Clean up on aisle 1 at the Jesus Saves Supermarket

My first sunday here I attended a church service at the Calvery Chapel, only because it was sort of an obligation. (Mom- I know you are jumping up and down with joy at this admittance.) It's the first time I have attended a service in maybe a good decade. But I was quickly reminded why I took such a long sabbatical. I think I woke up an hour later when pastor Brian, a young white guy probably from someplace like Kentucky, was warning his congregation about the impeding threat the mormons have on Ugandan souls if their lies aren't combatted.

When I stepped out of the chapel I yawned. And then I yawned again. I did get a satisfaction in seeing Ugandans come together in a organized fashion for the service. Finally, some organization. Something was accomplished. Why can't that same energy be focused on other things, say, street sanitation or medical care?

Uganda is developed when it comes to faith. When the first missionaries came into Uganda in 1875, the Kingdom of Buganda and their beliefs in a benign creator made it easy for Christianity to carve its territory. Uganda was the first country to declare itself a Christian nation at the turn of the 19th century.

Today, Jesus is everywhere. Literally. Even the stores and markets share his name. The "Jesus Saves Supermarket", "God is Great Minibus", "God is Able Household Items"(even though they weren't able to provide me any one of the items I needed) . If Jesus is not on storefront awnings or signs then Jesus is on the tip of everyones' tongue. I have been interrogated on many occasions and usually it takes me by surprise. "Are you born again?" strangers ask me. Sometimes I pretend I didn't hear the question or avoid it by getting distracted by something visually interesting in the distance. I'd do anything to bypass that question and the slew of others that are to follow no matter if my answer is yes or no.

The vigorous faith of people here perplexes me so much that I decided to attend another service. This time at a different place, next to the Kijaansi children's center. Nothing but locals there. It's a tiny open brick chapel with nothing but dirt floors and wooden benches for seating, but I would advise caution on seating the benches tend to collapse. The chapel was filled with mainly children and the service was spoken completely in Lugandan. So...I didn't understand a word. Three young women stood and walked to the front and began to sing. Everyone joined in. A man on large drums kept the beat. One older girl, who I will call Beth because it will drive me crazy to keep calling her older girl, began to sing a solo.

The song was long, like close to an hour long. But the children in the front rows danced in place and turned and laughed at me, the silly white girl trying to sing in Lugandan. A girl crawled on her stomach into the chapel, like I said the chapel is open and has no doors, her legs were swollen and she was unable to walk. She propelled herself forward using her hands and pulled herself onto a bench and joined in the song, not missing a beat.

The shouts and claps grew louder. "Higher, higher," were the only english words I could decipher. Beth, the soloist, dropped to her knees on the dirt floor and closed her eyes while singing. Clap, Clap. "Higher, Higher". The room was shaking with voices. Beth then stopped singing and abruptly turned away from us. She put her face to the brick wall, hiding it, too overcome with emotion. One of the other singers stepped in for her. The drum beats softened and our voices went into a decresendo and then silence.

Beth has severe untreated asthma and had been hospitalized three times for near-fatal attacks. And here she was, she had sung joyfully at the top of her lungs for over an hour. I looked down at my hands they were throbbing and red from the clapping. But the pain was nice. It reminded me that I had my hands and that they work. I was thankful right then. And I think Beth was too. Then at that moment, a toddler on the first row, barely old enough to walk, stumbled over to Beth and patted the dirt off Beth's knees. It was a very strange gesture for someone so young. Beth, turned back around, wiped her tears, grabbed the little one's hand and they both returned to their seat.

I could say, that for a moment, it all made perfect sense.