On Sunday we were invited to Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving (still haven't figured out what we're giving thanks for) is a little unfair. The children have to pay to have special outfits made for that one day, and never use them again - so the kids whose parents can't afford the clothes don't get to come (see repercussions in Tuesday's update).
Initially Ide and I were both going to the same event, but when we got there it turned out that I had accidentally said 'yes' to an invitation to my school's Thanksgiving when we gategrashed the headmistress' house the other day. This is not unpredictable as I say yes to most things that I don't understand, and I don't understand most things. We arrived at 2:00pm and the ceremony started at 3:45. I've learned that an hour and 3/4s late is actually quite punctual. The procession started at the school and in North Korea fashion the kids marched in straight lines to the church. When I say we, I mean Ishmael and I, because Ide had been whisked away by Aunty Bettie to her church.
Ide's broiler hot Thanksgiving church:
We sat at the back of the church but were immediately ushered to the front and squeezed into a pew with ten little children. Thirty seconds later we were ushered back to the back of the church, which was by far more comfortable as there was a window. The session had 18 events, most of which I could not understand besides "Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..." drummed into me during two years at boarding school. I am not the slightest bit religious and feel very uncomfortable praying, but the head teacher bellowed "HEADS DOWN" and she is so terrifying I obeyed instantly.
Justine's Thanksgiving church:
They had a full-on band playing at the front of the church and the kids were boogying and singing their little butts off. A thousand prayers later, of which I caught the importance of keeping your hands and face clean, and respecting your parents, teachers, and the Lord or you will go from "HERO TO ZERO" the head mistress made announcements. The children were to attend school on Monday (which was supposed to be a holiday) or face the wrath of Satan and all his minions (don't know which is scarier - that or the headmistress). She then made me come to the front of the church and give a speech. For those of you that know me even the slightest you will know that public speaking is my worst nightmare, but when no one understands what you are saying in the first place it isn't so bad. More prayers and we were finally allowed out.
Mentally exhausted from having the lord infiltrate my soul for two hours I was looking forward to heading home. But no - we were marching and a huge brass band (well, impressive looking bits of one) had turned up to accompany them. I didn't want to be impolite and leave, and what harm could a little walking do? Ten minutes in, the parents (all three if them) got in a huge row with the band and demanded they play better music.
After much yelling and gesturing we started off again (with the band playing much the same music). The kids are GREAT dancers and immensely fun to watch. A lot of boodie shaking by the girls and hip thrusting by the boys - even the tiny ones. Six miles later my new white pants were completely brown, and yes, you guessed it, I was drenched in sweat. Finally we arrived back at the school and were treated like royalty, with seats, sodas and crackers. Sierra Leonian hospitality is without a doubt second to none.
