So, there’s something about being on a different continent, in a different country, possibly out of your comfort zone that makes you go crazy and try things that you either never have in the states or that you would never be able to back home. For instance, I decided to buzz my head the day before I left for East Africa – anyone who knows me, knows that my hair has never been shorter than like 3 inches - it is now a 2 guard on a trimmer and on my flights in the US I had multiple people thank me for my service to our country…I was so caught off guard, I couldn’t even say anything. I also had my first peanut butter and jelly sandwich the first day I was in Shirati. Now my close friends and family know that as crazy and “un-American” as this sounds, it is true; I have never had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, just something about the combination and resulting texture has pushed me away. Anyways, when the only options for lunch are bread, butter, red-plum jelly, peanut butter and banana, I figured I’d try it…I believe I was correct in my past 23 years of assumptions, but I can now say I’ve at least had one.
(Disclaimer: I apologize for the long post, but this was just too wonderful, exciting, and descriptive to not include all for my friends) So, on to my big experience. James and I decided to attend Sunday church services at the Mennonite church across the road. We were told it started at 7:30am, so forgetting that we were in fact in Africa, we showed up on time…us and 6 other people: the minister and assistant, sound guy, and 3 children (probably their own). By 8:30 the church was filled, people cramming onto the benches that should fit about 8 comfortably but easily had 10. There had to have been 700-800 people in the L-shaped church. In front of us was the stage on which stood the offering chests, minister, his assistants, backed by a large silky white and pink drape. The tables were covered with sheets of turquoise and lavender…it reminded me of either an Easter service, Foxfields at UVA, or a day on Nantucket with the Kennedys. The service was similar to one in the states (I figure, as I have never been to a Mennonite church in the states or in fact to many other church services besides Friday night services at Temple, which are obviously very different), but one difference: dancing! They call their dancing troupes “the choir,” as these groups not only dance but sing with pre-recorded background music coming from the electronic keyboard. The dancing was amazing, I was in heaven, and taking down in my head every move they made. The first dances were by a group of 12 young girls, who did the dance as if it were like riding a bike and it was just another thing they had to do to make their parents happy. The next was what I considered the real choir as it was older congregants standing in a semi-circle singing and then moving into a few different formations. My new friend, William Jones, who sat next to me and explained most of what was going on, was included in this choir. And then came the older troupe: 8 men, 8 women, lined up in 4 columns of 4, women doing a simple but flowing dance and the men doing an intense step-show-esque routine. It was a great combination, and I felt that I was watching the Tanzanian version of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (correction: Eight Brides for Eight Brothers).
After all the dancing and singing and preaching, they brought the offering chests to the front of each section, and one by one we proceeded by the boxes, James and I dropping 500Tsh ($.33) into the slot for visitors (which nicely was not labeled as “mzungu” but something with a much more welcoming connotation. When we thought the hour and a half long service was concluding, a man in a very nice brown suit walked up to the front, waving a cassette tape, explained something, and then started shouting “mia tano, mia tano”! Luckily William was next to us, and he explained that this was the monthly fundraiser, and from what I could tell at first it seemed like a live auction….I guess you could call it a live auction, but like none that I’ve ever seen. People would hold up a 500 Tsh bill and after the collector had put the money in the basket, the donor received the tape. Only problem, as soon as someone else gave mia tano the tape was taken from the initial donor and given to the new. Some wouldn’t even get to hold the tape, but only touch it before the next person paid mia tano and stole it away. This went on for…an HOUR. Towards the end there were finally two people that were going back and forth, mia tano, mia tano, mia tano, and our side found ourselves chanting for the women near us, Mama Ogiri. People on our side of the church were even giving money for Mama Ogiri to win it, which finally she did. There is no rhyme or reason for the time when the fundraiser ended, as if the auction caller just up and decided he had gotten enough money. In the end (30 minutes after the fundraiser ended and they had also had people come up and make pledges), the church raised about 200,000 Tsh (approx. $135). Four hours later, James and I had had the experience of a lifetime, but more importantly had not eaten breakfast, and so ran home for what would now be brunch as soon as the final benediction had been given. I look forward to going back for the dancing, but plan on avoiding fundraising Sundays.
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