The ChiefThe choirs have finished competing and are again sitting with the other members of their delegations from churches throughout the Diocese of Botswana. The judges are huddling together, conferring about the energetic performances of the women. Then - BAM! - as if out of nowhere a person appears. It’s hard to tell if the person is male or female. Murmurs and nervous giggles ripple through the crowd, which has been sitting, thinking it’s all over but the announcement of the winner of the choir competition. The hunched over figure is wearing raggedy clothes and has a greasy, dirty face. As the figure lurches toward the front of the meeting hall, eyes darting this way and that, I see it’s a woman. Well, at least I think it’s a woman under the layers of clothes. I also notice several people are standing on the small stage. A woman dressed to look like a man begins speaking in the lecturing tone of an officious elder. He’s doling out favors to the ones of his inner circle, and they are, in turn fawning over him, grateful for their elevated status by association. 
The Hanger-OnThey are also protecting him from those trying to enter the circle, by turns ignoring, fussing at and pushing away - rather roughly - those who don’t belong, like the grimy goatherd. There’s no welcome here. As the playlet unfolds there’s laughter and knowing nods. It turns out, the chief is waiting for Jesus to arrive and greet him. But those who’ve been so carefully minding their p’s and q’s must keep biding their time because Jesus isn’t showing up. Ah, but Jesus did show up. Jesus came as the least of these, the goatherd now wandering outside the circle.
The show ends to thunderous applause. The judges of the Mothers’ Union annual choir competition are introduced. They explain what each judging category means, and they encourage people, particularly men, to become involved with the music programs of their churches and to assist women - the backbone of all congregations - with the work of the parishes. 
The Unwanted GoatherdThen they announce the winners, starting with a two-way tie for third place. When they get to the first place choir, which scored 80.5 percent out of a possible 100, all heck breaks loose. There is clapping and dancing in the aisles, and then, wait, hold the phone, there’s a challenge! One of the choirs has lodged a complaint. They feel they were “cheated.” More huddling and discussion and gesturing. The matter is resolved. First place stays as announced and everyone shakes hands. It’s late night in the desert village of Tsabong.