I find myself living in a deeply religious community, something that is providing some very interesting experiences. As far as I can gather, Tanzania is largely Lutheran (presumably a result of the German occupation at the end of the 19th century), although there are also a number of Muslims, Anglicans and Catholics here too. The indigenous tribes follow their own religion, which I have yet to learn anything about.

Although I was raised Church of England in a churchgoing family, I never really accepted religion as a child and as an adult the jury is still out; I appreciate the benefits of having a religion, but I find myself unable to have "faith" and I can't say I ever pray.

On the contrary, pretty much every person here, old and young, goes to church. The idea that someone wouldn't believe in God is impossible for them to conceive, and so I haven't even tried to explain this to them. Before every meal we pray, and it is frowned upon if you start to nibble your food before the final "amen". This applies even to the bananas we give the children each day. They also pray before they eat their porridge, and before they go home after lessons. (i'll try to upload a video. Religion aside, it really is quite cute!).

I first experienced the "blind faith" of children when I left Tanzania last year. Caren fervently thanked God for sending me, because she knew that he had sent me to help the family and bring them good things. I recently had a conversation with Samuel, Rose's 12-year old son who has recently been confirmed. I asked how God can allow poverty in the world. He explained that God gives people a choice - if they are poor it is because they choose not to help themselves. He said this without a hint of question.

But it is the praying that is the strangest experience of all. In my adult beginner class there is one lady, Mary, who is 30. After our first lesson, she was clearly very happy to finally be getting lessons, and she asked if we could pray together. I said yes, not wanting to offend her, and expecting a quick "Dear Lord, thank you for our teacher, Amen". But that is not the African style. We all stood up and she began speaking under her breath in Swahili; I didn't understand any of it. Her eyes were closed and her voice gradually got louder and really quite fervent, clearly full of passion for whatever she was saying to God. This lasted 5 whole minutes (I admit, i started timing it!). At the end, I really wasn't quite sure what to say, as "Thank you" seemed insufficient. So I shook her hand, smiled a lot and went on my way.

The next lesson she asked to pray again. I thought I was prepared this time - not so. This time it lasted a full 11 minutes, and her prayer reached such a peak that she started crying and imploring God for something-or-other and weeping in front of me. I really felt quite awkward and did not know what to do. At the end, she took my head hard between her hands, and again said something in Swahili. Then she placed her hands on my head, presumably some sort of blessing, before finally letting go. Phew.

The next couple of days I was ill and so there were no lessons, but when i finally recovered I happened to be taking some air in the garden at the time she turned up for class. I was not well enough to give a lesson so I excused myself. She wasn't having anything of it, and practically demanded to pray for me. I explained I could barely walk, and so she tried to usher me into the house instead. I only just got out of it, with the help of another student who noticed my distress and luckly understood I wasn't as religious as they. I simply couldn't cope with maybe 15 minutes this time of a grown woman crying in front of me.

The next day, I hid in the house at the time of the adult classes. However, someone annoyingly told the students I was there, and so two of them came into find me, and then stood over me praying whilst I just sat on the sofa and tried to look suitably sombre.

I have to assume they were praying for me to get better, but to be quite honest (and not wishing to offend), given the tone of their voices and the passion with which they spoke, they could just have easily been cursing me!

In a country where poverty, illiteracy, child mortality and hardship are daily realities, it must provide these people lots of comfort to be able to turn to God whenever needed. I continue to observe, and do hope to go to a church service soon to understand more about their lives, but I prefer to place my health in the hands of the pharmacist and good old-fashioned bed-rest.