Palm Sunday came along in its usual way, though i thought I'd feel less new by Easter. Warned three times at choir rehearsal to be on time, quarter to 9 for a 9 am procession up the highway to 10am mass, I rushed to get up and out. However, unhelpfully, it was one of the worst mornings for anti-malarial nausea meaning everything took twice as long as it should, i was running late and I felt pretty grim. Therefore I treated myself to a taxi, and didn't even haggle the D50 (c.£1) fare down further. I felt a bit grand pulling up in it though.
Children offered to sell me palm branches, whole ones, not the wispy leaves we get in the UK. Everyone laughed at that but obviously someone here had literally just climbed up and pulled them down from local trees rather than having to import them. My conductor Sangay bought a branch for me and, being the only choristers around, we sat under the shade of trees and learnt more about each other. His mother and wife sing in the choir too and we talked about our shared passion for singing.
People started to assemble and at about 9.30 a huge pick up truck with drum kit, singers and pretty enormous PA system drove in. The cross went first, then the van, the children, choir and everyone. As I joined in the music we shook our palms, filled the street and danced up the road. It was brilliant, and felt biblical (technological advances excepted). The soprano section were pretty impressed with my dancing skills. It was also quite nice to be making the taxis go round us, the drivers here will usually expect pedestrians to move for them, even when lurching off road, so it felt like payback.
We entered the church, sang our music and the mass was as normal. However the Passion reading was in Wolof so that was an exercise in trying to pick the words I know versus the story I know. The sermon was on examples of poor attitudes in the reading. I like the priest; he gives his sermons in both English and Wolof and seems to be keen on making them theologically accurate and practically relevant.
Walking home was hard. It was now past midday. The sun was hot and it seemed like I could feel every item of clothing and each thread was irritating and chaffing. Many cars beep as they pass, as a warning to you or others, as notice that there's space in a taxi, for some other reasons I'm still working out. Therefore I'm used to ignoring beeps and mainly tutting when cars lurch off the Tarmac in front of where I'm walking. On Palm Sunday a car did just that. As I stepped away seeking a patch of firmer ground I became aware the driver was offering me a lift. She was driving from church and had seen me in the choir. What a legend! Lovely Gracie dropped me home. I twisted a bit of palm into a cross to say thanks. Now the rest of the Sunday was free for chatting, eating and a trip to find a pool and Internet.
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