Hausa Church

This weekend, we went to our first service at a Hausa speaking church. Our first couple of weeks, we went to church at the local Christian school where most of the kids from the States go to school. We wanted to meet some of the other ex-pat families so that our kids could begin to make friends. After two Sundays there, we decided to begin attending a Hausa church. We had been trying to get there for the past 3 Sundays, but we had two weeks of illness and then the bombing. Finally, on our 6th Sunday in the country, we made it!

We had learned a lot at training about what to expect and for the most part, we were prepared. We had been warned that many of the services would last 3-4 hours. We were pleasantly surprised that the services at this church typically only last about 90 minutes to 2 hours. Now, that may sound awful to you. But, when you’re wrangling 5 kids, you can’t understand the language, and everyone is watching you, that’s long enough.

We had a great experience and we’re excited to go back again. I thought I’d try to share a few highlights with you, though I’m sure I won’t do it justice. First of all, when we entered, the women were seated in one section and the men went to another. The seating consisted of plastic chairs for the main congregation facing forward, but the choirs, musicians, and platform people were seated on wooden benches facing the center. The building was basic with one big room made of cinder block walls, a concrete floor, and a tin roof. I’d say there were between 150-200 people there.

We had never met the pastor, but he knew the crazy neighbor who took us and I guess that was enough to gain merit in his eyes, because he called on Ryan to pray 2 different times during the service. The first time, he called Ryan and I both up to the front so that Ryan could pray over a couple that will be married this Saturday. Then, he called him up to pray again after the invitation.

Because they don’t have bulletins or power points, there were lots of announcements and business which was dealt with orally, which I did not understand at all. Fortunately, my friend gave me tidbits of what was happening throughout the service.

Probably the most interesting part for me was the offering. The offering is taken up by groups according to where you live. We were told from the pulpit, during the welcome, that we were to go with the last group which includes the pastor, missionaries, visitors, and the children. Each group danced to the front, put their offering in the bowl, and then danced back to their seats. It was really neat to see. It was especially neat for us because we were surrounded by children as we walked to the front, which is exactly the crowd we love to hang with. There were dozens of children dancing up the aisles around us and it was a very surreal, “Oh my word, I really live in Africa!” moment.

The choir specials were also pretty cool. This week the women’s and the youth choir sang. One cool thing for us was that the solo part for the women’t choir was sung by our house helper, Naomi. I’d been trying to find her among the rows and rows of colorful head ties and just when I decided she must be missing for some reason, I hear this woman take off with the lead on the choir special and I realized it was her. The kids thought that was neat too.

After the service, we were called to the pastor’s office where we were served minerals. It is the custom here to serve minerals as a sign of hospitality. In case you’re wondering, minerals are what they call soda here and the best part is, they come in glass bottles! The kids were not excited about going to the pastor’s office, until they started handing out bottles of Coke and Fanta!

The whole experience was very humbling. One thing that continues to amaze me is that we are esteemed simply because of the color of our skin. People use terms of respect and give us privileges simply because we’re white Americans. I find it quite bothersome and it brings with it a heavy sense of responsibility.