Not In Kansas Anymore

Although I have been here awhile, I still have moments when I can't believe I really live here. This evening, we visited a church out in a neighboring village. The service was suppose to start at 6:30 but of course didn't get going until an hour later. We sat on the floor in the dimly lit room. People started slowly trickling in. The pastor led us in some worship songs. The songs here are very repetitive and rhythmic, often times led by someone playing the drums. I sat with my head covered, clapping and swaying to the beat while shivering from the cold. This was not the typical Sunday night hymn sing at the First Baptist Church.

As more and more people came in, the more and more attention we got. If you can just imagine for a moment- sitting in your pew at church. Now imagine basically turning your body all the way around in the opposite direction so that you could stare at that guest sitting behind you. Be sure to look him straight in the eyes for the ENTIRE sermon. Now turn to your neighbor and whisper "oh look, a white person". That's what it was like visiting this little village church.
I guess that would be considered SO rude in another context. But I just laughed about it. Its just how it goes. What they don't know is I am not that interesting in America.

The sermon was on the passage describing JC as the Bread of Life and the pastor did a pretty good job. JC being the Bread of Life is brought up alot here. It is found in several worship songs and its a pretty common sermon topic. Maybe Him being the Bread of Life hits closer to home because they know what it feels like to truly be hungry.

After the service was over, we were quickly surrounded by about 20 women pelting questions at us. Where are you from? Where do you live? When can you come to my house?
The pastor had to basically call them off so that we could exit the building. It was pitch black outside. Someone let me use the light from their cell phone to find my shoes. The pastor graciously offered to escort us out of the village on his motor bike. Heather and I had to cling to each other for dear life as we made our way through the twisty brick roads to the outskirts of the village where our auto rickshaw was waiting for us. As we drove away, I thought to myself "Yup, I am definitely not in Kansas anymore".