Not So Sure About This: Part One

Our quiet village, Boamadumase, was flooded with Methodists this last weekend. Religious men and women (with children) from many major local cities crowded themselves into tro-tros and ventured to visit us- the bush folk.

I had some idea it was going to be an active weekend, mostly because big groups of sweaty men were assembling over twenty tents at the local park, and I heard mutterings of "a camp meeting." I had heard a great deal about camp meetings; weekend long events held in various places. People pilgrimaging to pour out their hearts and souls 24 hours a day. Now I was noticing faces I had never seen before were meeting inside houses and classrooms to pray and sing with a mighty force.

When Simone and I went to buy our beans one morning, a woman dressed in white from head to toe walked over to us with a glowing smile. "Good Morning ..." she said, tilting her head with a twinkle in her eye. She wasn't a villager, but I recognized her. "Do you remember me?" she asked.

"I do."

"From where?" She pressed her palms together in namaste.

"From the prayer meeting, 2 days ago." I said.

Riding our bikes through town that day, both Simone and I were wooed into following the beautiful singing we heard coming from down the hill. We coasted through a soccer game some small boy's were playing, and parked our bikes at the local school. The voices were passionate and loud. We jumped off and walked the perimeter of the building. "They're worshipping God." I said.

Simone couldn't believe it, and replied "I've never heard anything like this, it's incredible. Their voices are amazing. Do you think we can go in?" One can never be close enough when drawn by a mix of authenticity and beauty, and, in less than 2 minutes a man popped his head out and invited us in. We spent the next hour pacing the dark cool room, clapping and singing and praying and observing.

"Yes, that is correct." The woman said. "And do you know what we are doing now?"

She was with a group of about fifteen others, all dressed in white as well.

"No. I don't."

She shifted her neck in, so that our faces were all uncomfortably close. "We are fisssshhhinnng." And when she said this The Smile returned to her face.

I looked at Simone, but before we had time to process the woman clarified for us. "Human fishing, for Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ."

I looked up and down the road and saw that the visitors had metastasized, into smaller formations, and they were clinging to all parts of village life. Some were nodding and talking to the lady who sells bread, others were sharing with the taxi drivers, a few were wandering looking for a catch.

"Ahhhhhhhh." We replied.



"Will you be coming to the prayer and worship meeting tonight, at the park? I hope to see you there! There will be plenty people and we will go alllllll night!"

Simone and I shot each other glances, and she said, "Sure, yeah yeah, we probably will go, I think-" and then I took over "Ya, maybe later, we'll see you?"

"Okay wonderful. Then tonight, we shall meet."

On the walk home I had a mental debate in my head and tried to examine closely why this form of evangelism always makes me feel conflicted. I wondered if we'd actually go later that evening.

But when the sun set, and darkness settled in, both Simone and I had grown restless. Half of my best friends in the village are Methodists (already) and I knew they were at the gathering. It was my last night in the village before I would go traveling and head back to the U.S., so I figured it could double as a great venue to say goodbye. We decided to go. "And you should wear your African outfit, they'll all love it." Simone reminded me.

The health volunteers had adorned me with a gift of a blouse, skirt, and shoes. They had picked out the colorful traditional Kente fabric and secretly had it sewn into an outfit which actually fit me perfectly. On the day of the CPR teaching, we all said goodbye and they gave me the present. I particularly liked the top, how the stiff shoulders blossomed up and out, in a design that would only make a lover of 80's fashion jealous.

"Okay, but the skirt is kind of funny here at the ankles, it makes me walk like a duck. So we'll have to go slow."

When I tried it on, it looked nice, it was just hard to walk in. I went back to Ma the Midwife's house to show her. I know how excited she gets when I wear the local garb. "Ei! Kaisy! You are looking beautiful! The African dress, it suits you! Ei Kaisy... you will have to marry a Ghanaian." She couldn't stop smiling or taking her eyes off me.

"Ma really likes you eh?" Simone said on our slow walk to the "camp meeting". We could hear people warming up on the microphones, a loud screeching from the speakers permeated the air every few seconds or so.

"Yeah, makes me laugh considering where we started from." The first time I met Ma she made it clear she wasn't interested in teaching anyone, and she had a general distaste of my even being around. I think she said, "But why did you come here if you are not even a nurse? And you know nothing of birth?"

I couldn't believe tonite was my last night in the village. I said a prayer, perhaps a little greedy but I wanted all the experience I could get.

Please send me three births tonight!

For some reason, Simone and I decided to purposely leave our flashlight at home. I thought it would make us less recognizable, maybe we could even blend in, especially in my skirt and top, but when we walked up to the gathering I think it was our skin that gave us away. Everyone took note that the oburoni's had arrived. Hundreds and hundreds of plastic chairs had been placed in rows underneath a ring of tents. People filled the chairs, old people, young people, people intent on a purposeful time, and all dressed in white. They looked like a blanket of snow covering the park. We found our place next to my friend and roommate from last year, Sakola.

