Africa Has Come to Us

John Senior, Thomas, and John Bosco

Last Sunday was a day to remember. Not only was it Mother's Day, but at our church, John Bosco, my African godson, was baptised, then watched his own father be baptised in the next moment. They were some of ten or so people who celebrated their commitment to Christ that day. I led the men from their Sunday School room where Rev. Jackie Stansfield had been expertly opening their minds to the gifts of the Spirit as Swahili and Nepali interpreters stood on either side of her, to the appropriate dressing room behind the huge sanctuary while the great Christ Church Choir belted out thunderous praise songs. I was sobbing as is often the case with me lately on Sunday mornings, but I was also happy, excited, and so thankful that God allowed me to be a part of this momentous day.



Amanda and I were invited to share a meal with this family and some of their friends afterward where we learned more about the struggle that has resulted in their presence in Nashville. It has been a week and it is still a little more than I can get my mind around. That day we found out what it feels like to be surrounded by people speaking a language which you have no knowlege of. We were the only ones of our kind in their warm apartment that was spilling over with people who told stories, thankfully interpreted into English for us, about the unbelievably painful atrocities being committed in Africa to this day, harrowing journeys through the African country, and one man's journey to Christ. We learned more about this culture that fosters story telling, singing, rhythm and dancing from an early age. Boy wouldn't I fit right in?!

Mothers with brightly colored dresses and head wraps explained that when we were told to eat, that refusal was not an option. That made me feel perfectly at home, as my Mammaw Nita Ann started force feeding me before I could walk, and she has never stopped.

We learned about the way a young African man has to prove that he is ready for marriage by building a house beside his father's house with his own hands. Then, once he has decided on the girl he chooses, he sends as many of his brothers or friends as he can persuade to, to wait for her in the bush and collect her, (one grabs legs, and one grabs head and arms and she is often screaming) then they bring her to his bedroom, where, in a violently romantic show of love, they are "married" if she doesn't get away first. I am not making this up.

It is then that man's responsibility to pay a cowry. That's the term I coined for the cows which cover the losses that the young bride's family has suffered if the marriage is agreed upon between families. Now if the marriage is not agreed upon, the strongest men from the bride's family get together with some large sticks and rocks and proceed to collect the bride away from the opposing tribe. Yeah. That's how they do it.



So my friend Lynne tells a story about me that once, while she was teaching us to pray that God would truly have his will in our lives, I said "But Lynne, If I do that, what if God decides to send me to Africa?" Well Africa has come to us. And I am so glad it did.



John Bosco is the one with the huge smile. Beside him is his brother, Claude, their Mother, who is so quiet that I'm not sure I ever got her name, and Father, John. The smallest boy is Mugisha. They are our family.