August 3. New Sunday in Tanzania

I have met New Sunday in the new place. I was supposed to go Catholic church with Lydia and Denice, but I was left alone, so I had to find a way to attend a Sunday worship. Where do I go? Pastor Licky came across my mind. He is a WVT staff as well as a pastor. I was surprised again that some WV staff here in Tanzania are also pastors, like I saw them in WVSL; they do not say “I am a pastor” first, which means I have to kind of being aware how other WV staff talk to them. When Lydia and I were walking to Denice’s home yesterday, we came across pastor Licky on the street. Lydia called him “Mchungaji!” I asked her later what “Mchungaji” meant, and she said it is “pastor.” That was how I noticed Licky is a pastor, and I have started calling him “Pastor Licky” from that moment. I am just wondering how WV staff those who are also pastors manage their time to do office work and church work at the same time. Is it like I am a public health something worker as well as a professional salsa dancer in the future? Oh… I cannot do both.

It was early in the morning, 7:30am, but I called pastor Licky that I wanted to attend his church. He gladly invited me to his church, and Sampson came to Calman Lodge, the place where I am staying, to pick me up. The funny thing was that Sampson had been waiting for me outside of the lodge for 50 minutes while I had been waiting someone (whom did not know at that point) who would collect me for 50 minutes at the reception desk. Neither of us had even tried to push/pull the entrance door almost 1 hour. I have to take a good look at myself; in spite of myself, I might already have begged the question that Africans are usually late for appointment, so I vaguely kept waiting. Pastor Licky said someone would pick me up before 10am, but I did not quite know what before 10am exactly meant and waited even until past 10am. There is no more stereotypes for anything, from this point.

The service that I attended today was pentacostal church. It was brand new church experience for me. It emphasized testimony – person’s experience of God – more, so people willingly shared their last week experience with God in front of audience. Pastor Licky was so kind enough to translate all Swahili to English for me during the whole 4 hour-service; his kindness actually quite abashed me because I was worrying his whisper might disturb other people around us. The characteristic of African pastor is to say it out loud into a microphone so close, so I could not even hear pastor Licky’s real-time translation well, and my ears were so confused what I needed to hear. I was amazed that people were praying so hard, and one by one fainted and were led away by colleagues. More people surged up their emotion as a pastor kept saying something dramatic yelling that I was really, really eager to know what that meant. The African church was filled with purity, passion, and zest that I have never saw in South Korea or the U.S.; I am the one who have always kept the unnecessary decency and worried how other people look at me if I pass out or cry during prayer.

When all is said and done, African hymn is the most beautiful sound that I wish to store them in my ears forever. So I secretly recorded them. Some other day, when I miss African hymn, I would listen to these recordings. Even now, I miss Louisa’s voice. Should I go back to Sierra Leone to listen her hymn? I thought her voice was emblazoned deeply in my memory, but I have bitterly become numb with my blurred memories. Even if I might encounter the moment in the distant future that I am confused whether I really heard her heavenly voice, I will never forget this emotional zenith that I had the privilege of being blessed from hymns in Africa.

Dodoma local market

On the way back to my home, I texted Denice how she was doing. We met to walk around town. I went to the local market for the first time, and tried to go to WV office through a different route. And we went to New Dodoma Hotel coffee shop, and had some tea and coffee.

“What are you planning to do for this week?”

I asked Denice because I was not sure what I have to do this week. I am getting way behind with my schedule, and I do not even know what the deadline is. What about you, Denice? Same as me?

I do not know what my familiarity is in Africa. What is my habitualized daily life here? Tomorrow, I will walk to the office from my new lodge, find the new devotion place, have self-introduction time, memorize staff name, find my place to work, have new lunch at new place, and learn Swahili.

“Usiku mwema”

Lidya texted me. Of course, I had no idea what that meant, but Denice told me a useful tip; let’s use Google translator! Ah ha, that meant “Good night.” So I texted her back, “잘자요.” She might see some cartoon or drawing by now.

Polee dada and polee kaka… My new Sunday in Tanzania, in this way, is about to pass through midnight, to hand its day over to the new Monday in Tanzania.

“Usiku mwema,” “잘자요,” and… “Good night.”