Eastern mass at Huambo Cathedral, 1988, Angola. Full church, the people fully participating in the chants, marking the rhythm and clapping hands. If you have not seen a service in Africa, then you cannot imagine just how different it is from a service in Brazil or Europe. I have never forgotten the joy of services in Angola. The people and their culture make all the difference.
The church resonated under the beautiful chants in the smooth language that is Umbundo. There was no place for anyone else and just imagine that Angolans complain if the mass is short and lasts less than 90 minutes. Suddenly, a buzz started by the main door and was passed on from person to person like an electric wave running across the assembly and taking the whole temple. The word "bomb" was heard over and over again.
Despite the priests' plea for calm, people stood up and rushed to the side door, trying to get out, but avoiding the big door at the front of the nave, where apparently the rumour had started. I also stood up and sought the way out where everyone was heading with great difficulty since the benches had been turned over by the crowd desperately trying to escape a potentially imminent explosion. People were being squeezed against the side door and I was afraid of getting trapped there. I tried to leave the main flux of people and headed to the wall next to the door, seeking refuge near a big wooden confessionary. I stopped in that niche where I thought myself safe and decided to wait for people to leave the temple before I risked getting out.
When the outflow receded a bit I went for the door and got out. Then I turned back and saw several men said to be the State Security. They were isolating an outside area near the exit door, just behind the confessionary where I had sheltered. They were working intently to deactivate the explosives discovered.
Later I came to know that the bomb was exactly there, inside an apparently innocent forgotten bag. Were it to explode, it would have taken lots of people and certainly myself too for I was less than a meter from the explosive backpack.
I went back home thanking God and reflecting on the dangers of living and working in that city which nevertheless already meant so much to me.
Despite the priests' plea for calm, people stood up and rushed to the side door, trying to get out, but avoiding the big door at the front of the nave, where apparently the rumour had started. I also stood up and sought the way out where everyone was heading with great difficulty since the benches had been turned over by the crowd desperately trying to escape a potentially imminent explosion. People were being squeezed against the side door and I was afraid of getting trapped there. I tried to leave the main flux of people and headed to the wall next to the door, seeking refuge near a big wooden confessionary. I stopped in that niche where I thought myself safe and decided to wait for people to leave the temple before I risked getting out.
When the outflow receded a bit I went for the door and got out. Then I turned back and saw several men said to be the State Security. They were isolating an outside area near the exit door, just behind the confessionary where I had sheltered. They were working intently to deactivate the explosives discovered.
Later I came to know that the bomb was exactly there, inside an apparently innocent forgotten bag. Were it to explode, it would have taken lots of people and certainly myself too for I was less than a meter from the explosive backpack.
I went back home thanking God and reflecting on the dangers of living and working in that city which nevertheless already meant so much to me.
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