Called into the Wilderness

By Gabriel Sosu

Writing this book has first and foremost helped me as an individual person to come to terms with things that are happening to me and around me. It has helped me gradually to discover my strengths and weaknesses, my successes and failures.

It has also helped me to see how my day-to-day existence can enrich the lives of others by allowing myself to touch them, by extending a helping hand to them in the name of love. It has helped me to see how my life can resonate with the lives of countless others with whom I come into contact as a man of God. It has helped me to discover as a unique person, amongst the millions, or rather billions of God's creations, that my life experiences can help others also to discover his love for us.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504965187

Gabriel Sosu

Fr. Gabriel Sosu, SVD, was born on June 19, 1951, the eldest son, but the second sibling in the family of six girls and three boys. At New Town, a sprawling suburb of Accra, the capital of Ghana on the West coast of Africa. His parents were from Togo and migrated to that country in the 1940s. At a good, ripe age of twenty-five, when at a time everyone in the family was looking up to him as the one who will help his younger ones. Inclined to pursue his calling to the sacred orders, he gave up his job as clerk in the ministry of education to enter the seminary and to study for the priesthood.

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2016 Father Gabriel Sosu, SVD. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

NJB

Scripture quotations marked NJB are from The New Jerusalem Bible, copyright © 1985 by Darton, Longman & Todd, Ltd. and Doubleday, a division of Random House, Inc. Reprinted by Permission.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/27/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6517-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6516-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6518-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015919913

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Contents

PREFACE

INTRODUCTION

ARCHBISHOP HENRY KARLEN’S REMARKS

THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

MOUNTAIN TOP

MY FIRST VILLAGE EXPERIENCE

HEAD ABOVE THE GROUND

KNOCK DOWN IN RAIN

AN ECUMENICAL SERVICE FOR RAIN

FRESH PASTURE - DLAMINI

A TRIP TO DANDANDA MISSION

BREAD AND SOFT DRINKS

A KICK FROM BEHIND

MY ROOF WAS LEAKING

PROTECT, DON’T DESTROY!

A LITLLE FRESH WATER

STRANDED PASSENGER

SOAKED IN TAXI CAB

WHAT A VISITOR!

THE SCORPION STINGS

ENA SAD END

A GRADUATION CEREMONY

HANDCUFFS IN THE KITCHEN

EPIPHANY WEEKEND

YOUTH LEADERS

BONGU ON THE STRECHER

CHAPTER TWO;

VERY COLD WATER

REST IN PEACE

A TREE TRUNK

PELANDABA

TWO STRANGE VISITORS

GALA SAGA

THE FIRST SUNDAY OF LENT

A VISITOR FROM D.R.C.

DEADLY STINGS

DOWN THE SIPEPA ROAD

MAIDEN VOYAGE

HEAD OVER HEELS

ANGER, WHERE IS IT FROM?

THE HARVEST IS MANY

PREAMBLE

HUMILITY

TO YOU O! LORD.

BLESSED ARE THE MOURNERS

HERE AM I!

CAUGHT IN THE DEVIL’S WEB

FORGIVE

MAN AND BEAST AT WAR

MADLAMBUZI

DAY OF TROUBLE

CAN A WOMAN FORGET HER BABY?

BABA GUMEDE

GUMEDE AND THE MELONS

THE ROAD TO XHANIXANI

THOMAS FIVE ELEVEN

THE WIDOW PUTS HER HOPE IN GOD

STEFFI IN THE SPIRIT!

THE TOMBS OF THE HOSPITAL

THE VIRTUOUS WOMAN

THE GRASS WITHERS

LETTER

WHAT IS MAN?

THE KINGDOM OF GOD

BUSY DAY

A KILOGRAM OF MEAT

IN THE QUEUE

LIGHTENING AT MAKALALE

MY BOAT IS ROCKING

IMPIYABO

IT’S A GOAL

LORD HAVE MERCY!

MR. B.B.

