Easter - “Kristo amefufuka”

It took almost an hour for the one thousand people to queue in two orderly lines to kneel in veneration at the crucifix; a crucifix featuring a life-size African Christ sculptured from teak on an ebony cross. We had been warned that the veneration of the Cross was so popular that people had been known to go up twice. No fear of that this time, as a burly man at the altar rails made sure no-one tarried; a genuflexion, a sign of the cross and “thank you very much”, that was your lot.

For the Vigil, the ebony cross had been replaced by a Makonde-carved stand for the Pascal candle and once the lights came on, the choir came to life with infectious singing and ululations. Handel’s Hallelulah Chorus with a Kiswahili text was the finale after communion after which the congregation burst into spontaneous applause and ululation. The Brothers led a celebratory dance outside with a brass band. All day long people have passed us with “Pasaka njema”, rarely have I witnessed such fervour. 

There are two images which will stay with me as memories of my time in church here. The first one is of children, perhaps about seventy of them altogether, all under nine years of age, crammed cross-legged on a raffia mat at the front of church. They sat silently for each and every service during Holy Week, only stirring to genuflect piously when told to do so by one nun or other. The other is from the Cathedral earlier this week; when the choir of children in Papal gold and white, shimmying round the church, led by young boys with spears, the centre-piece of the procession, being a woman, dancing slowly but rhythmically, down the aisle; on her head a wide bowl, in the bowl a young boy, holding aloft a huge Bible.

Ndanda this week-end has felt like a strange wazungo enclave, with European volunteers gathering there for the warmth of solid German hospitality. Twenty of us went for a curry yesterday lunch-time, at a scruffy guest house run by an Indian family. We wandered down the road amid families squatting on the roadside waiting for loved ones in hospital. The chasm between African and mzungo is gaping here; unavoidable as its starkness slaps you in the face every time a man or woman approaches and in the most matter-of-fact, yet desperate way, asks for money for food. With us were Dutch, Swiss and German families, each with young children. With child seats, big cars and all the same conversations about routines, afternoon naps and colouring books that young couples across Europe have about their children, it seems somehow strangely incongruous here.

One sad event earlier this morning, was the young woman who silently followed us up the hill as we climbed towards the lake for a swim. I asked her would she walk with us, but she wouldn’t talk. Caroline had been correct in her first wild guess, that she wanted to walk with us for safety, someone having been mugged on this road only a few days earlier.

In the short-term the memories of our time this time in Tanzania will be dominated by creepy-crawlies and the various species of animals that we’ve experienced up-close and personal for the first time. This week-end, we‘ve been bitten and eaten by unseen insects in our bed. We’ve searched, swept, cleaned and sprayed but each morning woken with itchy red weals on our bodies. Not a mosquito in sight, but whether they’re ants, fleas or midgies, they’re very small, very quiet and very hungry.

It’s hardly worth mentioning the small rather aggressive herd of cattle that squeezed down the path with us and the small goats butting each other were an entertaining distraction. As we waited for our sodas yesterday, we had to raise our voices to be heard over the sounds of the hen being killed; and the screams and screeches from next door last night made us hope that whatever animal was being attacked, its end would come quickly. Swimming this morning, I had to keep one eye out for the lizard, which although small and rather sweet from a distance, allegedly has been known to bite. On the way home, another lizard, which at first because of its size, we mistook for a crocodile, crossed our path. Caroline did not wait to check what sort of lizard; the frogs, giant spiders and centipedes had been distraction enough.