Chapel of Dombila

I just came back from church. I kept hearing that there was a church in Dombila, but from what I gathered, it was a very small and informal Sunday gathering. Alighn with my expectations, I was lead to a family compound, and sat on a bench with two young Christian men- Raymond and Noelle. Another came over to talk and shared his Bambara mistellet with me. With a nostalgic smile, I looked over the familiar Our Father, Hail Mary and Apostle’s creed in this new language I was learning. So this is African Christian church- we sit and discuss the Word together in a family compound. Pretty cool.
But my expectations were tremendously exceeded when a boy started to ring the Sunday morning bell. “Let’s go.” the boys said to me. “Where?” I was a bit confused. “To the chapel.”
Just around the corner was a small mud building. I step inside- and with two rows of mud pews at my side, I notice the cruxifix hanging humbly in the front. Yet simple as it was, it drew tremendous reverence from the people entering. There is a small alter with two candles burning on each side. To my left- a calendar from last year- stuck on December with a midevil drawing of the Holy Mother and Baby Jesus sat below chipped and chewed statue of Mary. I am completely swept away. I feel so at home among these things, yet so far away at the same time. I hadn’t realized how much I missed this Sunday-morning feeling until it returned to me. If my white skin wasn’t enough to make me stick out among a dozen other people, it might have been the fact that I had to regularly wipe the tears from my face.
We proceeded with the familiar Catholic mass. I understood enough to identify the parts of the mass and which gospel we were listening to. And like many other Sundays growing up, my mind wandered during the homily to other things, my hands went to others as we said the “Our Father”- I know what this is about here. I am a part of this. As we offered our prayers, it was only the lump in my throat that held me back from praying for you all in front of the congregation. I have said I have prayed for you before, but today- I fully and completely sent my entire heart to you all. And as much as I wanted to stay after church and get to know my Christian brothers and sisters with the crosses around their necks, to talk to the cantor about the Malian Christian music, to ask for a Bambara bible so I could learn the prayers, I couldn’t bring myself to do any of these things. I walked back to my hut, emptied the rest of my tears in my pillow, and prayed for all of the things that I was too choked up to let my mind penetrate on them inside the chapel.