Pizza and Cigar

October 11^th: Sunday

Sunday morning my dad and I again attended Unity’s church. We arrived shortly after 10:00 because we had to go buy some petrol for the generator since there was a local blackout at the church. Upon arriving everyone is praying aloud and privately. Praying aloud is something that all Africans seem to do. It’s really cool when the entire church starts praying. Some people are loud and passionate, pacing back and forth, while others stand close to the walls and speak quietly.

Next the church begins to sing and dance. Generally we will sing a slow and a fast song. The songs are call and response and are beautiful. They are simple and repeat the same lyrics over and over again but the passion and ability of the singers is incredible. During the slow songs people just sway but during the fast ones they start dancing and that’s when I feel how white I am. They form into lines in the back, men and women. They all follow a leader but it is barely discernable between who is leading and who is following. Black Africans seem to have music in their blood. My dad put it a good way, he said that while music is important in both the west and Africa, African music is all about the participation.

After singing for at least an hour there will be announcements and then the choir will sing a song which they have prepared during the week. The choir ranges from little kids, 8 or 9 to Gladness and Lightness who are in their 20s. they put a small basket on a stool up front for offerings during this song. Then the Sunday school kids come up, about a dozen of them, and they say their memory verse for that week, then people will stand up and give testimonies or ask for prayer. We usually sing some more before Unity or whoever is preaching begins.

Unity can preach for over an hour. I can’t understand a word he says but he is a passionate and dynamic speaker. Then Unity will pray and lastly we will sing a song. As we sing we all file out of the church and create a “reception” line. We pass by and shake everyone’s hands in the church. The line loops around and on a full Sunday can almost meet itself again.

That night my dad and I had a celebration dinner. We ate at Indioitaliano’s. We both wore our team Kilimanjaro shirts. On the way over dad tried to take a picture of one of the fruit ladies stacking here oranges in little pyramids but she say him and stood up and started yelling and frothing at the mouth. Not really. Everyone on the street though was very unhappy with us though.

For dinner my dad and I both had pizza. I had some chicken and pineapple pizza and my dad had sausage (hot dog). Both where incredibly good. We both had a couple beers and spent hour just talking. I love that I can spend time with my dad as an equal. After trying their descent milkshakes we broke out one of the Cuban cigars I had bought upon my exit from Uganda. Since my dad was still feeling pretty low from altitude sickness we split it, which I guess to my dad means he has about a dozen puffs and then gives it all to me. Best cigar I have ever had. So smooth and delicious. A great end to a great adventure.