African blessings

Posted by Ali

I know. I know that, as an SM in another country, I'm supposed to feel the special bond of Adventism, that there is a church here for me to worship at in a country so vastly different than my own. I know that I'm supposed to feel a deep spiritual connection to my work here during the sermon. But, so far, I haven't. I've heard, countless times, that in every single church service there is something positive to be gained. Some new idea, some meaningful Bible text, some specific point should make a firm impression. For me during the past three Sabbaths, what sticks with me most about the service has nothing to do with the service and everything to do with the children of the church. I've only been to one church so far and from that experience I've decided that every church in Africa must adore their children. At the University of Arusha church the children have a special seating area. At the very front right of the church are rows of tiny plastic chairs with metal legs. Once Sabbath School ends children flood up the centre aisle and filled the chairs with their small squirming bodies. There are mischievious boys who pull their chairs into semi-circles and chatter throughout the service. There are little girls, best friends sitting with not an inch of space between each other and arms interlocked. There are toddlers accompanied by primary-school siblings, hardly any older than babies themselves, who sit complacently on thin hips or laps.

I love watching them. Noticing the sparks of interest shooting from their dark eyes as they take in my light skin and hair. Grinning as they try to slyly peek back at me only to find that I'm looking straight at them. Reaching out my hand to hold their small outstretched one. Pulling a brave explorer onto my lap. Snuggling a head beneath my chin, wrapping my arms around a waist as the little body heaves a relaxed sigh. The service might be in both English and Swahili, but the honest truth is that I only hear a phrases or word here or there. My eyes are focused on the kids and my ears are attuned to their whispered voices. And I gain a blessing every Sabbath, just from watching them, listening to them, touching them.

After church this week, I gained more blessings from children. Staci and Mariah found me in the kitchen as I ate lunch when they trailed Darren, a Canadian now from Texas but working here with ADRA Tanzania for the past year, into the room. They watched me warm up my hot dogs and gulp them down. They followed me as I returned to my room and gave me some interesting hairdos. They gave me their own special tour of the campus and showed me the places they loved to play. They introduced me to trees with tart berries that looked similar to blackberries but tasted much different. They cunningly convinced me to hand over pieces of bread from my ever-shrinking supply and made sure the slices were covered from crust to crust with peanut butter and jam. They came back to my room, loaded down with colouring books and "colours" (crayons) and begged me to help them "make pictures." Then, after dark, they dragged me to the conference centre and introduced me to their friends, the kids from Havilah Orphanage, who had come to our campus to watch a movie.

Staci danced her way over to her three best friends who she affectionately calls "my boys," but whose real names are Cory, Bennie and Simon. After the worship story, singing and prayer, Simon used the computer/projector set-up time to plunk his warm body on my lap and question me. "What's your name? Where do you live? Are you coming to visit Havilah soon?" Between the questions he tossed in facts. "I used to live at Cradle. The other day I got to ride in the dalla-dalla (mini-van used for public transportation). We have two girls from American working at our orphanage." For the rest of the evening (except for one bathroom-run) he perched on my lap, engrossed in Toy Story 3 but reaching back to touch my arm, shoulder, hair once in awhile. When the other volunteers came in the room after finishing their supper, Simon glanced back and saw Becky. "I sat on her lap at church. I want to again. Can you ask her if I can sit on her lap?" Amazed that he remembered sitting on Becky's lap two weeks earlier, I told him that he was a brave boy, that he could ask her himself. But he shrunk back into the warm protection of my arms. "I'm too scared," he admitted, "but I want to sit on her lap." I moved Simon so I could stand up and ask Becky, but just then she and a couple others went out the doors, deciding not to watch the movie. Simon noticed and snuggled tight against me as he turned back to the screen.

As the credits rolled he looked up at me and said, "Thank you for letting me sit on your lap. I hope you come visit Havilah soon so I can do it again." And then he was off, racing around the room with the other kids as they gathered up their shoes and the quilts some of the kids had laid on. As I walked back to my cottage I heard a rustle in the banana trees and a shape leapt from the plants to the power pole beside me. At first I thought it was the Church's cat, Simba, but after shining my headlight up the pole after the furry climbing creature, I decided it was something halfway between cat and monkey. I follow the animal from below as it skittered across the power lines. And then I realized the blessings of the little things in African life. Of a animal scurrying in the night. Of a child flopping to a cold concrete church floor, eyes squished tight for prayer. Of little girls acting like shadows to your every move. Of a little boy anxious for the touch of love. My day overflowed with small gifts from God, specially tailored just to bring me joy.