Day 7 - The Clutch of Christianity

Today is Sunday and Sunday is the day of Church. Not everyone in the family goes, but I sure wasn’t missing out on the opportunity to a) have a cultural experience and b) leave the house. I put on my nicest dress, which fortunately fits the guidelines of covering my shoulders and knees, ate my boiled sweet potato for breakfast and off we went, 1 hour later than I thought we were meant to leave. 

The Church was the size of a school hall, filled with rows of plastic chairs, a band, stage, podium and frilly decorations up the front. Oh, and a set of ginormous speakers. It was fun to see everyone dressed in their Sunday best, a mix of Western style clothes and more traditional African textiles. It’s especially cute to see little boys dressed up slick in jeans, shirts and jackets. I get quite a few stares but less than I was expecting, and I’m pretty used to it anyway. 

When the music plays, I sway and clap and sing along best I can. I am thankful to be in the back row with less eyes on me. There was a beautiful interlude where about 15 mamas joined together and walked down the aisle singing beautiful, soft hymns. I really enjoyed that part. Our moment to head down the front came as we traipsed single file to give our donation. 

I obviously can’t understand a thing – despite my host Mum translating bits and pieces for me – which always leaves space for deep reflection (as well as practicing my times tables, I’m currently trying to learn them). As I looked around I began to brood over the fact that this Christian religion was not their true, original form of worship or connection to a higher power. African people being Christian, same as in South America, is the result of colonisation. This belief in Jesus, who is commonly portrayed as a white man, no less, was forcefully thrust upon them (the irony being that Jesus is not even white). I guess it was so long ago that it’s just accepted. These are their beliefs now, and while people were closing their eyes, placing hands on hearts or raised in the air, it was obvious that they believed deeply in Christ’s prayer. 

I wanted to cry right then and there. Not for the first time that week, I was overtaken with anguish over the effects of colonisation. I kept wondering, “What do all these people really think when they lay in their beds at night? Do they ever question their beliefs and where they came from? Do they wonder why they spend each night praying to a Jesus just because the white man told them to”? I remembered the Xhosa community I’d recently stayed in in South Africa and how they have their own herbalists, traditional healers (sometimes known as “witch doctors”) and connection to their ancestors through dreams. I pondered whether Malawians had their own version of this as well, because it was dawning on me in that moment that the vast majority of things I’d encountered as “Malawian culture” was really just the result of colonisation, passed down through generations for so long that it felt as much their own as the mountains, rivers and lakes. I thought I might cry again. 

About halfway through the service, a guy began an impassioned sermon and goodness gracious it was loud. One thing I can say for sure about Malawi is that it is without a doubt the loudest country I have ever been to. The family I live with blasts beats from TV painfully loud. When I walk past groups listening to music from massive speakers and playing cards, it is deafeningly loud. And this guy giving the sermon was positively yelling into this enormous microphone which played through the gigantic speakers. I had to have at least one ear covered at all times. My head began to ache and my mood shifted from being a keen observer to wanting to get the hell out of there. I looked around to see if anyone else seemed to be struggling with the volume but no, I guess they’re all used to it. It was one of those moments I have occasionally, like…how can humans be so the same and yet so different? It’s amazing what we adjust to. 

Another hour passed like this and then I gave up and went to chill outside. A few kids started asking my name and then, before long, I was encompassed by swarms of youngsters. The few confident ones showed off their English while the rest stared and giggled. They offered to show me their classroom, as the church was right by a school, so we went for a wonder, just me and 50 energised, curious children at my heels. I began to question my choices as 50 screaming kids almost reached the same decibels as old mate inside hollering his sermon. 

I was battered with a series of questions and then eventually a bible was thrust upon me and they pleaded that I read from it. The first bible was in Chichewa, Malawi’s primary language, and I gave it a giddy attempt. Then an English bible appeared and a reading was demanded. There I was, encircled by 50 zealous children, clearing a few feet above them, in all my whiteness, reading about Jesus, Mary and Lazarus. It was surreal, to say the least, with images of Christ and his 40 odd loaves of bread flashing across my mind. 

Then a young girl asked me to bless them and I was like nuh uh, hell no, I am not inadvertently playing this Jesus character any longer. They argued that you don’t need to be Jesus to bless children, so I compromised and agreed to say a prayer. We closed our eyes and, at the same time as relishing this moment of peace and quiet, I asked God to bless these young spirits with happy, fulfilling lives, where they get to follow their dreams, live out their soul purpose and marry whoever makes them happy. Everyone clapped and thanked me, and while the battery of questions continued, I gave my own silent prayer – that my wish for these children was not just wishful thinking. 

This piece is part of an ongoing series, ‘Musings in Malawi’, where I reflect on the effects of poverty, colonisation, climate change and more, in one of Africa’s poorest regions, Chikwawa. I am here volunteering for an incredible non-profit, DIN Malawi, and raising funds to help empower HIV/AIDS effected groups. Please consider donating to provide food security and income generation for some of Malawi’s most stigmatised.