THE PERMIT

DLAKAPIYA PATIENT

GOGO NAKA EDWARD

KRIKITHI-SOMEONE’S FALLING

A FLASH OF LIGHTNING

THE PASTOR AT THE GATE

THE ELEPHANTS ARE COMING

THE PEACE PRAYER

DELEGATION TO MABHELE

THE GREAT VICTORIA FALLS

MONICA

THE BAPTISMAL FONT

MDUDUZO

THE GREAT VISIT

MIXED FEELINGS

THROUGH THE KITCHEN WINDOW

THE POLITICS OF WATER

LYING ACROSS THE ROAD

TEARS OVER A DONKEY

PLEASE GIVE ME A RIDE

THE WET CHRISTMAS

GIFTED FROM GOD

TRAGEDY AT THE CLINIC

A FORTY KILOMETRE WALK

THE BREAK DOWN

THE BLACK MAMBA

THE ARRIVAL

LIVING WITH OTHER CREATURES

IN MEMORIAM

CONCLUSION

PREFACE

Writing this book has first and foremost helped me as an individual person to come to terms with things that are happening to me and around me. It has helped me gradually to discover my strengths and weaknesses; my successes and failures.

It has also helped me to see how my day to day existence can enrich the lives of others by allowing myself to touch them; by extending a helping hand to them in the name of Love. It has helped me to see how my life can resonate with the lives of countless others with whom I come into contact, as a man of God. It has helped me to discover as a unique person, amongst the millions, or rather billions of God’s creations, that my life experiences can help others also, to discover his love for us.

Documenting these experiences has shaped and formed my life as a missionary because every event in them has become a learning experience for me. As we may know or may be aware of, life is a flower which unfolds as we live it, revealing each day a new truth, a new dimension of reality. Writing about them has helped me to cherish the lessons I have learned and take them deeper into my heart.

In my life as a priest I am helped to recall them; to preach from them; and to relate them to God’s word. The structure of Christian doctrine is given flesh when I relate it to my life and real experience.

Therefore I have come far on the journey to understand and value every experience. They make my life blossom with the dream of wanting to be someone in Christ, who is ready and willing to share my day to day discoveries with others, especially if those experiences help them in turn to discover something in their own lives.Gielata

My leaving Ghana in the West of Africa and coming to Zimbabwe in Southern Africa was a unique adventure for me. I have never known winters in Ghana and had never needed to sit around a fire to warm myself. During Zimbabwean winters I sometimes feel so cold in the morning I go to the kitchen and spread my hands over the gas flames or spread my clothes over them in order to make myself warm.

I remember in June of 2003 I was invited to preach during a 10 day retreat to the Sisters of the congregation of Infant Jesus at Masvingo. I felt so cold at night in spite of sleeping under six blankets. Every morning I jumped into a hot shower and did not want to come out and prepare for the liturgy. I would walk through drizzling rain across the cold yard and into the chapel where I would find 40 nuns ready for morning prayers but still wrapped in their blankets over their habits, in the almost freezing temperature of the chapel. My 12 days with them were like 12 days in Siberia.

Life is like a voyage on the high seas, in that most of us who pass by leave no footprints behind. It is my fervent hope that those who read these accounts of my life as a missionary will learn something from them so that a few shadows will remain.

I have taken part in retreats where I noticed, with disappointment that silence, advocated and expected by retreat directors was not valued by the majority of my fellow priests. Silence is food for the hungry soul and I strongly recommend, if you really want to enjoy this book, that you will lay aside the noise and bustle of our modern life and find somewhere quiet where you can read in peace.

But, you may say, these are merely everyday experiences. That is true. However, it is the little drops of water that make a mighty ocean. My dearest hope is that at the end of it all, my religious-missionary endeavors will bear traces of the Good News which, with God’s grace, I hope to bestow on his people. I strongly believe that it is in observing my clay to day activities that those I serve will become aware of the love and mercy of God in their midst.

Not least I pray that in reading these simple tales, our love for Him and for each other may grow. This is my creed.

*     *     *

INTRODUCTION

All the stories herein presented come from my day to day activities among the people I have been called to serve. Consequently all that they contain is real and taken from life. As a missionary, moving into a new environment, I was sometimes confronted with new and challenging situations. I tried to find ways and means to adjust and to accommodate them.

It is of paramount importance to me as a pastor to build trust and to have the confidence of the people I am serving. Therefore, where necessary I have tried to avoid using the real names of the characters involved. Nonetheless I believe I have maintained the true nature and clarity of each story.

