We drove down the winding, sloping path, through a canopy of whirring, singing, scented bush to take my small family to their weekly "celestial festival".
The old gold painted, low slung, Mercedes crunched its bottom one last time on the gravel of the 1 Kilometre drive before we finally reached the smooth grey blueness of the Sudwala road.
Swiftly now, left, then across the smooth tarmac, through a gate and into the Macadamia plantation. Monkey families scoot across the path. The road runs out just before we reach a small breeze block, corrugated hut.
It's Mass and I am here anyway, so my family ask me to keep them company. We wait near the Mercedes until the priest arrives in his battered Toyota. Everyone goes inside and standing together, the ceremony starts in the cool interior. The small building doubles as the school house and there are children's pictures in crayon showing scenes from the bible.
The priest intones, and everyone answers back. My family in mumbled Spanish. I realise that, without knowing a word of Swati, isiZulu or Ndebele, any Catholic worth his salt, from anywhere in the entire world, can join in. Then comes the time for hymns, We grab hands, the ladies have rough hands. We move into a circle and there are smiles.
The ladies lead the singing. Oh man, can South Africans sing. Their voices are loud. Warm, warm fingers reaching through and wrapping round my heart. Now they are dancing. I am swaying with them...a little.
The singing stops. The priest intones. The Catholics reply, mine included. Then, the part that us religious tourists like. We turn to each other and give each other our hands in peace. We turn to each other:
"Peace be with you."
"Peace be with you."
"Peace be with you."
No one is left out.
We are blessed by the priest. Then, slowly, we move out again into the sunlight. "Goodbye." "Goodbye." "Thank you." "Thank you."
The Toyota cranks up the Mercedes backs and turns around. Back up the hill to the garden, the flowers, the carvings in cool corridors, breakfast at the sleeper table...
Something good has kick started inside me. It will last me the day and I won't forget it. It's an affection, it's an understanding. I can live with this warm, universal religion that embraces Mexicans and South Africans and that closes with heartfelt wishes for peace and love. I can definitely live with that side of it.
The old gold painted, low slung, Mercedes crunched its bottom one last time on the gravel of the 1 Kilometre drive before we finally reached the smooth grey blueness of the Sudwala road.
Swiftly now, left, then across the smooth tarmac, through a gate and into the Macadamia plantation. Monkey families scoot across the path. The road runs out just before we reach a small breeze block, corrugated hut.
It's Mass and I am here anyway, so my family ask me to keep them company. We wait near the Mercedes until the priest arrives in his battered Toyota. Everyone goes inside and standing together, the ceremony starts in the cool interior. The small building doubles as the school house and there are children's pictures in crayon showing scenes from the bible.
The priest intones, and everyone answers back. My family in mumbled Spanish. I realise that, without knowing a word of Swati, isiZulu or Ndebele, any Catholic worth his salt, from anywhere in the entire world, can join in. Then comes the time for hymns, We grab hands, the ladies have rough hands. We move into a circle and there are smiles.
The ladies lead the singing. Oh man, can South Africans sing. Their voices are loud. Warm, warm fingers reaching through and wrapping round my heart. Now they are dancing. I am swaying with them...a little.
The singing stops. The priest intones. The Catholics reply, mine included. Then, the part that us religious tourists like. We turn to each other and give each other our hands in peace. We turn to each other:
"Peace be with you."
"Peace be with you."
"Peace be with you."
No one is left out.
We are blessed by the priest. Then, slowly, we move out again into the sunlight. "Goodbye." "Goodbye." "Thank you." "Thank you."
The Toyota cranks up the Mercedes backs and turns around. Back up the hill to the garden, the flowers, the carvings in cool corridors, breakfast at the sleeper table...
Something good has kick started inside me. It will last me the day and I won't forget it. It's an affection, it's an understanding. I can live with this warm, universal religion that embraces Mexicans and South Africans and that closes with heartfelt wishes for peace and love. I can definitely live with that side of it.
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