Lively Liturgy
As Dominicans, we were blessed that our trip was woven with liturgy. As one example to illustrate this, let me describe our experience at Mass with the students of the University of Nairobi - Kikuyu Campus.
After a 30-minute drive, Peter, Augustine, and I walked with Fr. Joseph Mary into the main lecture hall which was re-purposed as the campus church with a portable altar, candles, and a wooden crucifix up on the stage. Roughly 180 desks lined the slope down to the stage which were filled with about 80 students from this teacher’s college. After Fr. Joseph Mary vested near the entrance of the lecture hall, we processed down the aisle which also included a train of three students shuffling their feet back and forth in liturgical dance, clapping in rhythm to the start of the keyboard synthesizer and choir. A young man, who I would call a keyboard whizz, was stationed in front as he supplied the beat and background (yes, he switched on the pre-programmed beat for the synthesizer) for the choir of about 30 students. The deep voices of the guys, the cadence, the high voices of the girls singing harmoniously with this musical base left a sound that I can only describe as African.
There was an atmosphere of praise and many smiling faces around. As we took our seats, the main song continued in full stride. A joyful sacrifice of praise was being offered to God. There was a liturgical patience in these students. They maintained composure when a cow could be heard making a bellowing moo through the open windows right outside during the prayers of consecration. (Yes, the campus grounds had a roaming cow! Yes, we were definitely in Africa!) We were singing and participating in the various parts of the Mass, from the penitence of the opening prayers, to the celebration of the Gloria, to the reverence of the consecration of the Eucharist, with open hearts.
As the collection began, the choir kick-started their Swahili melodies again as the same students from the first procession were dancing in front of the students carrying up the gifts. Pineapples, a hand of bananas, three papayas, and some apples were laid before the altar as the song went on, synthesizer still beating. (Yes, a hand of bananas.) The assortment of fruit on the steps in baskets was new to me, but I appreciated it. In fact, this was not even the most homespun collection we saw over the summer. In Kisumu, at St. Dominic Parish, we witnessed some ladies bring two pots on their heads, a new thermos in its packaging (not on their heads), and three brooms made of wispy sticks up to the front (held up high for all to see). All the while, this procession included intermittent spurts of a fast-paced, high-pitch fluttering of the vocal cords somehow physically possible for some African women. This sound of ululation accented the full chorus celebration which were memorable moments to be a part of.
After experiencing liturgies in various communities, I was struck to reflect on the fact that the same Holy Spirit works so dynamically and consistently to bring us together in unity. I feel like in Mass on the other side of the world, we experienced the breadth and length and height and depth of the Mystical Body of Christ.
So, what lesson about the liturgy can I take back with me to the U.S.? Well, I don’t think everyone has the same talent to do liturgical dance with such reverence and natural agility. Placing stick brooms and papayas on the altar of my home parish might be a little odd, and not many people I know can sing in Swahili. But, those things are simply the fruit of a people loving God in the atmosphere of the Mass with their whole hearts. Offering a sacrifice of praise together, and uniting ourselves to Jesus through the sacrifice of the Eucharist in integrity of heart are definitely transferable lessons. Through the liturgy, I was re-encouraged that the unique expression of the one faith in the universal Catholic Church is something to be cultivated.
Hakuna Matatu
Now, getting from one place to another could be an event in itself. The traffic in the streets was really something else. For example, in Dallas, when there is a traffic jam, you sit on the highway listening to the radio while moving slowly from car to car in your designated lane. In downtown Nairobi, the scene is comparable to a group of kids competitively dashing through a park at an Easter Egg Hunt!
A multitude of buses called matatus vie for position in the midst of normal sized cars and motorbikes, while people walk in the spaces in between. The pedestrians are supposed to stay in the “zebras” (crosswalks), but that is not consistently followed. Later, we discovered that when crossing the street, we should just follow the Kenyans. Loud, dusty, and noisy, the edges of the street are marketplaces in themselves. Now, these aren’t small stores you walk into. It’s a woman sitting on the curb with a delicately placed stack of avocados on a blanket. It’s a lady on the other side of the street actively selling backpacks and sandals.
In a matatu, it is not a matter of responding to a sign, or a bell, or a computer voice indicating that your stop has arrived. It is a matter of getting the attention of the conductor and telling them where to stop by way of landmarks. The conductor, with change in hand, is usually standing at the front of the bus or hanging partially outside the bus (if it is really full), getting a running start to jump on as the vehicle pulls away. The matatus are not always full but are sometimes as packed as humanly possible. (As Fr. Tesha reminded us, there is always room for one on a matatu.)
“Langata Barracks” was what we often told the conductor, making our way to ministry, and he would bang his hand against the metal outside of the bus to signal to the driver that it was time to stop. In a 5-second flurry of dust, pushing past seated passengers, once a whole lawnmower (I’m not kidding. I literally stepped over a lawnmower in the main aisle as I left the bus…), we would descend the steps and find ourselves on the side of the noisy road with cars driving past. We traveled a lot during the summer, and it was almost always an adventure.