Missionary life caught my attention as a young altar boy of 12. What intrigued me at that time was a question which kept bothering me.

Why were all the priests expatriate missionaries?

In the sixties and seventies I can vividly remember Frs. Martin Wels, Charles Schneider, Clements Hotze, Albert Kletchmer, Charlie Erb, Lawrence Thornton, Curtin Washington, Thomas Halleran, Pascal Lo Bianca, Charles Roeslin, Richard van der Wurf, Charlie Boykins, Joseph Skorupka, Alois Turbek, Boleslaw Gielata (my prefect in the seminary), John Schilitz and Brs. Marcus Hipolito, Patrick Murphy, Peter van Ufelen, John Bosco and my senior brother - Br James Djadoo, who opened the womb of the Divine Word Missionary Society in Ghana. He also paved the way for many of us to follow. In God’s own time I became his younger brother in the society.

My objective in putting together these experiences is to share with friends and all people of good will, some of my day-to-day activities as I make my journey through life as a religious missionary priest. As someone who abandoned ambition permanently and chose instead the road taken by comparatively few people, I decided the religious missionary vocation was going to be my way of life.

It is my hope that all who lay hands on this book and who read through these experiences may come to have some idea and insight into the lives and struggles of so many missionaries working in many places and under diverse conditions around the world. They have given up their lives and have taken upon themselves a vow of obedience and service.

By so doing they have only one single aim - to share with the rest of humankind the message initiated by the Great Peace Lover who never attained any degrees or honors during his life time but who became at only thirty such a fire-brand preacher among his contemporaries. He gathered a group of men around him to help spread the Word.

Sooner or later his powerful style of presenting issues of the Living God was bound to bring about a confrontation with the elite of his time. The only case they found against him was that he was preaching to the people (Luke 23:5).

The surge of hatred went strongly against him as justice and mercy collapsed under the tumult of people who had been intimidated by the priests and the elders. Those who had the power and the means to set him free bowed to venomous public opinion. What could the strength of one person do when thousands stood against him? And so the innocent one was forcibly found guilty and sentenced to death by what I would term kangaroo court proceedings. He was found guilty where there were no charges; and where he had no one to defend him.

Perhaps, had the disciples plucked up courage and stood their ground in the face of this fear of retribution and spoken for him, history would be different today. But God’s purpose and plan of redemption was inexorable. Those who were hungry for his blood were the instruments by which this plan was carried out. Jesus was put to death by nailing him onto that huge wooden cross on that gruesome Friday at noon. Hanging there in pain and agony for three hours he prayed for his persecutors before breathing his last. Today, countless men and women are eager to continue his preaching through the missionary way of life.

I salute them all, especially those great missionaries who have gone before me. As I try to walk in their footsteps and retrace some of their tracks my life resonates with many of their experiences.

Moreover, from the point of view my own background as someone with Togolese origins yet born and brought up in Ghana with one foot in each country and relatives in both, and now a Divine Word Missionary sent to work in another African country, the question was how best do I blend all these cross cultural attributes in my life, no matter how diverse I try to relate freely with whoever I meet in a Christ-like way. I remember a very embarrassing occasion for me when I offered to hug a nun in a multi-racial gathering and she declined that offer.

I do strongly feel that by simply sharing my experiences with others it will help to create some mission awareness in many people, particularly those who are in training preparing themselves to spread the word or for those who are contemplating this way of life. For the majority who are longing and praying that the message of Christ goes beyond all borders and penetrates all tribes and cultures, this book will give them the opportunity to know that day by day the Divine Word is being spread by missionaries under various and diverse conditions under the guidance of the Holy Spirit throughout the world.

In all this the missionary himself or herself must have a foundation or solid ground from where one operates. In line with this, what our Holy Father John Paul II said in the Redemption Mission in 1990 appealed to me.

"The missionary must have spirituality; a certain kind of faith; a docility of the spirit, bearing witness unto Christ, fortitude and discernment in the way they lead their lives. The Spirit guided the Apostles, made them fuller, better men. And it does so with our missionaries.

