M knocked on my door on Saturday night and asked me if I wanted to go to Church with her at 7:30 am the next morning. I'm a 'yes' woman, and true to character assented immediately.
However, when my alarm rang at 6:30 am the next morning, I felt like kicking my yesterday-self, pulling the covers over me and going back to sleep. I probably would have done so- hadn't I thought about what an unpredictable character M was. I knew she went to Bible study classes, and wasn't sure how she'd take me standing her up for Church; So rather than risk M's wrath, I grudgingly got out of bed.
It was cold- something that I found hard to process (I was in Kenya for godsake!!), and so I pretended that it wasn't, and put on a sleeveless dress. M took one look at me, told me I was a 'piece of work' (her favorite expression) and made me put on a jacket. This, I was truly grateful for during our matatu ride to the chapel, especially since for some reason, Kenyans don't see the point of closing the door of their vehicles when driving and gusts of cold air kept whooshing into our van.
We got off at city center, and had to walk some distance to Mamlaka Hill Chapel. We passed the Uni of Nairobi on the way. M had studied there and told me wild stories of her 'youth' (she's 25 now- pssht). According to M, the road just outside the University was a red light area- and some university 1st year girls would prostitute themselves for the sake of the latest pair of Jimmy Choo etc etc. I'm not sure how much of this is true- but M said that before she was packed off to Uni, her mother and aunties prayed for several hours over her to protect her from such happenings, while she tapped her feet impatiently. I could almost see 18 year old rebellious M being prayed over, with a slightly bored expression on her face and giggled.
Mamlaka Hill Chapel looked more like a concert hall than a chapel- In fact it probably was a concert hall. It was a large open air tent. The congregation sat on plastic chairs- neatly marked with the words 'Mamlaka Hill Chapel' facing a stage. The choir consisting of a drummer!, a keyboardist, 8 background singers and one lead singer (a different background singer became the lead for each new song), was already singing on stage. Large screens were set up at different angles- some of which displayed the lyrics of the song, while others showed live footage of what was happening on stage for the benefit of the people at the back. The stage was illuminated with fancy red spotlights.
As we walked in, our bags and persons were systematically scanned, and we were handed in a shiny leaflet of Mamlaka Chapel Hill events in the next months. We had come early, and the few people who were already there were swaying along to the music with no self inhibition. I felt awkward for a minute as I'm not really the swaying sort- but the music was SO good, that after a few minutes, the beat in my feet had crept up my body, and I found myself swinging my hips!
The hymn was completely new to me. The lyrics were religious, however the music itself was upbeat- none of the soft subdued music I was used to. I remembered that back in Mumbai- the priests made a big deal of ensuring that the 'communion music' was just instrumental in order to allow it to form a backdrop for people's prayers. Here, the music was everything.
We danced to about 3 songs- with different singers doing the main harmony for each. The preacher then came on stage and started on long list of petitions about world peace etc, to which the congregation, still under the influence of the music, 'amen'ed devoutly. He ended his list with gratitude for the Kenyan Music Project having received sponsorship. This got the most vigorous amen, and a couple of whoops in the bargain.
After this, the preacher called for the newbies in the congregation to raise their hands. M hissed at me, and tried to put my hand in the air. I had no wish to be asked to sing (or worse dance!) in front of the entire audience, and resisted all her efforts. One brave man, however did put up his hand and got a long hand of applause. The preacher then instructed him to find the intern(!) at the end of the service, who would escort him to the visitor's lounge to meet the pastors over refreshments.
The preacher then said it was time for announcements. I settled back in my seat expecting the usual announcements about womens teas, bible study, Sunday school, when all of a sudden the lights went dim, and suddenly all the screens started playing a video. I had a surreal feeling that I was back in an MBA class.
A deep western voice began the video talking about the '3S's' in the Mamlanka Chapel Hill mission statement. (Don't ask me what they were. I was too stunned to note them down. Though now I wish I had!) It then went on to talk about the various 'Ministries' and what they did- there was the Ministry of Care and Connection, Leadership and Development- and my favorite- REAL Groups ( I can't be the only one thinking of the Ministry of Silly Walks here! Come on and back me up!). Note that the video had stunning animations and was very Larger then life! It ended with an advisement to all members of the audience to take care of their belongings and a reminder that if they had any problems they could contact Mamlaka Hill Chapel's Security team! (see Concert Hall!)
At the end of it I was gasping for breath and kicking myself for not having filmed it/taken photographs! I felt that all the consultants I knew could have taken notes from the presentation!
The next bit of the service involved the preacher bringing the leaders of some of the REAL groups on stage and asked them each to speak about their experience in leading a REAL group. There was a woman lawyer named Purity, a Dutch lady who said she had initially come to Kenya as part of a Christian mission group and then left the mission to start her own waste water treatment business, a lady who said she managed the East African business of a fashion company, and two business men.
The fashion lady started off by talking about how she had been initially asked to lead a group by the pastor and how it took her ages to come to terms and 'deal with herself' before she allowed herself to be convinced to lead the group. She was very dramatic as she painted a picture of her old bed sitter in which she used to host her group and how she learned to 'deal with herself'.
The Kenyan preacher got off on the wrong foot when he looked at the Dutch lady's fair skin and said, 'you're clearly not from Kenya, but do you want to share your story with us?' It troubles me that we give westerners(This term in itself is problematic as I was reminded today when a Kenyan reminded me that he was a 'westerner' in China)/white people for not truly accepting people who do not look/talk/behave like them, when we are far more tolerant with similar exhibitions of behavior in our countries. Yesterday, I met a German girl who studies informal schools in Kibeira. She spoke about how she was termed as '' (find out)- which basically was the word used to describe the British colonialists in Kenya- and which has negative connotations.
The preacher then turned on the business men, and basically said in a cloying manner, that they traveled so much, worked 16 hours a day and yet found time to lead a REAL group. He said that it was usually the women who joined these groups and made excuses for their husbands. He beseeched the businessmen to tell the congregation how they made the time, and how important it was. The businessmen obliged willingly.
After this, the preacher handed over the mike to a young member of the congregation (a classmate of Ms!) to deliver the sermon (The preachers functioned primarily as the CEO of the chapel delegating work, coordinating ministries etc).
After a well reasoned, impassioned sermon, the choir got us to our feet with one final last hymn- and the service was over.
I felt a vague sense of loss as I walked out with M and met some of her friends. I felt sad that I couldn't accept people at their own valuation. I felt sad that I was a cynical old cat who was laughing up her sleeve during th entire service. I felt bad, bad, bad! But I'm not sorry
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