I spent the morning getting kids ready for the Nativity play. Costumes and props were simple, but the kids seemed happy to dress up. I painted 8 little sheep's noses black and pinned white tails on their bottoms. I showed the kings how to adjust the fit of their crowns and used rope to tie left-over curtain cloth around shepherd's heads. Each angel received her red and white choir robe so she could practice flapping her wings. I helped Mary and Joseph wrap themselves in yards of fabric I found at the mission house. Everybody was ready by 8:00, when church was set to start.
The goat meat was being cut up, the chicken was squawking in the kitchen, awaiting its fate, and good smells enveloped Angel House. 9:00 came, and the staff came to work. Still no minister. Still no visitors.
Sheep's noses began to disappear. King's crowns were showing signs of wear. Everyone gathered in the kitchen, huddling around the fire and enjoying the aroma of spiced rice and the garlic embracing the meat. 9:15 and the minister, soggy and cold, arrived in the kitchen. Still no visitors.
Rain drenched the landscape, and we carried buckets of rainwater, dumping it into every clean bucket we could find. It is the purest drinking water available naturally, and capturing it from the roof saves a lot of steps during the never-ending task of carrying water.
9:30. The natives are getting restless. The minister supervises the placement of the giant pulpit to its place of worship. I repaint noses and adjust costumes.
10:00. The minister comes to say, "Madam, you have to get ready for worship. We have to start now.". I wonder what he thinks I need to do to be ready and marvel at the insinuation that I've been holding up the show.
Joseph, one of our more vocal Angels, begins the service with "Praise the Lord!" Which frankly sounds more like "God is a spirit" the slurs his Swahili. We settle in for a 2 hour worship service.
We stand up. We sit down. The choir is "welcomed to sing.". A few visitors arrive. They are welcomed. Worshipers are welcomed to share testimonies. We sing and clap, as Joseph selects Angels to led the songs.
Then, the Nativity play is presented. The sheep baa, the shepherds and kings touch knuckles and shake hands with the new father and fall to their knees at Mary's feet. The sheep baa some more. The holy family escapes to Egypt.
Then William and Mwita are welcomed to bring in crates of soda for everyone. My mouth is watering, since it's now after 11 and we have been tantalized by wonderful aromas since 6:00. I am thankful for the soda, and wait rather impatiently for the cap to be ripped off by a nearby Angel's teeth.
I am also thankful that the service appears to be over without the usual hour-long sermon. My soda drained, I walk to the kitchen.
"Madam! We are praying. We just gave out sodas because we need to trade the bottles for full ones. Welcome to pray, please.".
I guess my face did not hide my bewilderment because the minister repeated his request and I realized I was holding up dinner by not leading the congregation in prayer.
Several times during the next hour I asked Mary, actually now transformed back into Leah, if we were finished with the service. She just smiled and shook her head.
The sermon started. We were asked to put our hands over our hearts and repeat a prayer. I moved my mouth, but the Swahili words were beyond me.
Suddenly. the minister and Joseph were circling the congregation, shaking hands. We were joyfully released!
A feast was served. A few more guests arrived. Two kinds of rice, Goat meat, chicken, and a banana were washed down by sodas. Dishes were washed, and everyone got ready to go to the dance at Goldland Hotel.
I rode in the first truck load, 2 little Angels on my lap, and 13 more in the bed. We stopped at the big tree on the way to Tarime to fulfill my Christmas request. I wanted to have a picture of Angels dressed in their new clothes surrounding my favorite tree.
Wish fulfilled, we were deposited at Goldland just as the rain became a downpour. The small outside dance floor and a tarped sitting area were the only places that were covered, so we grabbed our littlest Angels out of the mob and sat them under the tarp. It sagged under the weight of the rain. Workers kept poking the canvas with shovels and poles to ease the strain. Then, desperate, they began slashing the canvas with knives. Too little too late. The tarp collapsed.
We grabbed our brood and sought refuge on the porch outside the hotel's lobby just as the second truck load of drenched Angels arrived. One of the workers ushered me inside the lobby where I checked my email and received a call from my daughter. For a moment, I was home sharing Christmas with my other grandchildren. I heard the voices of home and sent verbal hugs to my family.
The rain had slacked off by the time we loaded our littlest Angels back in the gari. Gamasara was a welcome sight! We changed to dry clothes and enjoyed a meal of chai and leftovers before having devotions and going to bed. But just before that, several jubilant teens hugged me and thanked me for making their Christmas so special. Talk about feeling humble!
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