Their guidance comes from heaven."

ARCHBISHOP HENRY KARLEN’S REMARKS

"I was happy indeed to read through these soul touching stories. Lively and yet simple they are like the stone pieces of a mosaic. Scattered in different places one can hardly notice them but when all are gathered and fitted together they give us an amazing but accurate picture of the life of this dedicated missionary who in his own way has made and continues to make immense efforts to bring the love of God to the people he is serving in the countryside.

He does so not only by preaching the gospel; not only by administering the sacraments; not only by attending to the sick; the message goes far beyond that. It involves a spiritual fusion of the souls of the people with his.

What is essential and the mystic inner core of all missionary activities is the missionary’s love for the people; his witness of a simple life style; his sharing the joys and sorrows of the sheep by a zealous shepherd.

Fr. Gabriel has been not only their priest but also their friend and servant, and the messenger of Jesus Christ.

How happy on the mountains are the feet of him who brings Good News! I am delighted to add these few remarks to this life story of one of the first Divine Word missionary priests who heeded my call and followed it to come to our aid in the Archdiocese of Bulawayo. Fr. Gabriel has a wonderful and kind heart towards the poor and needy. These stories give us a beautiful insight into what a zealous missionary life means and entails.

Counting on the Grace of the Good Lord, may it please Him abundantly to prosper this wonderful account of missionary life in Matabeleland, Zimbabwe, spanning almost twenty years. Especially may he bless the priest who for so long has worked and lived quietly among the people but who now has decided to tell this story?

Fr. Gabriel has something to teach us all."

Henry Karlen

Archbishop Emeritus

Bulawayo

Zimbabwe

*     *     *

THE AUTHOR

Fr. Gabriel Sosu, svd was born on 19th June 1951, the eldest son, but the second sibling in the family of six girls and three boys. At New Town a sprawling suburb of Accra, the capital of Ghana on the West coast of Africa. His parents were from Togo and migrated to that country in the 1940’s. At a good, ripe age of 25, when at a time everyone in the family was looking up to him as the one who will help his younger ones. Inclined to pursue his calling to the sacred orders, he gave up his job as clerk in the ministry of Education, to enter the seminary and to study for the priesthood.

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At St. Victor’s Major Seminary in Tamale, Ghana, he did his three years of philosophy, and four years of theology. He did a spiritual year at the Divine Word Novitiate at Nkwatia, Kwahu. He did a two year missionary exposure program at Wenchi, under the able supervision of Fr. Clement Hotze, svd. He was my mentor, God bless his soul.

In June 1986, he was ordained to the priesthood by Archbishop Dominic Andoh, of Accra. He was then sent by his congregation to Zimbabwe as the first Divine Word missionary to that country.

From August 1992 to May 1994, he studied at the Jesuit University of St. Louis and the Dominican Aquinas Institute of theology, all in Missouri, USA. In the end he attained a diploma in Western Spirituality, and also an MA in Pastoral theology. For his past times, he graduated from the famous New York Institute of Photography. In an effort to identify with the culture and the Amandebeles among whom he is working, he adopted the zebra, as his totem and thus the surname Dube {pronounced Doobay}. Therefore among his people in Zimbabwe, they commonly refer to him as Fr. Dube.

*     *     *

DEDICATION

First, to my parents mother, Joana Wotormenyo Afanyihu and my father Wilson Agbenyide Sosu, both who gave me life.

Second, to all the Divine Word Missionaries who have worked in Ghana and those still working there, whose lives of dedicated service inspired me and filled me with the zeal for the missionary way of life.

Third, to all my lecturers and professors who helped me on my journey to the priesthood, and with particular mention of Fr. Lucas Abadamlora who was my spiritual director for all those years and is now Bishop of the Navrongo Bolga diocese in Ghana.

To all friends who continue to support me in my work as a missionary.

Finally, to my local ordinary at home, His Grace Dominic K. Andoh, Archbishop of Accra who has known me since I was an altar boy and has been a pillar of support all these years.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am very grateful to Mr. Peter J. White of Fast print, Pvt. Ltd. in Bulawayo for patiently handling and typing hundreds of hand written pages for me and sometimes where necessary, correcting the English to make it up to the point. I am also grateful to Mrs. Majero of Holy Spirit parish in Bulawayo, who also typed some of the manuscripts for me.

