beams and a tin roof.  The pews were sparsely-backed and wooden.  The floor was dirt, and a single electrical wire reached in through the window.  From it was plugged a single socket with one compact fluorescent bulb as well as a keyboard, an amplifier, and a microphone.  Sande later told me they are still in the process of construction. 

People sat to the left and right of the altar table as well as in front.  A 9-year-old boy from the front row wearing rubber sandals led us in praise songs, to which we swayed gently and clapped.  There were women in traditional dress, colorful printed cloths done up into full-length dresses with embroidered necklines and artful head wraps.  There were men in ties, little girls in satiny purple Sunday-best dresses, and kids in grubby tee-shirts.  The pastor began to speak, and after a bit Sande told me that he had welcomed new comers and asked us to stand.  I was one of three.  I stammered something in partial Kinyarwanda, “Nitwa Kate.  Murakoze cyane for welcoming me.  I come from the United States.  I am a teacher at the Maranyundo Girls’ School with Sande.”  Before long, we were singing again, and I was wishing I knew Kinyarwanda and that they had printed lyrics so I could join in.  I was able to more or less follow the readings, and then a visiting preacher was invited for the sermon.  He talked for seventy-five minutes.  I nearly died.  I walked outside to stretch (I was seriously falling asleep) and two hours had passed since the service began.  A group of children lined up in front of me and stared at me.  I shook their hands, said hello, and asked their names, and then we ran out of shared language.  Sande and I left early, after the offertory.  It was 12:30...gah.