When Bread Becomes A Moving Target

There are three main types of bread here. One is the French baguette. The second is a local bread that is very dense and very cheap, and therefore my preference. The third is what we affectionately call "styrofoam bread." Imagine a fluffy white bread, remove half the density, and then make it stiff. Ick.

Unfortunately styrofoam bread is by far the most common bread here. For some reason it is considered to be nicer than my favorite type. This is probably because of the French, who turned up their noses at my bread and made it illegal. Now that the French are gone the bread has made a comeback, but only from a limited number of specialised bakers. As a result, figuring out where to buy the stuff can be quite a challenge.

Half a mile from where I work there are always guys selling this bread. Unfortunately it is half a mile in exactly the opposite direction from my apartment, and there is nothing else in that direction to make it worth the one-mile round trip. So ever since I moved in to my new apartment I have been looking for a place to get the kneaded gold.

I thought I had struck the motherload (or at least a small vein) when I saw a guy selling the bread right next to one of the places the vans like to stop. RIGHT next to it. In other words, the bread tasted faintly of diesel and burned oil. But hey, you take what you can get.

Unfortunately, the next time I swung by he wasn't there. Or the third time. Or the fourth.

Then I found another guy selling bread at another location just a 5 minute walk from my apartment. Again, right next to a bus stop. Oh well, I had found a consistent supplier. Or had I?

I've never seen the guy again since.

I scoured all of the small shops in my neighborhood, looking for one that would sell me the stuff. I finally found one- for that day. The next time I went back he was out.

I talked to my neighbour about it and he said that you have to know what time of day to go to each place. He gets his from the second guy I found, but that guy never gets there until 8:00 in the morning. That doesn't help me; I'm at work by that time. Then he told me about another little shop that carries it, but only after a certain time in the afternoon. I tried there Sunday but apparently the bread hadn't arrived yet. The guy said he was out but it would be coming "right away." In this country, "right away" can easily mean three hours.

So the adventure continues!

New Transport Van Record

I have yet another update on the public transport van carying capacity. But I also have a story.

So my account of church left off with me swinging onto a passing van. I felt very cool, like Tarzan. Or perhaps like Legolas swinging up into his saddle. I think I even got a look or two of admiration from the folks sitting in the van. It's not often you see white guys riding in a van, and even less often that you see them swinging monkey-bars style from one end to the other. Wait... maybe it wasn't admiration that those looks were conveying.

So anyway, there I was, sitting in my little seat and trying not to make a scene. We rolled and bumped our way towards the main road that would take us towards where I live. This van would not actually go past my apartment so I planned to jump off at the nearest point and walk from there.

As we rolled up to the stoplight at the main road I looked out the window and saw two guys fighting. One was sitting on top of the other with his knee on his opponent's throat. Fortunately the guy next to me saw this as well, and soon the four other guys in the van had all jumped out and run over to break up the fight. Meanwhile the light had turned green so the van made the turn onto the main road and then slowed to a stop. I think the driver was trying to decide whether to wait for everyone to get back in or just keep going on his route. The fight didn't seem to be ending very quickly...

As we sat there, a hoard of teenage boys suddenly burst through the fence along the road. Half were wearing yellow jerseys and half were wearing blue, and they were all roaring with energy. They flooded into the van, quickly taking up all of the seats and then some. Then they realised that some of their team had already gotten into the van that pulled up behind mine. As quick as they had entered, the boys poured back out of the van. The group behavior was bizarre. I felt like I was watching bees rather than boys.

I was once again alone in the back of the van. Well, me and the apprentice. Up front were the driver and two passengers. The driver and apprentice started discussing something and the other two guys got out. Then the driver told me to get out as well. Fortunately we were only a quarter mile from where I had been planning to get out anyway. I was walking for a while before I began to wonder when the other van with all the boys would go past. I had almost walked the entire quarter mile when it careened past. I couldn't see very well inside but I am sure that it was loaded to the hilt. My best estimate would be 30-35 guys. On the outside of the van 20 boys (I counted) were hanging off the back or crawling around on the luggage rack on the roof. When the van got to the roundabout it rolled to a halt and the driver got out to yell at the boys on roof. I thought he was going to make them get off but he must have just been telling them to sit down and stop moving around, because nobody got off. The driver climbed back in and off they went.

Wow. More than 50 people in/on a van. For now, that's the most I've seen. I'm really glad I chose to walk rather than getting inside that rolling mass of humanity!

How Was Church This Morning?

note: I wrote this last Sunday afternoon but my internet has been out all week so I am just now posting it.

