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Headed to Kasibi

At 9:00 a.m. this morning some 20 of us piled onto a flat bed truck and struck out for the Kasibi.  We bounced and rocked for well over a hot and windy   hour over bush trails, through cornfield, woods and past dozens of thatched roofed mud huts.  The road ended at a swollen creek, which we crossed on foot over a make-shift ‘bridge’ of logs.    
  We heard that sound again, reminiscent of Paul Simon’s Zulu singers on his old Graceland album.  A crowd streamed down the path singing and dancing in welcome. They dropped in behind Carolyn and me – dancing and singing in procession– up through the heart of Kasibi village..  The little church building wouldn’t begin to hold the crowd, so all grabbed benches and moved out under the trees, sitting women one side, men on the other,. 
  Worship continued with spirited singing and prayers. I preached briefly–interpreted in Tonga.
  Two offerings were gathered, (1st for church operational costs. 2nd for widows and orphans).   Three men counted the money in the sight of all – standard accountability procedure here.
  Several ‘praise teams’ sang: s Women’s group, some with babies tied to their backs. A men’s group, a young peoples group. 
  As we were dismissed, another singing processional led we guests
  to an outdoor feast of goat, chicken and schema (staple) among the huts with the Tonga people – who had saved up to host us!!!  
  One striking woman in colorful traditional dress – stood apart by herself. She said she is widowed by AIDS, both she and a child are infected as well.   A leader confided that statistically 1/3rd of the people present at the service are HIV positive. 
  After the feast, some Tonga young men entertained us with fascinating music plated on instruments fashioned from odds and ends: A home-made drum, a ‘base guitar’ with a tree branch for a neck and the head made of hide stretched over the end of a hollow log , a collection of metal scraps for a marimba - plus one real banjo!  Women began dancing. Then children.  Then most of the crowd joined in. Carolyn grabbed my hand and we did a few awkward dance steps, to the delight of all.
  A 93 year old man sat on a stump and played a home-made fiddle of sorts – looked like an archer’s bow, stuck through a hollow gourd for it’s resonating head and a stick for a bow - ending his song with a wry grin and a falsetto,  “bye-bye.”  Then, out from behind a tree stepped a ‘warrior’ with club and shield, charging and feinting with several woman in choreographed advance and retreat behind him. (Depicting Tonga men long ago defending villages and women against invading Zulus.).
  Finally, the Kasibi Christians, again singing and dancing all the while, led us in procession back down the path and across the creek to bid us farewell. 
  I thought, “There is no where else in the world I would rather be right now!”