Bright and early one morning, my best friend and neighbour, 17 year old Bebe, came into our yard and instructed me to get dressed in my uniform because it was time to go to her family’s village and greet her relative who had returned from a pilgrimage to Mecca. About one month earlier Bebe's mother had bought us matching cloth from the market and we had matching outfits made. Originally, I thought that this was a cute friendship gesture but apparently the outfits were made for this specific celebration.
So I got ready as I was told and made the trek into town with Bebe where we boarded an overloaded bus. After two hours of waiting, the bus began move and the incredibly excited passengers burst into song, which carried on for the duration of the ride. The song they sang went like this: Li Hi Alla, Li Hi Alla, Li Hi Alla, hijah ye bo ni Mecca. It means something along the lines of Praise God, Praise God, Praise God, the pilgrim has returned from Mecca.
When we arrived in Bebe's family village there were already hundreds of people gathered in celebration. Many people congregated at the mosque for prayer and the majority of them were wearing the same special material that Bebe and I had on. As prayers at the mosque came to an end, Bebe ushered me through the large crowd down to the entrance of the mosque to wait for our pilgrim to appear. As soon as she emerged, all dressed in white, I was pushed up right beside her. She took my hand and then we paraded through the village while people chanted the same song that was sung on the bus, old women fanned us, men rang little bells, ancient-looking video cameras were rolling, and I had no idea what was going on. When we got to the pilgrim's yard, we sat down under a palaver hut on a special rug and the whole village came to greet us.
After about an hour, when there was a little break in the crowd, I excused myself. When I found Bebe she was giggling uncontrollably because she knew I was uncomfortable and could not figure out what was happening. In utter frustration I looked at her in the eyes and blurted out, “Why do people go to Mecca anyways?”
She paused, and then answered, “To get rid of their sins of course.” All my frustration faded. Then she asked, “Where do Christians go to get rid of their sins?” With a deep breath, a prayer, the use of multiple languages and awful grammar, I tried my best to say that Christians do not have to go anywhere, but we believe in Jesus who came to us and died so that we could be forgiven from our sins. Then she told me that she had never heard that before.
Often, after pondering the many not-so-good expereinces of Africa, I wonder why I stayed. Sometimes I try to convince myself that all the difficult things that happened in Africa and everything that has happened since is worth it because of this one moment with Bebe. Sometimes the thought is enough to keep me going.
So I got ready as I was told and made the trek into town with Bebe where we boarded an overloaded bus. After two hours of waiting, the bus began move and the incredibly excited passengers burst into song, which carried on for the duration of the ride. The song they sang went like this: Li Hi Alla, Li Hi Alla, Li Hi Alla, hijah ye bo ni Mecca. It means something along the lines of Praise God, Praise God, Praise God, the pilgrim has returned from Mecca.
When we arrived in Bebe's family village there were already hundreds of people gathered in celebration. Many people congregated at the mosque for prayer and the majority of them were wearing the same special material that Bebe and I had on. As prayers at the mosque came to an end, Bebe ushered me through the large crowd down to the entrance of the mosque to wait for our pilgrim to appear. As soon as she emerged, all dressed in white, I was pushed up right beside her. She took my hand and then we paraded through the village while people chanted the same song that was sung on the bus, old women fanned us, men rang little bells, ancient-looking video cameras were rolling, and I had no idea what was going on. When we got to the pilgrim's yard, we sat down under a palaver hut on a special rug and the whole village came to greet us.
After about an hour, when there was a little break in the crowd, I excused myself. When I found Bebe she was giggling uncontrollably because she knew I was uncomfortable and could not figure out what was happening. In utter frustration I looked at her in the eyes and blurted out, “Why do people go to Mecca anyways?”
She paused, and then answered, “To get rid of their sins of course.” All my frustration faded. Then she asked, “Where do Christians go to get rid of their sins?” With a deep breath, a prayer, the use of multiple languages and awful grammar, I tried my best to say that Christians do not have to go anywhere, but we believe in Jesus who came to us and died so that we could be forgiven from our sins. Then she told me that she had never heard that before.
Often, after pondering the many not-so-good expereinces of Africa, I wonder why I stayed. Sometimes I try to convince myself that all the difficult things that happened in Africa and everything that has happened since is worth it because of this one moment with Bebe. Sometimes the thought is enough to keep me going.
That is a great picture. It makes me smile.
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