Spring Visitors and Palm Sunday

My weekend guests entertain the local kids.

As I found out at the end of February (when the country director came to visit my site) it is fun to host visitors, even if just for the day. So this past weekend was even more exciting because several volunteers came to visit for the four-day weekend! March 21^st is Human Right’s Day, a national holiday in South Africa and a day off from school, and since it was on a Thursday, we were given Friday off as well. It seemed like the perfect time to get together with friends who live both near and far, and best of all, I didn’t have to do any of the traveling, just the hosting.

The two volunteers who were coming in from Northern KZN made great time (traveling by taxi on holidays is actually the easiest time to travel), and I and three other volunteers in my area were able to meet them in town by late afternoon. We shopped for groceries and the like and then headed to my site for a few days of catching up and sharing stories of our service. The two most surprising things about the visit (and the reason I mention it at all) were that my host family was far more excited than I was to have people visit and my visitors were far more excited that I have ever been about not having electricity.

Out and about visiting the area.

I’m not sure if the volunteer before me had guests on a regular basis, but at this point, I really have not. Mostly because I don’t like messy people coming over and cluttering up my house (and PCVs seriously seem to be the messiest people in the world.) But when I asked my host family if it was okay to have visitors for a couple of nights, they were more than happy to hear the news. They brought out tons of extra blankets and kept offering me pots and pans and dishes and glasses to use while my friends were here. The blankets were definitely a plus, but everything else I pretty much had covered, so I told them not to worry and I continued to reassure them that if we needed something, I wouldn’t hesitate to ask. The first evening, the six of us spent time playing outside with the neighborhood kids and when it got too dark, we moved inside to play cards for a little while before they headed home and we made dinner. The next day, we walked / taxied to visit another volunteers site, so that our guests could see as much of the area as possible. It was interesting to hear their perspective on how different this area of the country was from theirs. Not long after we returned from the day’s travels, my host sister knocked on my door and asked to speak to me. Before she said anything else, I completely panicked and wondered what we could have done in the last twenty-four hours that would have been offense. Turns out that my host family was hoping that we would all come over to their house that evening and that one of the volunteers would bring the guitar I have and play for them. No problem there, as long as I was not the one expected to be playing the guitar. After a fun-filled few days, everyone left on Saturday morning (unfortunately, with not as much luck traveling home) and it was back to just me. Thankfully, the mess that was left behind was minimal, so I guess I’ll give hosting a try again soon.

Palm Sunday tradition: A boy rides a donkey to church.

Then, yesterday morning, I surprised my family again by announcing that, if possible, I would like to accompany them to church, since it was Palm Sunday. I’m pretty sure that they considered this a miracle unto itself. (I have most definitely never shown the slightest interest in church since my arrival.) They said that it was not problem and that they were sure that everyone at the church would be extremely excited to see me there. I sort of figured that, but I requested that we still try to make my attendance as low-key as possible. My host sister said it shouldn’t be a problem and that I could just sit in the back, and if I got bored, I was welcome to go home. On a normal Sunday, the Zion church service that they attend lasts approximately three hours, so on Palm Sunday I couldn’t even imagine how long things would go. Getting bored was nearly guaranteed, but I told my host sister that I was sure I would not want to leave.

The procession on the way to the church.

The church is in another part of the village and about a twenty-minute walk away. But since it was Palm Sunday, we started by meeting the rest of the congregation on side of the road and then walking (and singing and drumming) to the church together led by a boy on a donkey. When I arrived at the meeting point with my family, there was a LOT of handshaking and smiles from the gogos (grannies) in the village who were pleased to see that I was joining them for the service. My host my mom was clearly very proud of the fact that I was there that day. The actual church is a small, one-room building with benches along the perimeter and a raised platform with an altar table at the front for the three service leaders. There was quite a bit more greeting and handshaking as I made my way to the door of the church, and when the priest (or whatever the leader is called) saw me enter, a chair was found, put in the front, and I was led to sit in it – for the entire three-hour service. The very definition of low-key.

The one room church on the other side of the village.

The church leaders prepare at the altar before the mass.

A view of the congregation from the front altar.

Most of the actual service was a blur. Lots of Zulu, obviously, although occasionally one of the leaders would look at me and say something in English. For that reason alone, I tried my best not to fall asleep; a major challenge in the rather warm room! There was a reading from the bible followed by comments from church leaders and church elders. Comments is not really the right word – more like extreme praising of the Lord – none of which I could not understand, but I nodded my head and said “amen” as often as possible. Lots of standing, sitting, standing, sitting, like Catholic mass. Approximately a thousand songs were sung, a few of which I knew from morning assembly at school. Several times different groups of kids danced in circles or waved large sticks at each other – I had no idea what that was about. A very long time was taken for the “money collection” part of the service. From what I could gather, if you were going to make a donation, you came up to the front and made a very long speech about what a sacrifice you were making and thanked many people and then put your donation (normally R2 about US$0.20) in the basket. I was asked to say a few words, so I tried to thank everyone and say how happy I was to be welcomed to the church on such an important day. But really, I don’t know if anyone understood my broken Zulu or not. When I finished, something was done with tall, leafy stalks that definitely represented the “palms” part of Palm Sunday. By something, I mean a little water was sprinkled on them as they appeared to be blessed and distributed. And then everything just ended. No closing song, no procession out the back door, just finished. Surprise, you get to go home now! Oh, did I mention that everyone left their shoes outside the door and we were all barefoot the whole service? There was that, too.

Overall, an incredible experience. Not one that I plan to repeat any time soon, but I’m very glad I went, and I’m certain that I’ll give it another go again before I leave.