This morning, bright and early was another biki, a baby naming ceremony. By the time we arrived, the event had already begun. Unlike the previous biki I had been too, the women and men were only separated by seating sections, so we had to sit through the sermon too.
Being as it was in Hausa and the pastor was only turning to the men's side, I zoned out and began checking out what all the other women were wearing. Within a few minutes, I could here a bit of a commotion inside the house. Someone can rushing out with a small pitcher. There was no more water!
A few more minutes and the whispers started making their way through the crowd of women sitting on the ground. The old woman to my left tugged my sleeve and whispered 'Ov qkjva lkaeijbj zkjv lk jeiv kzcxvlelak vlkv ko?' I stared at her. My friend next to me whispered in French 'They want to know if you will share your water bottle.'
Finding it an odd request, I handed over my blue BPA free Camelbak, which quickly crowd-surfed it's way over to the pastor. I wondered if we were about to witness a miracle . . . you know, like the little boy's five loaves and two fish!
You can imagine my disappointment when the pastor fiddled with the lid and took a swig while the rest of us remained dry and parched.