R like Remember

What language do missionaries “speak”? Theirs is an alphabet of mercy, with letters that breathe life back into words and generate works

“Padiri, unakumbuka ile siku wakati ulipofika hapa Baraka?”
(Father, do you remember that day when you arrived in Baraka?).” Thus spoke to me Mwenebatu, a high school teacher and in charge of youth in this parish in South Kivu, Congo DRC.

I answered him that my memories were not very clear. Surely they had more, because when a foreigner comes, a mgeni, immediately he is squared from head to toe.

And he went on to say that they had seen me a bit awkward (I would say clumsy), both in greeting people and in speaking.

I had landed in another world and didn’t know how to behave. Slowly, as I listened, some memories began to peep out. Sure, I had studied Kiswahili for 3 months in Bukavu, in the Mission House, but now I had to put it into practice.

I mean, the “jambo”(hello) and “habari gani?”(how are you?) were clear. The rest I had to add day by day. Already I could see the eyes of the children looking at me and laughing with full gusto, almost commiserating, me coming from Bulaya (Europe).

Day after day, though, they had so much patience, along with the adults, and I think I can say I got by.

Even the first homilies in church, I would write them down and read them. Then slowly, I began to be more “à l’aise” (at ease) and it was easy for me to talk to them. But there is always a beginning in all things and one should not be discouraged.

Then, the first boat trip, ah this I remember, it stays with me.
It wasn’t the new one, but it had already made so many trips and it wasn’t easy to be in it together with people asking for a ride along with the luggage….

You had to be comfortable, even though the waves were having fun putting a strain on our stomachs. Then when I got to shore, I would put my feet well into the sand to make sure I was on solid ground. But the most beautiful thing was the view we enjoyed of the shorelines, beaches and even crocodiles and hippos watching us with interest….

Another thing I remember exactly was that day when the president of the local soccer federation came to look for
a whistle, because they had lost it. It was Sunday and there was a game.

I told him that I had it (being a referee) and that if he wanted, I could also referee the game. Said, done.
I changed into my uniform and walked into the stadium, attached to the parish church.

Everyone was amazed at this appearance. But it took little for the players to realize, as they say today, that the music had changed. Perhaps, they were a little afraid of me. The fact is that the game went smoothly and at the end everyone came to congratulate me.

In short, from that day, my refereeing career also began until I became a regional referee trainer.

Now, the memories come in droves. I don’t know which one to follow anymore. Encounters with people in their homes, in villages used to make me think a lot. Seeing them toiling in the sun to tear up soil from the ground to grow cassava and other vegetables, or in the
evening as they went fishing…or not being able to react to the injustices of the various authorities who were supposed to
were supposed to help them…

All this posed questions to which I did not know how to give answers. However, together with the other confreres, we were trying to encourage them, to urge them not to let go, to also ask for God’s help to fight for a just world.

We had come to lend them a hand and, if necessary, even their lives, like the missionaries killed in 1964 and buried behind the altar of the parish church.

Things do not change in an instant. It takes patience and perseverance. We were there and their courage gave us strength, made us realize that together we could dream for something beautiful, like that sun that slowly descended each evening to fall asleep among the waters of Lake Tanganyika.

Source

• Father Oliviero Ferro

Image

• Image digitally created by spazio + spadoni