Holy Pagans

After a month of steady invitations, I finally agree to accompany my father to mass; I have a feeling it would be interesting. My only clause: I have to be fine wearing what I already have on (cut off jeans and a graphic T).

“Fine, fine, yes that’s fine,” my father says. “But you have to cover your head.”

Of course.

When I asked for the justification behind this ‘law’ a few weeks ago, the explanation given to me was kind of loose so I don’t know how fully accurate it is: Apparently Nigerian Catholics believe that women must cover their heads in some fashion so that God will recognize them . . . . . . shit . . . I’m not sure anymore if that’s the explanation now because I think that’s why Jewish men wear yamacas (sp???).

ANYHOO, I get away with wearing a thin lil’ skull cap – thankfully it’s not a regulation that’s strictly dictated.

So we arrive on time (I exist on ‘retiree time’ now, so I’m always punctual, if not early) and they’re saying the rosary. Oh man . . . I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard the full rosary recited, but it certainly does take awhile.

But when the real, more official churchy-type stuff gets underway it's alright. There is a good story about the origin of St. Agnes . . . . Oddly enough, I'm all about singing the hymns. I really focus on being in tune, which, if you’ve ever attended a Catholic mass you’ll know, is more or less an inconsequential concern to the majority of the congregation. But I sing and sing, one hymn after the other – straight from the diaphragm. I didn’t even sing this enthusiastically when I actually considered myself a Catholic. But what the hey, it’s better than sitting in my room hoping electricity will come so I can charge my laptop battery.

Which brings me to the most interesting occurance during the service! A woman is reading something or other at the pulpit and ‘GADUK!’ all the power goes out and we’re now sitting in near-total darkness. The congregation doesn’t miss a beat. The recitation continues, the call and response portion finishes and the priest takes the pulpit as the electricity resumes and we can see him again.

Beloved Naijah! Your people deserve better.