The Red Tie Church

This is the first-hand account of the most bizarre experience I have had in Kenya to date.

There is a big project going on in Mbakalo right now to dig and expand boreholes for water, and protecting springs. Water is a major issue everywhere (even in Nairobi), but sanitation problems are especially evident in the rural areas. SVH-Mbakalo is the overseeing organization for the project right now, and there were always meetings going on to address different issues. Last Friday, Filippo and I were standing outside the dispensary (just after one of these meetings had ended) when Francis, the Local Management Committee vice chairman, came over to us. He said something to the effect of, “So would you both like to come around with us tomorrow?” Thinking “us” referred to the LMC, and “around” meant to visit the water project sites, we agreed to meet at 8 in the morning (American time, we confirmed), and Francis assured us we would return by 10am to the dispensary.

Filippo and I were surprised that Francis was actually early on Saturday morning; in fact, he had to wait for us. As Filippo and I went out to brush our teeth, I commented on the fact that I didn’t think I had ever seen Francis wearing clothes different from his khakis, dress shirt and red tie. We left Mama Anne’s and headed toward Mbakalo market. Shortly after beginning the walk, Filippo and I both realized “around” actually meant to Francis’ church harvest celebration service. It was too late to turn back then.

We took pike pikes to the church (Okome was my driver, and we exchanged phone numbers so that I could call him to pick us up. I didn’t expect to receive phone calls from him on both Sunday and Monday, just saying hello), where we met lots of people mostly in white. The women wore these habit-like outfits that were basically white dresses with either red around the neck or a very small red tie attached, and then white fabric with red trim on their heads. The men, I quickly realized, all wore red ties. I finally understood Francis’ style of dress. However that was probably the last thing I understood throughout the entire service.

The service was going to be outside, and Filippo and I were given prime seats (at least we thought so) in the back on a couch. The service didn’t start, though. Instead, everyone gathered on the road, singing and clapping, waiting for the Chief Patron to arrive. Francis kept coming back to us saying, “He’s almost here!” At one point a truck pulled in filled with women in white dresses and with a loudspeaker on the top. One woman was singing into it, and everyone joined in. No Chief Patron, though. I think we clapped and looked confused for about 45 minutes before this white 4-wheel drive Toyota wheeled into the yard, driven by the Chief Patron himself. People ran into the seating area to see him and find places to sit. He finally got to the front and the service started. It was about 2 or 3 hours of singing, praying, listening to other people talk, and waving my hand and saying either “amen” or “halleluiah.” Of course, the entire thing was in Swahili. The only words I understood were “American” and “mzungu” I think. At random times the entire congregation would turn and look at us. Apparently the Chief Patron changed his sermon to basically compare Kenya and the United States. There were also a couple of times when everyone would stand and whisper/pray (Filippo and I just made whispering sounds because we were always surprised by these moments), and then everyone would clap. I still don’t know how many times you clap or what the rhythm was, but it sounded like everyone would say, “ETphonehome.” We had to get on our knees at one point and whisper, and then we were forced to go shake hands with the Chief Patron.

When the service finally ended, we though we were free (and we were already a couple of hours late to our meeting with Simon). Then Francis asked us to go into the house. We figured we’d just be saying hello or at most taking tea, but in reality I think we participated in a Last Supper reenactment. The Chief Patron sat in one chair and some of the important people I would guess sat on couches around the room. A few women brought out bowls and plates filled with food, which was first served to the Chief Patron and then offered to Filippo and me. I guess we were second in command, for whatever reason. The entire meal was basically silent, and people only spoke in a whisper to those around them. The Chief just sat in his chair as people served him. Then suddenly everyone stood up and did the clapping thing again and then went back outside. Apparently the service was quite over, and there was a brief final segment. Finally it really ended, and all the women loaded back into the truck, and the Chief Patron got into his vehicle (which had been scrubbed clean during the service) and drove off, with much fanfare.

Now I don’t know if I did the story justice, or if I conveyed just how bizarre the entire thing was, and it might be a long way to tell the story, but I felt it necessary to share as best I could. I don’t mean to undermine religion, either, but I think this just took the cake for the most unexpected and strangest event I’ve seen so far.

Baadaye!