I realised today that I have never yet given an account of a typical church service here. Today's apple didn't fall far [too] from the tree, so here was my morning:

First of all, my church has two services. I had planned to go to the 8:00 service this morning but some group in my neighborhood decided to pound on drums and chant into a loudspeaker system until 2:00 in the morning. So this morning I opted for second service at 10:30.

When I arrived I saw three of my friends standing by the front door. Church here starts outside the church, in the courtyard. In fact, chatting with people before and after church is perhaps the most important part of the service. So we exchanged greetings, briefed each other on how the week went, and talked about volleyball.

As we chatted the music started. My friends had already been at first service so I made my way inside and found a pew that was wide open. This is very important because people continue to arrive for the first 45 minutes of the service. If you start out in a pew with four other people you will probably find yourselves squeezed in like sardines by the time the sermon starts. This is especially uncomfortable during the hot season. If you start in a pew that is entirely empty, your odds are slightly better of having some room during the entire service.

The worship was energetic and well-done. Our choir practices at least three times per week and they take it very seriously. They are a really talented bunch and they get into it. But in addition to that, worship this morning was really good. Some Sundays it feels like all of the practice and polish becomes a barrier and the choir gets distracted from worship, but today was good. The choir was clearly worshiping and much of the congregation did as well.

As for myself, I had brief moments. I'm afraid to say that I was distracted during most of worship and didn't get --- or give --- nearly as much as I should have. Instead I was thinking about the marvel of African beat patterns and all kinds of interesting but entirely irrelevant ideas. Entering into worship continues to be a massive struggle for me here. It is truly a shame; my brothers and sisters here know how to do it!

The worship songs were mostly translations of songs originally written in English. There were a couple of original French songs as well. Some Sundays they include a couple of songs in the majority local language but they didn't today.

Today we also had a baby dedication. It was probably the shortest one I have ever seen in any country because the pastor was feeling sick and didn't want to give his flu to the baby. But the dedication was very nice. Short and sweet.

Afterward a young man stood up. I think maybe he is our missions pastor, I'm not sure. At any rate, whenever he stands up it is worth listening. He regularly takes groups out into the villages to do evangelism and sometimes they come back with incredible stories. This morning was no exception, but I think I'll leave that for another time.

Then came the sermon. I have no idea what it was about. I was trying to follow it, honest I was, but I just couldn't. I don't think it was entirely my fault either. I talked to somebody else after church who said that he got absolutely nothing out of the sermon. He was so lost that part way through he just started reading the Bible and tuned the pastor out.

Some Sundays the sermon is really good. Some days it's okay. And some days... See, here people are not always trained to create speeches and sermons which follow an A, B, C structure with three subpoints for each letter. Rather, sermons often follow a stream, with brief excursions down the tributaries before returning to the original idea but perhaps a bit downstream. Unfortunately, sometimes "A, B, C" westerners get lost and are eaten by crocodiles somewhere along the way.

The other factor is cultural differences. Sometimes the pastor will tell a story and at the end of it the entire congregation will burst into laughter. Everyone except the westerners, who stare at each other as if to say, "Did we miss something?" Or there was an entire month of sermons directed at family issues, some of which only applied to local families.

I didn't check the time but I think the sermon ended around noon. An hour and a half is a really short service. Ah, but wait! They had left all of the special details until last. First they took the offering. The choir sang a song while they passed baskets up and down the isles.

Then came the time for first-time visitors to present themselves and for anyone who had a praise report to share it with the congregation. I suspect that, after the chatting time outside the church, this is the second most important part of the service for most of the people here. Church isn't a set of activities. It is a framework for practicing community. Only half a dozen people took the microphone today, which is less than usual.

When the microphone was handed back to the pastor he launched into a story. He told it as if everyone in the congregation already knew about the situation (I didn't) so I had to kind of piece together what he was saying and fill in the details. The story was incredible by western standards. As I listened I went from surprise to indignation to pity. But as I studied the faces around me, nobody else seemed the least bit impressed. "Yup, that's life here." I guess it was another one of those cross-cultural moments.

Then we began the announcements. There are no printed bulletins here. Even though most (if not all) of the congregation can read, we are still in a society that prefers oral communication. All announcements go up on the powerpoint, where everyone can read them, and yet are also read aloud one at a time by the designated announcements guy. The one we have now quickly reads the powerpoint word-for-word. We used to have a guy who would occasionally spend five minutes giving additional details about an upcoming event that particularly enthused him. I'm grateful for the new guy.

When the announcements finished the pastor asked us all to stand for the final prayer. It was short and sweet, and the service was closed. I glanced up at the clock- 12:34. From the end of the sermon to the end of the service was half an hour.

After church I chatted with some friends for a while and then swung onto a public transport van as it rolled past the church.  And THAT trip is worth another blog :-)