Religion in Rwanda is fairly diverse. Granted, most of that diversity
consists of the many veins of Christianity, including Adventists,
Presbyterians, Jehovah’s Witnesses [I refuse their tracts here too], and Roman
Catholics, among others (although I’m wondering where the Mormons are?). Islam
also has a place in Rwanda, and even though Muslims make up a minority in this
country, I have seen more of them here than I have in America with all of its
diversity. It seems inevitable to run into many of them while staying in a
country the size of the state of Maryland which is home to about 11 million
people. Strangely, there are no Jews or atheists—besides Peace Corps Volunteers.
Church is always interesting in Rwanda. It differs in every church. My
first experience with church was during training. It was fun at first, but I
didn’t realize it would continue for four hours. I can only handle being
squeezed onto a bench (half my rear hanging off) and being touched by dirty
children for so long.
My second church experience was during Christmas. There was no special
Christmas service. In a way it was refreshing to get away from the three-month
commercial build up to what consumer America has turned Christmas into. But at
the same time it leaves me with that feeling you get when you’re pulling away
from your house and you’re wondering if you locked the door or not. When I have
my music library on shuffle I don’t skip over the Christmas songs. It’s as if
Christmas never came last year.
I tried going to the Catholic church in my village because I heard that
they have really short services. Too short, I guess. I made it just in time for
the announcements. Mass ended five minutes later. It’s the thought that counts,
right?
One of my friends in the village invited me to his church, so I went. I
found out that he is also a pastor there. I had so much fun dancing to the
music and I even gave a short introduction to myself in Kinyarwanda. Four hours
didn’t seem so long after that day. I arrived at 9:00 in the morning and left
at 5:00 in the evening, with a short break in between for lunch. Even after the
service I played the radio on my phone outside and danced with the village
children until the sun went down. That day was truly a Peace Corps experience.
My favorite place to attend church so far has been with my students at
school. Late each evening, several groups gather in different classrooms “to
pray.” [In Rwanda, they do not say that they are “going to church.” They say
that they are “going to pray”, which always sounds like “play” of course].
Occasionally I will pop in for a bit when I am invited. Tonight was one of
those nights.
I walked from my dorm room to the classrooms. I moved cautiously
through the moonless night. I arrived to a small classroom that was absolutely
crammed with students and a choir of about a dozen swaying back and forth in
front. They had already begun singing and dancing. This school church is
Pentecostal, headed by a student pastor who looks like a teenaged Obama. The
singing and dancing gets very intense.
Pentecostalism seems a natural fit for Africa. The tribal beats of the
music and traditional dancing mesh perfectly with the enthusiasm of the
charismatic movement. The students sang songs about Imana, the Kinyarwanda name
for God. Rwanda’s people are historically monotheistic, and Imana is the name
of their traditional God. This made conversion to Christianity very simple when
missionaries came to share their good news. Today the majority of Rwandans are
Christian, believing that their traditional god Imana and the God of the bible
are one and the same.
The songs are very repetitive, but I somehow don’t get bored with them.
As they continue singing, the students’ voices rise as if they are trying to be
heard from heaven itself. The cramped room pulses with energy as the students
sway back and forth and jump up and down. You can’t help but be pulled into the
excitement. This is my favorite part. And that’s why I leave when the music
stops.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please leave a comment.