premiere dimanche

Le 2 octobre Today has been a wonderful day so far, and it even started out on a positive note – I slept in. when the “bruits de matin” (as I’ve been calling the roosters and dogs) started at 5, I promptly put on my ipod to the playlist I’d created for Fan Nights, properly named “music to block out the fan.” [Foo, you prepared me well for the future. : ) ] I was able to sleep for another 75 minutes, until 6h15. It does feel nice to be a morning person for once, and I know that I will be forced to be for at least another 8 months. Unless we buy a rooster at home, though, I highly doubt this trend will stick. At five of 10h, Joseline and I headed to mass at the parish just up the road. There were people streaming through the pathways outlined in shrubberies into this beautiful church of brick and aluminum and stained glass. The music had already started when we entered and I thought of how each time we are running late for mass at home and dad quotes Gram: “Start singin’, the priest is on the alter!” And I laughed. The inside of the church is pretty large – about the size of St. Greg’s without the side sections – with very high ceilings and lots of windows. There is an aisle down the middle, and one in the center running from one side to the other, with open doors at either side as well as at the back. There are many comparisons one may find when putting this parish in Gisenyi, Rwanda against St. Greg’s in Warwick, Rhode Island. - There is no dancing during mass at St. Greg’s. Here, young girls wearing white robes, yellow collars and yellow headbands perform traditional Rwandan dance in the aisles and on the altar. - If you bring a child or baby to St. Greg’s, you will most likely sit in the cry room, or at least if your child walks out the side door of the church to be with the other children you would promptly force him to return to his seat. There’s a lot of freedom here. - Mass is MUCH shorter at St. Greg’s. Today, the mass was apparently “bref” at two hours. This is probably why parents understand if their children need to walk around. The Rwandan people make an event out of everything – even their weekly mass – and it’s a beautiful thing. - At home mass is in English. I can understand mass in English. I can even understand mass in French and follow it in Latin (thank you, Carole Ann), but not in Kinyarwanda. It was almost a relief to know that I wasn’t responsible for LISTENING to the whole mass, but merely paying attention and observing the activity going on with the children. (A lot of them would smile at me while walking by me, because I’m “muzungu.”) After mass, we went outside and I was introduced to many people in the community. I used one of my few Kinyarwanda terms to greet them – mwiriwe – a morning greeting. I received more than a fair share of hugs from beautiful little children with big brown eyes. One little girl (about 2 years old and gorgeous) wanted to show us her new home. We walked her (with her mother, of course) through the little streets of her neighborhood to her home. This was my first time seeing one of the local neighborhoods, and I had flashbacks to Jamaica. I knew that I was coming to Africa, to a poor area, but seeing such places in person is a reality check. I’ve been noticing that many people wear clothes that are worn, torn, or don’t fit quite right but I’m from Rhode Island, where someone who isn’t as well off merely has more college loans or gets hand-me-downs from an older sibling, I can’t fathom such poverty. “Not having money” to many in Rhode Island means not eating out very much or buying generic instead of name-brand groceries. As we entered this young family’s home, we entered into a small room, even smaller than my room at home, with four very tiny rooms surrounding it. There were two chairs and a couch – only the wooden frames, no cushions, and a wooden coffee table. A few posters were on the wall, one being religious in English. They ushered us in and asked us to sit. We were introduced to the rest of the family – the girl’s older brothers and father – all who were unbelievably kind. They have nothing, yet they are incredibly faithful, kind and loving. We only were in the house for three minutes, but being there really made me realize where I am. I’ve been lucky enough to grow up with a comfortable home and great education, including a college degree. I’ve seen more of the world than these children will ever hope to see, if they ever leave Gisenyi. I can drink the water from the tap at home and buy food from the market whenever I think I need something. After leaving our service trip in Jamaica, though we were only there for eight or nine days, I was unable to go to the mall for about five months and that was only to buy a dress for Graduation. (Ironically, it rained that day and I couldn’t even wear it.) Going home after eight months here should be interesting.