Forgetting Sharon, Sigotei Hills, the Sacred Water
Another day, another adventure. We arose early; the first morning without the coaching course in order to visit the home of Davis’ adoptive family in the Sigotei Hills. The journey is intense, traversing up what most would consider to be a mountain on unpaved roads in a bus filled with 20 people. The journey takes about 2.5 hours, constantly speeding up, slowing down, carefully driving as the bus tilts sideways according to the course of the pathway up. Motorcycles whiz by on each side carrying a driver and passenger headed up and down the mountain.
The bus full of wazungu cheers as we overcome yet another treacherous place in the road, especially for such a large bus with squeaky suspension. The bus driver pushes the accelerator, but the grading makes going over 20 miles per hour out of question. Children catch a glimpse of the eyes and face and fix their gaze with astonishment at what they are seeing. They yell to the bus, “Wazungu, how are you?” with a huge smile on their face.
This life is a temporal place, but I cannot think of many places that I would rather be than on this journey to the top. It is something of a relief when the van finally pulls into grass at the top of the Sigotei Hills. The bus gently rearranges a lounging goat as it pulls in and the wazungu yell to the bus driver, “That’s good! We’re good here!” as the bus nears the edge of the cliff for its stopping point.
The view is beautiful, and, yet, the joy of the group is even more contagious as each radiates their best selves in preparation for the descent to the holy water below. The rocks made for a challenging path, yet the old man (whom we met at the top of the mountain; Davis’ adoptive father) leads the expedition forward with few staying behind. There is the occasional slip as the footing becomes insecure by the movement of dirt beneath the feet.
The picturesque landscape and coloration of the rock reminds of a time long ago when all of this was forest, a time before erosion gave way to the path by which we now followed. As we reached the area from which the holy water was flowing, you see names of people from all over the world written in the rock with rock engravings. The story goes that the forefathers had been in Pap Onditi searching for water when one came from a far journey through the forest of jaguars, hyenas, and monkeys to reach this flowing source of fresh water. From then forward, it has come to be a place of pilgrimage for the faithful from around the world for fasting and prayer. The wax of candles can be seen throughout, especially near the taps. Using the plentiful banana leaves of the trees directly outside the overhang, I received a small amount of the water onto the banana leaf and drank for blessings and healing on this journey.
Once again, it is a late night. I had to finalize grades for secondary school back home and prep a few classes forward in order to get the students on track for the semester in the United States, so it is 12:18 am, with another early morning ahead of us. I am getting over a small sickness, so it is necessary that I get some sleep now and share more of this adventure in the coming days.
