Cruising churches

Then, over a spoonful of ‘Jasmine’s Jewels’ sundae, I ask Hayley if she plays the guitar. She says she does but when I ask her if she could teach me my fears are confirmed: there aren’t many spare guitars going around....I wish I’d brought mine after all! I learn that she is also a great singer and composes her own songs. She says she’ll be singing a solo at church tomorrow and asks me if I’d like to come along. “Sure” I say, and figure it’ll make a more interesting Sunday than last! So there I am at 9am on Sunday. Hayley is already by the altar behind the piano keyboard so I sit besides Jane, the Pilates teacher and a friend of Hayley’s. I notice a huge white screen above the pulpit. After an enthusiastic American preacher begins the ceremony I do not lie when I say that the first thing he asked was for the new comers to stand up and introduce themselves out loud. Oh MY God. He looks directly at me. I look at Jane next to me and try to convey a look that says something along the lines of ‘there’s no way’... Luckily I’m saved by a Canadian middle aged couple who bounce up to introduce themselves. “Wonderful” the preacher says, “Anyone else?”. Jane gives me a reassuring look and whispers that I don’t have to if I don’t want to. So I just sit there and stare blankly at the altar waiting for this awkward moment to pass. I don’t feel too intimidated as everyone seems friendly. Instead of using prayer or hymn books, the service is projected as a power point presentation. That’s 21st century church updates for you. Not an entirely bad idea were it not for a confused old lady in charge of changing the slides, methodically getting her arrows mixed up! Hayley’s voice is beautiful. She reaches ethereal notes with ease and plays really nice songs. Then the moment of truth comes: prayer time. This part of the service is to be conducted by another person, a tall Tanzanian woman probably in her late 70s. She walks up the red carpeted aisle using a walking stick, reminiscent of Willy Wonka emerging from his secret chocolate factory for the first time. When she reaches the altar she turns to face the audience. She looks at her walking stick as if it’s getting in her way and she throws it to one side. She can stand perfectly without it! Then she raises her hands and says, “Please don’t be shy. This is a time for reflection and I want you all to call out to God from the bottom of your heart. You can raise your hands you can sing. Don’t be shy. This young lady here [pointing at Hayley] is going to play some soft music for us now and I want you all to stand and praise the Lord”. Hayley slowly starts playing three notes in different order, it sounds like background music in a moving film. Then everyone starts whispering their prayers, some louder than others and the prayer master says a prayer out loud. The atmosphere is electric; I feel a wave of goose bumps spreading up my spine. For a moment it feels like the whole world is secretly connecting through prayer and I can’t say that’s a bad feeling.

A week later I find myself in a different church congregation altogether. I am sitting amongst 4000 people in an open air mass service. It is the annual Holy Communion ceremony and the five catholic parishes have joined forces to give the sacrament to over 300 children. The girls wear an ice white dress and although they are mostly under 13 years old, they are well made up, many of them wearing stilettos or a tiara. The boys wear a white shirt and dark trousers, again some of them wear a tie others a brightly coloured bow tie. There are nuns and brothers from at least a dozen orders, all wearing different shaded habits and uniforms. Then there are the magnificently dressed parents and relatives looking out for their child on the podium. A different Tanzania to what I see in the villages. By my sides are Erin and Claire, two bubbly friends I’ve made over the past few days. They are voluntary teachers in a Jesuit school and will be returning to the UK in a month’s time. We are lucky to have a seat let alone a good view of the choir. The words they sing all have matching moves making for a dynamic spectacle. It’s hard to keep still when you hear them and I soon join in with the clapping, partly to keep warm under the shade, partly to stay awake during this 4 hour service! Large incense pots are carried on peoples’ heads and at collection time some people give food or live chickens as their contribution. Perhaps this is not the best way to get over a mild hang over (after a goat barbecue party last night) but mum's image appears and somehow her approving smile makes me smile too. At the end of the service the children all receive multichromatic flower necklaces and as we make our way out many come up to ask if we will pose in their family photos. It’s strange to feel this popular...