Children’s Sunday

Sundays in May are a big deal, and for the entire month, a specific Sunday is dedicated to honoring a section of the family. First there is Children’s Sunday, followed my Mother’s Sunday, and then Father’s Sunday. And, as I am neither a mother nor a father, it was decided that I should participate in Children’s Sunday. I was told that the children would recite biblical lessons, read hymns, do action songs, reenact biblical stories, and sing songs. All the children from pre-school through high school would be participating.

The week leading up to Children’s Sunday there were rehearsals every night, and I would stop by for a bit to watch. Usually though, after two hours or so, I inevitably got bored and would wander home. I also noticed a huge influx in the number of women weaving, and, as the week progressed, many groups of them would stay up all night weaving, as I finally figured out, new ta’ovalas and kiekias for their children and sewing new clothes.

The Thursday before the big day one of my neighbors who works at the airport came up to me and told me I would be reading a hymn on Children’s Sunday. What he failed to mention, but I astutely discovered at the dress rehearsal that evening, was that I would be doing my reading with his 5-year old son, who is in class 1 at my school. And, since the program starts with the youngest children and works its way up, who do you think started off the service? Oh yes, yours truly. And, all the kids had been practicing for months, and all of them, even the 4 and 5-year olds, had their verses and hymns memorized. I, as you may guess, very much did not, and with only two days until Sunday I just accepted the fact that I wouldn’t and was resigned to my fate as the only child reading from a hymn book.

On the Sunday itself there was the normal morning church service, followed by a huge feast in honor of the children, for which I made some pretty delicious custard cake parfaits, if I do say so myself. Phil, Kate, and Brett joined me for church in the morning and for the feast that followed, which made it all a lot more fun, even though there was a pig’s butt literally inches away from my face the entire feast. All of the children were dressed in white for church, and it was amazing how quickly a room of children dressed in white at a feast get collectively filthy.

After the feast, everyone ran home to change, and an hour later we were back at the church ready to start the program. Lupe, my neighbor, and Vasiti, the mother of a girl in class 1, decked me out in true Tongan fashion with a woven shirt, three ta’ovalas as my skirt, and a giant necklace of woven palm leaves. Once we got to the church Sā, my five-year old buddy, and I did our recitation/reading to start off the services, and all went smoothly until Muimui, my dog, saw me up on the alter and decided that’s where he should be too. Now, dogs in church are definitely frowned upon, but dogs on the scared alter- giant faux pas. Lupe ran up and grabbed him, and I finished my reading to wild approval and tears from the older ladies in the village (they loved me) and laughs from my students at my mispronunciations and the fact that I was reading with a class 1 student (obviously, they were less impressed).

I shuffled back to a pew- it’s really quite difficult to walk in giant woven mats- and was trying to find a way to sit without sliding off the bench when Muimui came bounding back in. This time, he saw Fotu, my neighbor’s four-year old son, reciting his lesson. Lupe and I brought him outside and tied him to the outside of the church, but after about a half hour he was whining so loudly you could hear him over the singing (Tongans sing incredibly loudly, so this was actually quite impressive) so we untied him, and he spent the rest of the service sleeping under my pew.
Three and a half hours later we finally wrapped up Children’s Sunday. Everyone did very well, although the older kids’ lessons took twice as long because each one of them would start to cry and have to stop until some small child ran up with a handkerchief from someone. It’s a Tongan thing to get very into your speeches and bible lessons and cry. I was very happy to get home, take off the woven clothing (which is very beautiful but a bit lacking in terms of comfort and ventilation) and relax.