I know we are going somewhere. Beatrice said something about something in Gitarama, but I am not sure, if we are really going there. If not, we will go to church. Just to be sure, I get ready and dress nicely. Bernard comes, which tells me we are not just going to church. The three of us even eat some potatoes and sauce although we just had breakfast. Apparently, Beatrice is expecting it to be a long time before we get something else.
We are going to Gitarama. I am not sure where that is but it is in the same direction as Huye. One of the drivers at SNV, Felin, has a son who is becoming a priest today. I remember how some days ago at lunch, he had mentioned that (in Kinyarwanda, but it was translated for me). I checked it and Gitarama is a city in Muhanga district, in the Southern province, but not too far from Kigali. The venue for the ceremony is in a church, of course. It is a really tall, but beautiful church. Looking at this, you can indeed see that the Catholics here have a lot of money.
As Beatrice and I enter, the ceremony itself is already in process and the benches are full. We find a spot at the back, in the last row. The main body of the church, the nave, is long, but bright due to the windows at both sides. The high ceiling produces an impression of even more space. Pictures on the walls depict Jesus’ way of the Cross, but are not glooming or intimidating at all. The biggest picture is at the head of the hall, behind the altar. Cords with triangles made of cloth decorate the whole room. Beatrice and I stand beneath the balcony and look across the other attendants’ heads, trying to glimpse at what is going on at the front. I think the ceremony itself has already finished. A choir is singing, prayers are spoken and the newly appointed priest delivers a short speech. Of course, I don’t understand what he is saying, but the songs are nice to listen to. It takes a long time until everybody who wants to has received Communion. They only give bread, but no wine. Beatrice explains that they only give wine on few occasions, although they have a lot of money. The wafers are imported from Europe.
With a last song, the attendants file out of the church. We wait until most of them have left and then join the stream. Outside, just in front of the main gate between two big statues of Maria and Jesus, we are stopped by a crowd gathered there and participate in the general hand shaking. At least I know the father of today’s focal point, Felin, and he knows me, so I am not totally out of place.
From here, everyone walks to another long building. The door there is guarded by a man in a black suit and a congestion is created. I think they are not letting everybody in. I ask what is inside. ‘Oh, we are sharing drinks.’ Beatrice and I join the queue. She passes the guard. ‘I belong to her.’ I pass as well and we are inside. Another hall with benches facing a stage at the front, where the important men are taking their seats. It is not only sharing of drinks. More people give speeches. One man seems to be really funny, he is even telling jokes, as I am told. Suddenly, a door at the front opens and a group of young people enter, dressed in a traditional way. Some boys beat the drums, the whole group sings and girls with golden ribbons around their heads dance. This is repeated a couple of times during the event. The air is not very good in this room. There are too many people. It is hot, sticky, and the smell of sweat is everywhere. The small girl next to me smells like horses, I wonder why. She watches me for a while and then relaxes, putting her hand on my leg. Like in a wedding, the fresh priest cuts a cake. The two nuns have problems lighting all the candles on it and then the priest has problems to blow them out in one breath which leads to much laughter from the spectators. The atmosphere is much more relaxed than I expected for an event like this. Felin’s wife, the mother of the young priest and a group of women perform a dance for him like the group before them. They then present presents to him and some of the others seated on the stage. I am quite sure these gifts have meanings, as the other spectators laugh when they see it. Unfortunately, I don’t get the jokes. Now, other friends and family members and church members give presents. I see that some are posters with pictures of Jesus. When the long queue finally comes to an end, drinks are served as well as food. However, they probably didn’t expect that many people, because there is not enough food. It is finished two rows before they reach Beatrice and me. After some time, they begin to bring food on plates. It is not possible to let some people go without food. Then, from somewhere, they bring more of these aluminium boxes. An old man in the row in front of us makes sure that I get my share. Actually, I suspect that many come for the food. Especially some of the children. Not those who come with their parents, dressed in shiny dresses and little suits, but those in the dusty clothes with faded colours, for example the girls next to me. When lunch has finished, I see how they look out for the leftovers in the boxes laying everywhere on the ground now. This is something I don’t understand. Everyone just throws their rubbish on the ground. Whatever it is, it is just dropped. Now, the ground is covered by these aluminium boxes, some not completely empty, the paper covers of the straws, some empty bottles that have not been collected yet and the plastic forks. A boy standing next to us hurriedly scratches the last bits of rice off a plate. At first, he uses the fork, but a woman collecting the plates takes the fork away and he then uses his hand. The woman waits for him to finish. The room is more empty now, since food has been served, but the event is not finished. The women’s group dances again and this time some of the men on stage join them, even the old granddad of the young priest. Beatrice and I go outside. The difference in the air is palpable and we wait there until more and more leave the building. When the event is officially over, a big photo shooting with the young priest starts. Everyone wants a picture with him. We even take a SNV-picture where there want me to join as well. ‘Hi.’ I realise only with an embarrassing delay, that the young priest is greeting me. His eyes are red and he looks a bit tired. Another picture and another one - and one more - and one more. Eventually, everyone is satisfied and the group disperses.
A smaller group will now go to Felin’s house. Beatrice and I follow with Bernard and the car. The house is simple but rather big, with many rooms as far as I can see. We sit down in the living room. Pictures of Jesus and Maria line the wall and one of the young guys turns on a small TV in a corner. More and more guests arrive until there is no space left. They talk and laugh. Apparently, somebody requested a lot of cows for me. I don’t understand what they are saying, but join the laughing. I shake hands and repeat the Kinyarwanda words Beatrice tells me as the answer to what they are saying. There is a young guy who speaks English and helps me as well. He studies in India and we have a conversation, but Beatrice does not want to stay long as it is getting late. We finish our drinks and then say goodbye. When I shake the old granddad’s hand, he wishes me a good journey and asks if I will come back. At least that is what the young guy translates for me. I am fascinated by this old man. Usually, when I see an old black man with white hair and wrinkled skin, they immediately strike me as wise. This one makes an especially strong impression to me. He is wearing a hat and a cloth above his shirt like a toga and supports himself with a walking stick. It must be a proud day for him. Felin accompanies us outside. The courtyard we cross is occupied by another dancing group and spectators. I didn’t hear them inside, but obviously, the party is still continuing. Not for us, though. It is time to go home.
