Kagunga Dawn

Feb. 8
 
At 7 AM , the sounds belong to roosters, the sky to the filtered sunbursts dodging the vast shelf of scattered cloud. Steep canyons of terraced green farmland hug me and the lake before me, in every direction, as an early mist still swaddles several distant shores.
  Yesterday's magical moments return -- the 40  minute motor ride from Rukinda market to this far reach of Lake Bunyonyi, the climb to Kabunga parrish, changing discreetly into formal clothes for the church service, delivered exclusively in Rukiga. The congregation had rarely seen Muzungus (whites) and several of the younger children cried as many do upon seeing Santa Claus. They had heard stories of youngsters being eaten by Muzungus, and I was huge and frightening. But the reverend welcomed us warmly and sat us on stage in seats of honor. I spoke to the hundred wide-eyed smiling people before me of brotherhood in belief in family, friendship and sport. Dogeared Bibles and hymn books spoke of decades of intense use, and the drumbeats and dancing made for the most colorful service I've ever seen. Offerings were collected according to your community of residence, and corn, squash, bananas and eggs filled the baskets as well as coins. The goods were later raffled off and turned into cash for parrish projects.
  Afterward I dined with the Reverend and showed him the magic of burning incense I'd brought from the 99 cent store in Santa Barbara. I promised to send him a Bible that the Westmont V-ball team had given me 25 years ago, and he blessed me deeply.
  Later, smiling men huddled with me in a dark bar, drinking "home brew". All were warm and congenial, as another "middle born" and one of my "age-mates" became solid friends. Local characters, Mechanical John and a dozen others led us on an evening walk along a road through the villages, where tales of elephant and leopard and Pigmy archers animated the coming dark. Not a single TV or automobile intruded in this land without electrical power, but with energy in abundance.
  I met the parents and family of my host, Fred, who had invited me to the baptism of his first born, Liberty, some months ago. I'd been unable to attend and this was a belated but solemn introduction to his fantastic community and loved ones.
  As we walked off the next morning, his mom ran up the path after us to say another goodbye, and thank me for the fish necklace from Tonga that I'd given her. And I will never forget her smile, and the hug I gave her that embarrassed her so.
  The long ride back across the lake gave me time to process this incredible entree to the true richness of this people, this place, and this life.