I am equally grateful to Fr. Krystian Traczyk, SVD for helping me to edit and design this book.

A word of gratitude also goes to Fr. Emmanuel Kofi Fianu, SVD for his encouragement and words of advice. I wish to express my gratitude to my own cousin Seth Foli Gogoe for finally helping me to put everything together.

*     *     *

MOUNTAIN TOP

Just as every river has a source from where it begins its journey, so also my story has its beginnings in the Kwahu Mountains in the Eastern Region of Ghana. It was here, on top of this mountain where the Divine Word Missionaries built their Novitiate. All those interested in joining them have to undergo this mountain experience as part of their formation.

I had first to complete three years of philosophical studies at St. Victor’s Major Seminary in Tamale. Then I came to the mountains of Kwahu and was admitted to do my spiritual studies there in September 1979. And it was here, on this mountain top where I finally decided to embrace the missionary way of life; to devote myself and all I had to being a missionary

In 1980, the 8th of September I was accepted to profess my first vows in the congregation of the Divine Word Missionaries. After my profession I went back to St. Victor’s Major Seminary to do my four years of theology and a year of pastoral experience in Wenchi. It was run by the Divine Word Missionaries at that time under the pastoral care and guidance of Fr. Clement Hotze, may he rest in peace. In that community was Fr. Victor Leones, Otmar Aninger, Br John Heekel, may he rest in peace, and we were later joined by Fr. Joachim Zok.

On the 8th of September 1985, I was accepted to make my final vows dedicating my life forever to the religious congregation of Divine Word Missionaries, known in Latin as Societas Verbi Divini and abbreviated as SVD. My final vows ceremony took place at St. Paul’s church in New Town, a suburb of Accra, Ghana. At this fully packed church I professed my solemn, perpetual vows, with a cousin, Rev Eddie Afagbegee.

The then Provincial, Fr. Mike Blume, spelt out our missionary appointments which he had received a couple of days earlier from Rome. In the letter Fr. Edmond Afagbegee was assigned to work in Kenya and I was assigned to work in Zimbabwe.

After this profession I went back to the seminary to do my final year of Theology preparing for my ordination to the priesthood.

I was ordained to the priesthood together with my cousin Edmond by his Grace Dominic Andoh, Archbishop of Accra on the 19th of July 1986. We were in a group of eight young men who were ordained in that grace-filled ceremony at the Holy Spirit Cathedral in Accra.

Barely six weeks later, while I was celebrating my honeymoon, one afternoon Fr. Provincial handed me a parcel at table. It contained my air-ticket to Zimbabwe with a two hundred United States dollar cheque enclosed. In four days time I was to prepare for my journey. I was full of excitement and the joy that my dream of becoming a missionary was gradually unfolding.

It was on a Friday evening in August ’86 when I boarded an Air Ethiopian passenger plane from Accra to Nairobi. From there I got a connecting flight to Harare. From there I took another domestic flight to Bulawayo. I was gladly met at the airport by my compatriot Br Charles Ashun svd, who had come all the way from Francistown, Botswana to meet me. It was a happy moment.

From the airport he drove straight to the Bishop’s house at St. Mary’s Cathedral in the city of Bulawayo, also known as the City of Kings. It was here that I met Archbishop Karlen who warmly welcomed us.

For two years I had been corresponding with him since it became clear, following my ordination that I was assigned to work in his diocese.

From there we drove on to Francistown through Plumtree border post. This small town would later become my first place of residence in Zimbabwe. From August 86 to 7 February 87, while waiting for my immigration papers in Francistown, Fr. Peter Madden, svd, Parish Priest of our Lady of the Desert parish, gave me the opportunity to take the English 7.00 am mass on Sundays, a job I loved to do faithfully until I left for my land of the missions, Matabeleland in Zimbabwe.

We moved from Francistown to Plumtree with two other priests, Frs. Krystian Traczyk from Poland; Alberto Saco from the Phillipines; and myself from Ghana. After one week of settling down we started on a full scale, our language course in Sindebele. We had two teachers:- Mrs. Veronica Godzi and Mrs. Juma, a house wife. Mrs. Juma took us from 8 am to 12 noon and Mrs. Godzi, a trained teacher, took us for two hours in the evenings.

