“People, let me paint a picture”

By definition, first weeks of school are both intended and expected to be a little chaotic, but this particular first week has been really hectic, (and it’s only Wednesday). So when I decided to abandon my “non-isolationist” policy and listen to my ipod while waiting for class to begin, I didn’t feel guilty, even though I had just turned myself into another unapproachable college student. Besides, even if I had wanted to, I had no energy to string together a coherent sentence. Calculus tends to have that effect on me.

I haphazardly put on the mix a friend had made for me this past summer and turned up the volume so I couldn’t her myself think. The song "Around My Way" by Talib Kweli featuring John Legend came on. Literally within seconds I was wrapped up in another Cameroonian memory. I don’t know if it was the conviction of the lyrics, the fluidity of the rhythm, or the fervor in the voices. Or maybe it was the deliriousness that comes with derivatives. Whatever the cause, I was placed back into an exceptional state of mind - the same consciousness I experienced on our last Sunday in Cameroon…

It had been a long time since I’d been to mass, or any kind of religious services for that matter - with the exception of weddings, bar mitzvahs, and more recently, funerals. While I don’t practice a particular religion or faith, I love sharing meaningful traditions and practices that allow me a deeper understanding of my friends and their beliefs. So when Florentine asked us to join her at Church the Sunday before we left Yaoundé, I was more than excited to attend. The service was held in a simple, unadorned one-room cement building just down the road from The Peace House. Plastic 'patio furniture' chairs were arranged in rows across the width of the room. As the service began, I felt as though my mind was compensating for the fact that I don’t understand French, because I noticed the rest of my senses were unusually acute.

It was absolutely beautiful - Perfect in its “imperfection” and genuine in its purity. It was enlightening to see how the service not only fostered a sense of community, but also how it was very much about the individual and his or her relationship with God. At one point, everyone was asked to pray - To ask the lord to “come and be present”. I did not find this request particularly uncommon, but as I prepared myself for the recitation of a blessing or prayer, I was stunned at the sudden, sporadic eruption of voices that surrounded me. If I hadn’t known I was in church, I would have thought I was in the middle of a crowded market. The loud chorus of voices was confusing - everyone shouting different things at different times with such dedication and intensity. I looked again around the room, at the men and women standing, heads lifted upward (rather than bowed), arms reaching out, and I realized that each of these people were speaking directly to God, with their own words and in their own way.

The first time I closed my eyes, the sounds actually made me nervous. It felt like the voices were surrounding me. Suffocating me. Taking up a physical presence in the room. I felt like I had to hold my breath because there was no space or oxygen left for me. I felt out of control, unprepared, and in some strange way, vulnerable. I took in a deep breath and as I exhaled, I let go. As I let go of the fear and anxiety, I held on to the passion in the words around me. The voices that had before been closing in on me began to lift me. I couldn’t help but smile. I felt weightless. Once God had “come and was present,” the ‘shouting’ turned into singing, which was of course accompanied by clapping and dancing around the room so that we could greet one another. And when I say greet, I don’t mean a handshake and quick hello, but hugs, kisses, and dancing with our neighbors, young and old. I have a great picture of this ‘greeting’ in my head. A celebration is probably a more accurate description - A celebration of life, love, and friendship. It’s a picture that will always make me smile, and that I’ll always have time to remember - even during weeks like this one.