I did not take my camera to church in the village this week yet some things are captured in my mind regardless of a photo to prove it.
A little girl, barely able to stand up and walk, dancing her little heart out to the beat of the drums and singing.
The elderly widow lady that removed her wrap (capulana) to brush the youth singers as her sign that she was blessing them.
The deep, loud, quick beat of the drum.
The sweat rolling down my back because of the heat of the day as well as having 50 people crammed into a very small building.
The ladies dancing, incredible footwork and loud, sharp clapping that didn't miss a beat.
The children huddled in the opposite corner of the small church giggling and pointing at our boys since they don't often see white children if they have ever before.
The heat beating on the tin roof causing it to crackle and pop.
The pastor preaching in Portuguese that was then translated into the local dialect, Shona.
The trees, drooping to the ground outside, filled with avocados .
The smell of dust stirred up by the dancing feet of the congregation.
The uncomfortable wooden bench that my bottom protests against.
The amazing greeting by all the women in the church as the Pastor explained that I don't yet speak Portuguese.
THIS CULTURE AWAKENS MY SENSES!
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