Aselin

Yesterday I attended church in a small chapel about the size of my living/dining room. I love church, and as we drove to the small second floor room in a strip mall I anticipated what it would be like. Directed by our cab driver, we hiked some narrow stairs and formed a single line in the anteroom. I certainly felt like I was in Jamaica.

The air was heavy with humidity and the walls were painted a vibrant yellow with a brightness I didn’t know was possible in such volume - sunglasses were required. Our little group was heartily welcomed by Brother Jackson, and as we entered the small room I quickly realized we would more than double the congregation.

Scott and I walked to the front where I was seated in a broken chair that reclined into the lap of the man behind me. “Gina” the vibrantly dressed shy woman next to me giggled as I tried, rather unsuccessfully to find a graceful balance. Skewed on the seat with one leg extended in the air and a hand on Scott’s chair to steady me I started up a conversation. Gina was a relatively new convert. Her eyes were dimmed from the effects of diabetes but her smile was bright and she was a wealth of information on the other members of the congregation.

Gina shared that she ran a little shop that sold fried chicken, candy, soda and papers. I didn’t want to reveal how culturally stupid I was so I didn’t ask for more information about the papers. I did wonder about the papers - were they newspapers? Notebook papers? Toilet papers? All of these papers have a market and I would certainly purchase each of them.

During the meeting the energy and sincerity of the Jamaican people was infectious. I loved the Sunday School teacher’s style as she raised a finger and emphatically said “Question” with a pause for effect before she revealed the actual question. To my overly competitive self it felt a little like a trivia game - and I was still on the edge of my broken seat, although my leg was getting a little tired.

I reflected on church at home. We had more people, more room and OK, I’ll say it, better chairs. Our decor is more sedate and we’re a bit more formal but the Spirit is the same, the smiles are the same and as a man who was investigating the church came through to introduce himself to each of us, Scott and I smiled knowingly at each other. He was decked out in a gold sequined shirt with a hot pink tank top, knock-off rhinestone encrusted Dolce Gabbana sunglasses and a feathered hat - we had never met him, but we certainly knew him. Every congregation has someone desperate to be noticed.

Gina elbowed me to make sure I saw “Huggy Bear”. You couldn’t help but see him. She then started explaining he comes every now and then and wants to tell everyone what he’s read, what he knows. My problem is when I spoke to him I couldn’t understand a single word he said - except ‘ja know mon’. His thick Jamaican accent made every word unintelligible. Then a light went on in my tiny brain... Gina didn’t sell papers. Gina sells chicken, candy, soda and PEPPERS!

Just give me a little time, eventually I might figure it all out. Maybe.