The mystery of Tokeì| “Mercy lived” according to Fr. Piumatti
From the diaries of Fr. Piumatti, fd of Pinerolo and missionary in North Kivu for 50 years. Telling Africa and giving it back its word is a gesture of mercy toward it
Yesterday afternoon, I was in the chapel near the multipurpose room.
My eyes go from the kikapo, where the Eucharist is, to the door: in front is a tree, and there leaning, is Tokeì. I let myself be distracted. I let him in and tell him to go get my camera, in the house.
Fazila doesn’t feel like handing it to him, and she brings it to me; but he follows her trotting; he is not trusted, but he doesn’t care: he is happy with the mission accomplished.
He sits beside me and I take two pictures of him. I don’t think Jesus is bothered by this, much less jealous….
Tokeì is a little mystery to me
For example, the other kids are playing ball down on the road; but he stood there leaning against the tree, for about half an hour, in silence.
He knows I’m in chapel and occasionally casts his eyes on me. As he often does, when sitting outside I write or read; he stands there quietly, beside me.
There is Gerlas, cheerful. There is Gloria, serious. There is Eric, sly. There is Pierino, unpredictable. There is Clarisse, a poet. There is Cesarina, heartthrob. There is Lidia — you’d eat her in one bite.
Everyone is a novel. But Tokeì: a mystery!
Skinny, huddled, light, holey T-shirt, shy, silent, sad-looking and smiling. He’s hungry, he’s cold, he’s a little sad, you can tell.He stands next to me, you can see it. Most of the time close, but also on the sidelines.
He doesn’t care to be seen: he cares to be there.Every day he is there; at the most unthinking hours, he is there-he is beside me.This is evident. This is what he wants.
If I happen to be in the house, sometimes I tell him to go outside with the other children; he goes out, back here, under the canopy, or in front of the door; but he doesn’t always go out to play; more often he stays leaning against the wall, or sits on the ground on the sidewalk; after a while he comes back in, …goes out again.For very long hours.
I look at him, I watch him, and I wonder: what is he doing?
What does he want? Is he waiting for me to give him something?…a piece of bread?I’m sure he doesn’t; although it would please him, and he needs it.
Does he wait for me to greet him?Does he wait for me to give him a look?
Maybe not even; but he gives me a shy smile when I do.
He is there. I am here. There is Cesarina, heartthrob. There is Lidia — you’d eat her in one bite.
Everyone is a novel. But Tokeì: a mystery!
I cannot tell.
Tokeì is Africa
It is there! Whether you notice it or not, it is there! You feel she likes to feel you next to her. You think you know her; she lets herself read, she wants it!
But she remains a mystery. Yet she is also simple, transparent, available….
Is that why so many allow themselves to do what they want with her, even trample her with impunity?
So-what are the rest of us, the mystery?
Image
- Father Giovanni Piumatti
Source
- G. Piumatti, Fiori selvaggi… profumo d’Africa, 32-33