When I wake, I find Kara and Val in the kitchen. The cooks have been given the day off. Kara is doing dishes in the only sink, which is behind the free-standing kitchen building. Val is making coffee on one of the small kerosene stoves. At that moment one of our cooks runs through the door, a look of panic on her face. “I heard you were all alone!” she said. Her son had told her. We laughed at her alarm, reassuring her that we were fine and that she had intentionally been given the day off. Guess the word gets out fast when the khawajat (white people or foreigners, in Arabic) are fending for themselves in the kitchen.At 11 a.m. we grab the wooden folding chairs and begin walking to the church. People in their new Christmas clothes are coming on foot from every direction with wooden and plastic stools and chairs in tow. We begin the necessary process of greeting everyone’s stares with smiles. Christmas Day mass is being held outside, behind St. Mary’s Catholic Church. A wooden, roofed stage has been erected and two collection baskets are in place. We are slightly late, but yet we are early. The yard is a sea of people in clothing of colors as bright as the sun is hot. Many boys are wearing camouflage pants and shirts and hats – little generals everywhere.
I begin taking pictures and showing the people the digital photos. The kids love it. One woman who is dancing alone on the stage notices me and approaches. I believe she will be asking me to take a photo of her. I quickly realize, by her dress and her behavior, that she is mentally impaired. With a wide smile never leaving her face, she speaks to me in Balanda, which naturally I don’t understand, insisting that I take from her a currency note. I do not want to take it. We smile at her and notice that others around us are laughing at her. She will not leave; she will not stop offering me the note. I begin to grow nervous, not knowing how to get her to stop offering me the money. I touch my hair a couple times out of nervousness. Each time I do, she touches her own hair. “I think she wants you to get your hair done,” Kara says, not realizing she is mimicking me. Eventually, a woman – her cousin – speaks in Zande to our friend and “cultural guide,” Bridget, our HR manager. She says she is the woman’s cousin and advices that I take the money and then pass it secretly to her. I do so, and shortly thereafter the woman leaves me alone. “She is happy that she has given you an offering,” says Bridget.
The mass begins. One priest says the mass in Zande; another in Arabic. At the homily’s conclusion, the priest who has been speaking in Arabic summarizes the lesson in English – looking in our direction as he does so. Everyone begins craning their necks to look for the khawaja whom he is obviously addressing.
The mass is a blend of Catholicism and African tradition. Girls in white dresses and bright green head scarves dance in orchestrated moves before the alter. One tosses flower petals into the air. Parading around the alter in carefully choreographed steps are the flag-carrying church leaders and ushers. People in the audience shake maracas and play other small percussion instruments.
What I call the boom box contingency is in full swing, surrounding the marimba player and the music group. Each young man wears shades and rap artist T-shirts. Large boom box perch on their shoulder. They are recording the music for playback later. There is no FM radio in South Sudan, shortwave. Therefore, these men record music when they can for their own enjoyment. At the strike of the first note from the marimba, the men in unison click “record.”Following the church service, people move into Freedom Square for the Christmas Day market, which consisted largely of the sale of various home-brewed beers made from millet and wheat -- even sesame. Many areas have been set up to serve as backdrops for photographs. The photographers will have the film developed in Kampala, Uganda, and then arrange for the photo to be given to the families through a series of courier transfers. It’s strange how similar this place can be to New Orleans. I saw similar backdrops set up at the 2005 St. Joseph’s Day.
