The service was half over when I arrived
Every pew was packed, from the alter to the balcony
I stood in the doorway, feeling as awkward as I probably looked
The old woman waved for me to sit with her.
It made me smile, since there was no room. I shook my head.
Her face straightened. She pulled me to the bench.
We connected at the hip, with her navy dress against my brown skirt
I watched her feet when she knelt down. Did she still shave her legs?
At the end, I shook her hand before I turned towards the door.
She kept my hand while we walked out of the church
And she held it as she led me across the churchyard.
We held hands while she spoke to another woman in Swahili
She finally let go once we got to the wooden booth by the gate.
Still silent, she pushed me into the plastic chair, gave me tea and fried dough.
After I had few bites, she was satisfied. She turned to a customer.
A boy sat next me. He stared at my book .
Do you speak English? – Yes. Can you Read? – No.
I read him a paragraph. His name was Phil
The tea and dough were finished. I stood, gave her twenty shilling
She spoke to the boy. Will you come next week? Phil explained
I told her, Yes, I would come see her. She laughed and laughed.
