I woke up in the middle of the night again but I’m still surprised at how well I sleep here.

Gathered my things to do yoga and devotional this morning, but saw Amanda eating breakfast and dressed for church. I decide to go with her. It’s drizzling slightly when we head out and I feel a little silly wearing flip flops but it was either that or my converse. By the time we get to church the backs of my legs and hem of my dress are splattered in red mud and I feel horrendously underdressed. Not many of the ex-pats attend the English service and I don’t know if that’s because it starts at 730am or because the members are mainly students who are required to attend. They all look young and are dressed smartly. The girls wear heels and stockings. One of the ushers wears a light blue bow tie, magenta dress shirt, and brown velvet blazer. So much swag.
It’s not often that I feel embarrassed at church but I do. It sounds silly to say but the people here are much more, for lack of a better word – affluent than I expected. In Haiti we wore the same run down clothes in clinic and church. I’m further embarrassed when I realize I didn’t bring any money for tithe. When you’re a foreigner it feels like you’re in a fishbowl sometimes and I sheepishly pass the collection plate along.
None of this matters when the eight students in the front of the church start to sing, though. There is something about church music and acapella and the richness of their voices that absolutely shatters me. Oh. So this is what church has that my little Oswald chambers devotional does not. One of the guys really gets into it, closes his eyes, and does an involuntary wiggle with his shoulders that makes the congregation erupt into giggles.
The pastor preaches about marriage and earthly families. We read about Hannah and Samuel. A bible story I haven’t revisited in a long time (though let’s be real I haven’t revisited most of them since first reading). Elkanah had two wives but he favored Hannah.
All throughout the sermon, a bell clangs annoyingly at improper intervals. The village kids get their hands on it and go to town.
I whisper ask Mandy if it’s rude to take a video of the singers. She’s unsure but I do it anyway. They are so good I want them to go on the Malawian version of Americas got talent or American idol if such a thing exists.

The next several hours are spent in silence. It’s the sabbath of my youth, except now there’s internet. And I read Imperfect birds and drink tea and listen to the rooster crow like it’s sunrise when it’s not.