Bukedea

I wanted to write about my Saturday experience... it was one of the toughest days for me culturally. A vehicle was supposed to leave a 9 am, but of course, Sarah (my team-mate) and I didn't leave with our friends until after 10 am. We traveled in a very rickety pick-up truck and by the time we got to Bukedea an hour later the exhaust was smoking terribly. We knew we had found our destination path into the bush when we saw some fresh flowers tied to a post.
Sarah and I thought we were going to the village to fellowship with the family of our dear friends, but we ended up being invited to a Thanksgiving service for a Pentecostal church. We walked into this gorgeous grass thatched village church, where the roof extends all the way down to three feet from the ground. You have to bend your body to step into the side door.
Flowers were strung across the church; old cassette tape tape was used to tie the flowers up. Posters were hung everywhere - Saying "Welcome Keren", "Welcome Sarah". We had no idea what to expect. Then we had to sit at the "high table" in front of the church. The congregation would sing a song, somewhat unenthusiastically, then the MC would say "Hallelujah" on increasing scales of loudness, until the whole crowd was excited. Then he would say "1, 2, 3" and clap to draw us all back together and then we would sing the song again. Sarah and I hated being stared at the whole time and the woman would do their high pitched trilling whenever people mentioned that they were excited that the mzungus had come to join them in their service.
Part way through the four hour service I had to make a short call, or go susu (is anybody catching on that my bladder was full?) so my friend led me through the small village to find the designated spot. I should have gone off exploring in the bush on my own, because I was led to a pile of rocks beside a very active hut. This pile was supposed to be surrounded by burlap sacks and papyrus reeds, but there were many worn out holes in the design. Of course, a person's gotta do what a person's gotta do, so I was soon walking back to the church, feeling much better, except that my heart was starting to pound.
At the end of the service, the group wanted to offer a thanksgiving basket to the visitors, with bananas and fresh vegetables. Our friend decided to auction them off in what he called American style auctioning. He went on forever, but not in a style that I am used to. The basket didn't go the highest bidder, but to the person who brought up the last coin. Finally a pregnant lady bought it for 100 shillings and then she still walked up to the front and placed the basket in front of Sarah and me. But the church had just had an offering of over 10,000 shillings. (Close to $6). I ended up giving the pregnant woman a bag of baby clothes in exchange for the produce and she was so excited.
At the end of the day, we still ended up going to our friend's homestead to pick up g-nuts (peanuts) and eggs. Then off to another farm to eat lunch (but it's 4:30pm). We didn't fellowship with any of the locals. They washed our hands by carrying a pitcher of water and pouring it over our hands into a bucket. And then they served the food and left the room. I have always found that style of hosting rather strange, but it is very typical here.
I was happy to be home around 6pm. Taking painkillers for a nauseous headache and ready to relax for the night.