revolutionary in training

Like every other day, it was intensely hot and I was feeling rather faint due to the fact that I hardly sweat. This is not a good condition to have if you are trekking through Africa as I was in the spring of 2001, and it was made worse by the cumbersome long skirt and sleeved t-shirt I was required to wear as an illustration of “proper” Christian femininity. Nonetheless, I sucked it up (water included) and set up the hill to see what all this talk of “The Great Basilica” was about. As I reached the crest of the hill my breath was taken away – not from dehydration or asthma – but the astounding beauty of the Basilique de Notre Dame de la Paix, the world’s largest basilica (Christian church). 

Here in Yamoussoukro, the capital of Côte d’Ivoire, amidst a great sea of poverty, is a structure so opulent, magnificent, and extravagant that I was convinced I had been magically transported to another land. The guards at the gate seemed to think so, too, because they insisted that when one set foot on the property they were actually in Rome, Italy and thus required a passport… which I had, of course, recently lost. I wasn’t about to miss this opportunity of a lifetime so, after shooting down thoughts of revealing a little of the leg hidden under my skirt, I retained my reputation to the students I was leading by utilizing my flattering french skills and charming smile to gain entrance to the kingdom. 

In all my travels throughout Europe, overdosing on the endless cathedrals which loom on every corner, I have never seen anything as astounding as this basilica. Standing inside the church, starring up at the lavish fixtures and ornate stained glass windows and then climbing up to the outdoor observatory, I was confronted by the severly impovrished city which lay below and all around this beautiful monstrosity. The contrast was painfully evident and I felt torn between the sacredness of the building and the injustice of the suffering people who would have greatly benefited from the $300 million it took to create this church, all so the Pope would visit for a day. 

However, I admit my own visit that day found me standing on the platform at the front of the church (where the Pope would speak), surrounded by the courtyard’s tall, magestic columns and the shining, mile long marble driveway stretched out in front of me, giving an inspirational speech, complete with grand gestures and a booming voice, to the invisible spectators crowded around. The following Sunday my vision was realized as this marble driveway was filled to overflowing with locals gathered to hear the message of hope realized in the Pentecost. From my view, this time outside the gates, I could see the faces of people filled with joy. People who had walked here from homes without running water, electricity or enough food to feed their families. They had left behind their poverty, and were standing on the richness of their faith with unwavering hope. To many their hope was unrealistic and even blind, but that day I saw the miracle hope could bring… and it was clear that all the marble in the world couldn’t buy it.