On our way we picked up our members—none of them called or
arranged for us to pick them up, but as we recognized their faces along the way
they got “loaded in” with their big bulky black bags and umbrellas with long
steely points that nearly pierced the inner roof of our Nissan Hardbody. The
pastor complains that the body is not so hard with the wear and tear of
transporting sturdy ladies with little toddlers and lots of baggage.
Our ladies (including me) looked like busy ants in our black uniforms as we trailed behind the pastor
around the black cooking pots on the hills, singing “Singabahamba
Yothina - We walk on this earth but we are going to heaven”.
After the service the younger girls brought us a plastic
container and tin teapot with hot water to wash our hands- a very graceful
gesture before they served us with plates full of samp and beans (ngqushu), with
a thin gravy and chicken. Two girls came with cups, saucers, a plastic
container filled with sugar and a mug with tablespoons and on a tray. (You take
your cup and saucer and the girl with the big teapot pours steaming milky tea
in your cup. The dessert spoon is used to scoop and stir heaps of sugar in big
swirls. The spilled tea is then sipped from the saucer while you wait for your
tea to cool down. A third girl brings you a plate with a thick slice of
homemade bread). I declined the bread as every nook of my insides was filled.
As we prepared to leave I got a bit worried as nearly half
of the congregation needed a lift. I thought my spleen would burst when Laura plonked
on my lap as there was not enough space for her except for the gaps between me,
my full stomach and the dashboard.
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