Everybody stood up and began to sing, great loud voices, this time contained by no walls. Sakola told me my dress looked nice, very nice, kama kama. I said thank you. The crowd broke out dancing, frenzied wild dancing, dancing for Jesus.

Somebody poked me on my shoulder and I turned around to see one of my friends, the drummer of a local church. "Kasim" he said. He's been calling me this for a year and I haven't the heart to pronounce my name correctly, because it's gone past that point. (When is that point any way?)

"Hello!" I said, stretching to turn sideways.

"How are you? And your friend? How is she?"

I looked at Simone so she could answer, and stop being referred to in the third person.

He pulled up a chair and sat next to us. "Do you like to sing?"

"Yeah. I do." I like to sing alone, when no one is listening, or really loudly when everyone else is doing the same.

"Great. And your friend, does she like to sing?"

"Simone? Yes, Simone loves to sing. She has a beautiful voice too."

"Then, will you sing?"

"Sure." I thought he meant at that moment, amidst the crowd.

"Oh great. Then, what song will you sing?"

When I realized he wasn't talking about 'singing along' but going up in front of this crowd of over 400 people and singing on the microphone I started laughing. "Oh you mean, go up there and sing?"

He threw his head back and laughed. "Ohhhh Kasim! Oh ha haa ha. Are you feeling shy?"

I looked at Simone. "We should." She said.

"Yes." He agreed.

My stomach sank when I pictured weak little self standing in front of all these people to perform.

"Anyone who wants to worship God can go up."

The fact that he made me realize it wasn't about ME wasn't helping much.

I looked at Sakola, who happens to be the most zealous singer in the village, with one of the most impressive voices. I asked him "Are you going to sing?"

He looked down into his lap, tried to contain a laugh, and didn't say a thing.

"Are you?" I asked again. "Sakola, answer me. Are you?"

He said in Twi that he hadn't written his name on the list so he wouldn't be able to. It was a lie. He didn't want to stand up in front of half a thousand people is what it really was, and frankly neither did I. But for some reason, looking at Simone, I couldn't refuse. Her eyes turned puppy dog and she looked genuinely excited.

"Okay, sure. I"ll sing."

Later that evening, Simone mentioned "I was surprised how quickly they got us up to the mics." We didn't wait more than two minutes before we were ushered, me taking delicate baby steps, across the lawn.

My drummer friend's final parting words as he pushed me out to the stage were "be sure to sing gospel!" The next thing we knew, Simone and I both had microphones pressed up to our chins and an eager band backing us. We chose a song we had only sung together twice, on a long car ride the day before. It is a gospel song I learned in Kenya, simple really, but somehow in a bout of nervousness it suddenly seemed incredibly complex.

"Ready?" She whispered, her chest puffed out like she was holding her breath too.

"Ya."

The speakers projected our voices so loudly that the first word we sang startled us into a fit of laughter. Everyone else laughed too. We pulled our hands down to our sides so our voices wouldn't get picked up. "Simone..." "Yeah?" "Uh..." "Ready? Let's start again?" "Okay. Uh..." "Ready?" "Yeah I guess so."

"One two three"

Once we began for the second time, and as long as I couldn't hear my voice, everything was fine. I had to sing barefoot, going barefoot always makes me feel better. A few times we sang different words, or my voice crackled and fell out of tune, or shook from being nervous, but after a while it wasn't so bad. We repeated our verses, I even threw my arms up in the air a few times for dramatic affect, imaging that with this simple gesture the mass of people would sing along.

They didn't.

I was starting to remotely enjoy myself, so much so, that I might have fallen to one knee and brought a fist to my chest if my skirt would have allowed me the freedom. When we finished, and I glanced over at Simone, she had an air of thrill circling her and I knew she wanted more.

My drummer friend walked up and gently took her mic. "Now" he said "we'll sing in Twi." And he picked a song he was certain I knew, because he watched my lips sing it in church last year.

Here we go. I thought, cringing but accepting my fate. This was my pay back for watching the Ghanaian American Idol with Efreeyeh and laughing at the parts where English lyrics were sang in muddled made up words. I knew that I could sing this song, but the words? I only knew half of them, the rest were just sounds.

But now I was being blasted from a microphone for the entire village and then some to hear. But thankfully, my mind created a quick solution to the problem and every time I was forced to sing a word I didn't know I pulled the microphone away from my face and threw my head back towards the sky like I was Celine Dion. I think I fooled most of them, maybe even my friends, because when we were finished and Simone and I walked back to our seats, people walked by us and said in Twi "you have done well."

"That was really fun." Simone said, cracking up and looking around. I had to relax and breathe for a few minutes, feeling a little out-of-bodyish. But the feeling only increased when my old pastor walked up to me and said "You must go quickly, I have just sent a church member to the clinic to deliver. Go fast."