I can finally update! Part 2

7 September 2008
Well, just as I thought, I have so much to say about my first South African Mass, and as always, I hope I write down everything I wish to write.

After my breakfast of cornflakes with sugar (which definitely tasted like Frosted Flakes) and leftover chocolate chip muffin from Cape Town, I headed off to Mass at the Catholic church in Langa. Siya, Bayanda and I left ahead of everyone else and through the cold wind, which definitely made me feel as though I wasn’t experiencing a Michigan fall after all, we made it to St. Anthony’s. The structure of the church looked like a quaint little building, but I had eventually witnessed that it holds a lot more than I thought. In any case, there was a raised pulpit with a bit of an enclosure (which I hadn’t expected) and instead of being separate, the choir was a part of the congregation in the front of the church. I didn’t see any choir books in the pews and soon found out that everyone brings their own copy. (Side note: I need to buy a copy.)

The Mass opened up with two songs, both in Xhosa and the second one welcoming the altar servers and priest. Then, I sat in my seat following the order of the Mass, but still equally lost, as everything was said almost entirely in Xhosa. As I was toward the back of the Church, it was a little difficult to hear, but I eventually heard (often too late) a language I recognised and could actually participate in. Seamlessly, the readers, priest and congregation transitioned from Xhosa to Latin to English back and around again. Each section wasn’t translated into each of these languages, but rather, different sections were basically monolingual. For example, the opening greeting was in Xhosa, as well as the first reading, and the second reading was in English. I also caught the Gloria, a few Sanctus, some Ave Marias, a Thixo (God) now and again, Molweni (Hello), many enkosi’s (thank you), and so forth. Luckily I remembered the order of Mass pretty well to follow along. The priest’s homily was delivered in both English and Xhosa; I was able to laugh along with the rest of the congregation to his English stories and jokes, yet remember feeling lost when everyone laughed at a statement said in Xhosa. A statement the priest said stuck to me when he said it: “No one can make you angry. You choose to be angry.” This got me thinking; we all certainly have so many choices to make, and likewise, we may choose to be happy and enjoy life, whether we face good or bad. From the vibe of the crowd, everyone was so lively and happy to be at Mass. I even saw many kids from the community attending and sitting by themselves (at the end of Mass they also went to school; perhaps a Sunday school type of thing?). Though I didn’t know enough Xhosa, the music still very much filled me. As I heard what felt like Gospel/praise music, I was emotionally charged to see everyone swaying and perhaps semi-dancing in the music to the beat of the sounds, a beat that brought to mind a single, controllable heartbeat for the community. Even the priest was quite enjoying the music. Perhaps this may all seem like an odd image, but simply taking it from the context that I couldn’t understand the words, the musical component to it was simply amazing. Cognisant that there is a theological meaning to it, the experience was awe-inspiring. Much more than what we sing at Mass in the States was definitely sung today at Mass here in Langa; unsurprisingly, the Mass in total was two hours long.

For those environmentalist friends of mine who may be reading this, I’d also like to point out that, in the front of the Mass guide, was a very well written article entitled “Environmental Ethics Needs Reverence and Gratitude,” which is part of a larger series called “Greening the Liturgical Green Season: Faith and the Environment” (currently, Catholics are celebrating “Ordinary Time,” a period in the Church calendar that is represented in colour by the colour green).

There are a few things that I’d like to close with. First, during the shaking of hands portion of the Mass, many people moved around to shake hands and share a greeting of peace to fellow congregants. In contrast to what I see as a more or less robotic greeting back in the States, this certainly acted as a confirmation of an observation that I have been seeing regularly here: a great sense of family. In Xhosa culture, one often uses Mama, Tata, Sisi and Bhuti. Regardless of how many people are in a family, or how you’re related to someone else, you’re still basically recognised as one of the aforementioned titles. So, one’s aunt may still be considered as Mama; Cousins interact more closely as siblings. Moreover, there is a holistic sense of community involvement. The priest talked about those coming to St. Anthony’s becomes not one person’s responsibility, but the whole community’s responsibility. Within a Xhosa household, relatives or friends may drop by on a whim and many times without letting you know ahead of time; regardless, they are still welcomed in and are taken care of. This sort of community similarly reminds me of Filipino culture in so many respects. In terms of a sense of “home,” I was also moved to see that each of the altar servers wore the Coptic cross that also is represented of my home parish, the Church of the Transfiguration. Finally, a woman sitting next to me must have seen that I was a bit lost during the responsorial psalm and pointed out to me that the Xhosa version (which was being said, though the English translation was also on the Mass guide) was inside the Mass guide. It reads “Njengokuba namhlanje niliphulaphula ilizwi lakhe! Musani ukuzenza lukhuni iinhliziyo zenu.” I tried to get it right and at the right speed; by the time I was getting the hang of it, the responsorial was finished. I am entirely determined to learn this language as quickly as possible so I can work on speeding up my Xhosa.

Peace,
MA

PART B:
For dinner, we had rice, potatoes, cabbage, beans (as in pork and beans, sans pork), and chicken. As I ate the food, as has been the case with many other things here in Langa, I was reminded of home. The chicken, to me, tasted like adobo, one of my favourite foods, and the national dish of the Philippines. I explained this to Mama, Sasa and Vuvu. Vuvu, in turn, told me how she prepared the food and mentioned Worster sauce. I then followed up by explaining briefly how my mom cooks it; when I said that the chicken is usually cooked in vinegar, the reaction of the three confirmed my tasting ability. Worster sauce, apparently, is majority vinegar.

As a brief aside, Sasa wanted me to try fat cakes after Mass and so we went to a local food stand (although a better explanation on my part is that it looked more like an outdoor cooking stand with an overhung roof, much like what one may find at a sporting event. In any case, this reminded me of the stands I remember seeing in the Philippines as we walked around the neighbourhood. Unfortunately, we couldn’t get the fat cakes (Sasa told me these are very similar to our American doughnuts), but we did get some great rolls (they also top it off with what seemed like a fish paste).

Anyway, after dinner I was given my Xhosa name: Ntsikelelo (Nasal N-tsee-keh-LAY-loh), the shortened version sounding something like ‘Nasal N-tsee-Kay.’ In Xhosa, ntsikelelo means “blessed.” Mama followed up by saying that they feel blessed to have me as their first Catholic home stay student. I certainly feel equally blessed to have such a caring home stay family, as well as this amazing opportunity overall. This has been such an amazing journey so far. It’s only day 10.