Pray and Love (then Eat)

I climb the wooden stairs and enter the Church. It seems to be disentegrating before my eyes, as if I've time-traveled into the future to see the building in its ruin. But in contrast to most churches, this one never reached its deserved glory. Sometimes it feels like time has actually stopped here in Africa while Europe and the United States continued to develop. Yet  whenever I swat away a bee the size of my pinky, I am convinced that the insects, which are four times the size here, had an evolutionary advantage.

The sun directs its rays through the one stained glass window at the front of the building, as well as across the tops of the walls, which are the same dusty red that my shoes become on the two minute journey here. The architecture of the church is as simple as the block houses and triangular roofs I used to draw as a child, except that the roof floats above, supported by rafters that stretch across the entire structure. I pass wooden boards laid across the stone floor until I reach the half of the church that actually has benches; although they are worn and humble. Recently the church has been decorated with gigantic palms that are attached to pillars, and they bend invitingly toward the aisle . There is also a palm trellis accenting the altar up front and the small crucifix that hangs just a few rafters before it. The whiteness of Jesus's skin contrasts with that of the congregation.

The smell of  incense and sweat is pervasive.  Rainbows of color shimmer throughout the pews, as the congregation members sing, and clap and sway. I sneak into a pew with my host sister and her son just in time for the procession of Priests and altar boys to begin floating toward the altar. 

Their hymns are distinctly African:  throaty and solemn, yet somehow upbeat when paired with the rythyms of their hands. The beauty of  it nearly brought me to tears the first time, and each time after I still feel a powerful swell of gratitude to be here to experience this.

The mass itself is familiar yet foreign. They speak and sing in a mixture of Bafia and French, but having been raised Catholic, I still know when to make the sign of the cross, kneel, stand, sit, and offer the "Paix de Cris" (although to twice the amount of people since they all want to touch the white person).

The offering is the most stark difference. Whereas in the U.S. it is an unremarkable part of the service, here it is a celebration. The singing becomes louder, the sways of the womens' hips wider, and the clapping more forceful. The wails of an elder woman , who serves as the song leader of the choir, are projected repeatedly throughout the church. (I don't know how to describe it, except that she cries out the African female version of a "grita.") This is the climatic point of mass. Everyone looks excitedly toward the back, until finally, a family emerges, dressed in their best clothes and matching headwraps, and each carrying proudly whatever the family can afford: bags of rice, a sack of oranges, bundles of bananas, a carton of eggs,  a bottle of palm oil, even a live chicken held in the firm grasp of the father. The parade of food is given to the priest then passed backward, from the hands of altar boys to the hands of nuns, each one, continuing to pass it until it dissappears through a sidedoor at the front. Then they emerge with baskets, and in the same manner that they will later file into a line to recieve the body and blood of Christ, they give what they can one by one dropping their coins into a basket.

After communiion, and towards the end of the service, which can be as long as two or three hours, the congregation is hot and restless, shifting on the benches, fanning their faces, cradling their heads with their arms thrown over the pews in front of them. The ushers poke sleeping children and weary adults with large crosses that they hold like batons. Someone says loudly in French that they are tired.
Finally, we are released back into the daylight, spewing out the doors hand in hand or arm in arm, to where even the heat of the sun seems cool compared to the stuffiness that had consumed the Church.