I am going to describe the celebration in Kayanje, but it was such an overpowering day that my traveling companions will have to forgive me for oversights or omissions.
The day began with Fr. Lawrence saying Mass in the rebuilt church. When we arrived on African time (everything happens in time, just not the time announced to start), people were standing around in their Sunday's finest. Men in western suit and ties (from old British colonial rule), women in fancy colorful dresses with folded pleats around the waist to create a thick belt and to make their bum appear bigger. The shoulders were raised and pointed and the size of the dresses were Victorian. They made quite the statement. Children were dressed in all sorts. Most of the clothes the children wear are mix and match of donated clothing. A little girl was in a dress and old soccer cleats. A little boy looked really sharp in a suit and vest. They do not care what the t-shirt says on the front, just that it is theirs. I had to break out the video camera during Mass to record the choir, they were incredible and only listening can tell that story.
At the end of Mass, a representative from the President of Uganda arrived with military bodyguard. He came to meet with Fr. and Dr. B and took the opportunity to speak to the people in the Church. Dr. B cornered him afterward to ask for electricity to be brought to the village to support the future clinic he wants to build.
We were directed down the hill toward the school. As we came around the corner, the dirt road was lined with hundreds of students, clapping in unison. A welcome banner was stretched across the road. The African dance troupe from the school danced in front of us as they led us toward the makeshift tents that were placed in the clearing. Under the tents, the people all sat in rows of ubiquitous molded plastic chair. Reserved for us and the other dignitaries in the front row was nice living room furniture, chairs and couches, with tables placed in front. We most definitely felt special. In attendance was a Member of Parliament, the commissioner from the Minister of Education's office, the Mayor, the Headmaster, school board, PTA, along with not just the parents but it seemed like everyone within 5 square miles. A microphone attached to generator powered speakers gave the MC the lead to start the celebration.
It was not just a celebration for our arrival, but the new Headmaster, Alfred, had organized a Sports Day for the students. So the agenda included kids singing, speeches, running races, speeches, girls dancing, speeches and did I mention speeches, mostly in the native Lugandan language. I have not met a Ugandan that does not like the microphone. Father later mentioned that everyone is so long winded because they want to seize the opportunity to teach the uneducated villagers. It is a "teachable moment." It seemed to me that politicians and priests are the same around the world - long winded... However, there is clearly no one like Father who can work the crowd like him.
The sports day events pitted two teams against each other. After the running races, they had fun events like filling a coke bottle with water carried by hand from 30 feet away, and races with filled water bottles on their heads. Fun events that would be done at any field day at an elementary school in the U.S. The difference is that the winning team was presented not with a trophy or a dress down day but a GOAT. The team captain picked the goat up over his head and ran back into the group of children as everyone cheered.
It was now time to eat. We were led to a classroom away from the crowd. Upon entering a woman with a pitcher of water and bucket washed our hands. The meal consisted of matooke (plaintains), potatoes, meat with juice wrapped in banana leafs, white and brown rice, and vegetables. The kids were also served casava and beans and matoke.
After the meal, the teachers organized the kids by class. Each teacher was given a new t-shirt, pencil, notebook and donut per student. We had carried the t shirts from the States in 8 50lb duffle bags. The t-shirts were leftover from a misprint from the lung cancer 5k and Monica made arrangements to get them to Dr. B. to say the kids were excied and appreciative would be an understatement. It was organized chaos. I can only imagine the anarchy if we made 500 U.S. children sit in the sun in anticipation of gifts and then hand them a pencil and notebook and t-shirt.
We made it back to Fr. Lawrence's house at dusk. There was a death of an old man in the village that day and the evening was punctuated by occasional wailing cries from the valley. As each visitor to the mourning family's house arrived, the cries would sound and then silence in the hills. Quite an effective way to spread the news.
Tomorrow we visit an near by village. They are have a ceremony to mark the opening of a maternity ward that was built with donations from a Catholic parish in Clermont, FL.
Until then...
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