Supper with the Sisters.

What an interesting evening this turned out to be!

Earlier, when I went up to the house to ask Sister Rosemary if I might use her modem, as I often do in the evenings before supper, she told me to “Get ready,” that we are soon going out for supper. It came as a bit of a surprise to me: every other night that I have stayed here (admittedly, not many), we have taken our supper here at home. Tonight was apparently going to be different.

We piled into the car: four nuns and me, the youngest and lightest skinned by far. Before heading to the hotel, we first drove around town looking for a place to exchange our crate of empty bottles for a full one. Electricity was off, however, and it was just dark, so we couldn't find any open shop. Oh well, we would just have to buy our drinks at a higher price.

The Golden Peace Hotel seems to be a fairly new establishment to Gulu, but it is not far from our school and employs a few former students. We were greeted upon our arrival and given, at our request, a table in the grass beyond the parking lot. We weren't there very long, though. Shortly after we ordered our drinks – coke for me, and Sister Rosemary told the waiter to bring two – the conversation took a turn toward caterpillars, don't ask me why. Sister Rosemary shares my deep dislike for these fuzzy creatures; possibly, she is more fearful of them than I. The others were curious about our shuddering, so we told similar stories of terrible encounters. Before long, it was decided that we had better move to a table on the veranda, for who knew what might creep out of the night while we sat there in the grass. Of course, it was also proposed that we tell the waitstaff that it was mosquitoes disturbing us.

We found our place inside, received our drinks, and ordered our food. When the hotel's generator went off, it was remarked that it was good we had moved to this spot: wouldn't we have feared sitting way out in the grass with only a candle? Of course, the candle was mostly only good for attracting small flying insects, but at least no creepy crawlies.

As we waited for our food, first by candlelight, and later in the glow of the electric lights – the generator came back, though not UMEME – the conversation continued its winding way. After one particularly hilarious story or comment, I remarked to the Sisters, all of whom took their vows before I was even born, that I think most people unfamiliar with nuns would expect them to be a serious, solemn bunch. I have yet to encounter one who would fit this description [any similar stereotypes I may have once held about priests have also long been shattered, but that's another story thread], and I told them that. They laughed: I amuse them as much as they amuse me, I often think. They assured me, however, that this might be an eccentric trait of their order, the Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. If I met nuns from certain other orders, I would find them just the opposite: mean and sullen, even. But my comment sparked multiple stories of people they had encountered here or there who were surprised at the humour and good-naturedness of the Sisters of the Sacred Heart. After spending a week with more nuns than I'd ever met before in my life, I can certainly attest to the presence of those traits.

Another shift, and I suddenly found myself the centre of attention. Sister Ritah, Sister Sophie, and Mother Gina, all of whom stay in Sudan, were asking why I did not declare myself an aspirant, that is, one who desires to join the order. I was not entirely surprised; this was not the first time the topic has been raised. However, this was the first time it was pressed so hard. Sister Rosemary dismissed their queries: “she doesn't want, she has a boyfriend there.” They were not to be put off the scent so easily, though: “Christine, why don't you leave your boyfriend there? He's probably found another girl there anyway. You know, men can be so unfaithful.” “Eh,” I defended him, “You don't even know him. Me, I think he's faithful. And, he's too busy with his books to be playing around with some other girl.”

It was around this point that Sister Ritah decided to let me go, acknowledging that I didn't seem interested in becoming a nun right now. “We'll always pray for you, you know. And when we pray for you, we'll pray for that boy also.”

Mother Gina was thrilled to find out that my boyfriend is studying for a PhD in Biology. “You will be our associates, both of you,” she informed me, already extending him an offer to come and teach at her secondary school in Sudan.

A bit disappointed that they would not get to have me as a fellow nun, they decided instead that I would have to bring this guy to meet them after I married him. Or, better yet, I'd better just come and wed him from here. And they'll make my cake for me: all settled.

Sister Sophie, on the other hand, remains, to this moment, unconvinced. She also promised to pray for me, that I wake up one morning and realise my vocation, and for my boyfriend, that he decide to leave me to the religious path. She extended an invitation for me to visit her in Khartoum whenever he should come and visit, but I told her I wasn't sure if I trusted her intentions: I wouldn't put it past her to tease him mercilessly in an attempt to pull me into the convent. My refusals, that “ah, I don't want” and “I'm not even Catholic” were easily thrust aside.

Eventually the conversation shifted again, leaving me with three nuns planning my wedding and a fourth still contemplating how to prevent its happening, the general atmosphere reminding me of any gathering of my own aunts.