Prayer through words, song and dance.

le 10 octobre   Saturday, there was a reunion of Catholic students in the parish who are not students at our school. Together, they had talks, prayed, and discussed their faith. (I did not join as this was all in Kinyarwanda and instead did my laundry for a few hours!)

Afterwards was a mass, which I attended. Sr. Josephine and I set up an altar for mass in the gazebo in the center of the school, and the participants brought their chairs from the meeting. The sky was starting to look pretty ominous, and my growing wisdom of African weather told me it would be raining soon. Sure enough, just after Fr. Antoine had finished introductions and was starting the mass, a few raindrops started to fall. I ran quickly to the house and put my laundry inside to continue drying. Just after I returned, the rain picked up.

[This seems to be the pattern during rain season: in the early afternoon the sky will get grey, eventually start to sprinkle, and most likely there will soon be a total deluge with clapping thunder and whipping wind.]

As Fr. Antoine continued on with mass, those of us at the periphery of the gazebo had to move our chairs in a foot or so. The thunder and wind started, and though I couldn’t understand much more than “Imana” (God) and “Alleluia,” I could physically feel God’s presence. Just as Father lifted the Eucharist, there was a burst of thunder – was there ever a sign more clear? “I am here.” The choir from one of the schools led us all in song (I mouthed the words by following others), and we were all clapping and singing along. Many people, including Fr. Antoine! were dancing to the songs.

The harder the rain fell, the closer we all had to bunch together to stay dry. By the time we were to get up for Communion, it was challenging maneuvering around the chairs! To confuse things more, the tradition in Rwanda seems to be when you are ready, that’s when you get up to receive Communion. There’s no real order about it. At first this really confused me, but I find it peaceful in a way. No one is rushing you.

Whether this was the plan or not, after mass ended we all remained huddled under the gazebo, not eager to go out into the cascade of rainfall. A voice from the middle of the congregation started in with a song, and the choir and other beautiful Rwandan voices joined in. Soon, everybody was singing. After this song, the choir started in with a few more songs that everyone seemed to know. Spontaneity – something Rwanda is trying to teach me.

The altar was taken down and put away, and a few tables and chairs were set up in its place. The student president of the parish council ushered a few of us towards the front. The students had prepared a skit about the National Examinations that will be taking place in November. (One must pass this exam in order to pass on to the second half of primary, to enter into secondary school, and to receive a diploma and go on to university.) The woman next to me was doing her best to translate the play into French for me (as it was in Kinyarwanda!), but I still was only getting basic themes. I was merely enjoying the laughter of the group and sheer joy the students were having in performing the play. Were they ever good! I’m pretty sure there’s no Kinyarwanda word for “stage fright,” because I didn’t see any.

Afterwards, the tables were moved in front of those of us surrounding the stage, and some students brought out Fanta (both orange and lemon), Coke, and Sprite in glass bottles for everyone. Father led us in grace, and I started my Sprite while the students passed around some traditional Rwandan dishes – pastry with meat and something that looked much like a clam cake – sugar and flour, fried in oil. Then also salted peanuts were passed around (I didn’t recognize them at first because they were already shelled!).

I enjoyed the company of the two women on either side of me while we ate, each of whom is on the board of the Parish Council. They asked if you could find vibrant prayer groups like this in the US. Of course there are, but the number of active Catholics is far fewer. Besides, even when you do find one there would be less dancing and singing! The woman to my left told me that it had not always been this way. Before the war, there were a lot fewer active in their faith. I guess after living through such an atrocity you only have two choices – turn towards your faith and embrace the good in others or turn away from God and become bitter. How else do you go on?

When the meal was finished, one of the student leaders got up and started singing a song – it didn’t take people long to not only join in the song and start clapping but migrating to the open area where the altar and stage were and start dancing. Before I had a moment to think, one of the girls pulled me up to dance with them. I wish I had the right words to describe this dance! The classic Rwandan dance move is to put your arms out like a bird with your fingers turned up on the downbeat, and bending your forearms up (keeping a 90 degree angle in your shoulder and elbow), then stretch them out again – all while shuffle stepping side to side. But that’s not all! That’s only the default dance move!

Eventually the song finished, and everyone returned to their seats. One of the students addressed us for a minute or two (not that I could understand), and another song started up! A group of students rushed the stage and began to dance a more aggressive, energetic dance. Lots of jumping, lots of arm flailing, lots of – excitement! I was beckoned to dance again, and was both anxious and excited about joining them. The Rwandan people seem to be able to completely let go and just move as the music moves them! I had a blast, jumping, running in place (yes! a dance move here!) and LAUGHING. The students were tickled that this muzungu girl was joining in with them, and were laughing with and supporting me.

I feel this is another lesson Rwanda has to teach me – just let go. What do you have to be self-conscious for? Just DANCE, just SING, just be YOU. Express yourself. I’ve got a lot to learn in this category, especially when it comes to dance! I am generally only comfortable when I’m in a large group where no one can really see how you’re dancing, and generally at a dance or club where there is little light anyway. I wonder why that is that people get self-conscious dancing. Whatever the reasons may be, I’m hoping I’m able to shake the confinement of being a cautious dancer. Dream big, right?

After the dance party was finally over, Fr. Antoine led us in another prayer and we began to break down the fete and began our long goodbyes. I’m not sure what it is about being fair skinned that is so fascinating – just being different and being from a faraway place, but all of the students came up to greet me, hug me, take their photo with me. And I’d done nothing! This felt a little bit like false praise, as truly – besides singing, praying and dancing with them, I’d done nothing to deserve their admiration! Nonetheless, they were all extremely sweet. They enjoyed my attempts at Kinyarwanda, and did their best to show off their English. Along with greeting me, most introduced themselves by name. Let me tell you, I remember about FOUR. Besides introducing themselves in Kinya or French (already one or two degrees of separation from full comprehension), some of the accents were heavy, I heard so MANY names, and – besides one student who by some miracle was named Eric – all of the names were complex and long. Most of the names, sadly, went in one ear and out the other! We said our goodbyes, and the students all left. Sr. Josephine and I walked Fr. Antoine home (just next door) because he had a lot to carry and returned home. We were both in such good spirits from our day of prayer through song and dance.

I had learned and experienced a favorite Rwandan phrase – turi kumwe, “we are all together.”