After six months of tutoring day and night we were made to fly like birds with primary feathers. At least we could read! For me the clicks were coming but each time I had to make one I needed to pause and take a breath in order to make it sound correctly.

At the end of the six months course, Fr. Johannes Banning, cmm, may he rest in peace, asked me to come over and help him at Empandeni mission. Empandeni is the oldest mission in the country opened in 1887, by the Jesuits. It has a girls’ secondary boarding school and a primary school. It was time for Fr. Johannes to go home on leave so he needed a priest to replace him. I hesitated but he would not wait for my reply. He went ahead and told the bishop that Fr. Gabriel would take care of the mission while he was away. I accepted the offer to go to Empandeni.

Whilst there I was in the company of Brothers Erasmus Tenscher and Killian Knoerl, both belonging to the Congregation of Marianhill, may they rest in peace.

Those three months were a testing period for my life as a missionary. I could barely speak the language, yet every Sunday I had to preach in Ndebele. During the months of studying the language all three of us resolved not to employ the services of an interpreter. It made us study harder and every sermon or homily was prepared and submitted to our tutor for corrections before the service. So, what we were doing was literally reading out our prepared sermons or homilies to our congregations.

During this time, after preaching I found myself sweating all over like a frog from the river. For me to go to the pulpit to deliver what I have prepared was like preparing to go to the battle ground. After holy mass was celebrated we would come to the entrance to greet one another. The old folks liked to greet me and say a few words of encouragement - but I always felt like running away to hide in the presbytery! I could hardly understand twenty per cent of what they were saying. Whenever I opened my mouth to speak, they could hardly understand me. My pronunciation and accent was quite different but with great determination I always tried to keep a smiling face.

It was during these moments that I felt challenged by our svd constitution which states that:-

Whoever joins our society must be ready to go wherever the superior sends him in order to fulfill our missionary mandate, even if this entails leaving his own country, mother tongue and cultural milieu……

Back in Ghana I can comfortably express myself in my mother tongue plus three other local languages but here I was struggling head over heels with SiNdebele. When Sunday celebrations were over I felt as if heavy burdens had been lifted off my shoulders. Whenever I went to the outstations I tried to go with a catechist, in case I might get lost - he could put me on the right track.

After celebrating the Eucharist, the people were eager to talk to the priest since they see him only once a month. The old folks want to see you and talk to you but my vocabulary was so limited I could not go far with them. These were occasions of ordeal for me!

I tried to express myself but managed only with difficulty and when I ran out of words - they wondered.

What to do? There was only one way. Our ministry is one of communication and if I could not speak the language of the people then I would have to think of packing my things and going home! If I was unable to communicate with the people how could I bring my message across to them? How could my message be heard when they did not understand me? I would have to try hard to make them understand me my making every effort to learn harder.

At Empandeni mission, once a month, the parish council meets to discuss activities and life of the mission. Not a word of English is spoken anywhere; all the deliberations from beginning to end are in Sindebele. The chairperson, in the person of the veteran teacher and disciplinarian, Mr. George Paye, may he rest in peace, understood my predicament and accommodated me very well. Where I was supposed to make a contribution, or bring my ideas across, he was patient with me. When I ran out of words in Sindebele he would always say to me, Say it in English! Then he would paraphrase in Ndebele. I felt very uncomfortable during those discussions of the parish council, but he tried to make me feel at home.

One day as I was driving back from an outstation, Kwite by name, I came across two young boys shepherding their goats and sheep. They were about to cross the road as I got closer. So, I stopped and allowed them to cross. When I thought all of them had crossed I then accelerated to move on. Lo and behold, I trampled upon a little lamb that was lagging behind. Their home was not too far from the road so I got down and went to explain with great difficulty to the parents, what had happened. The boys brought the dead lamb home to show them. I learnt they made a good feast out of it.

Nearly three or four weeks after this incident, one of the shepherd boys came to see me at the mission. According to him the grandmother wanted to see me. I jumped into the truck with him and drove to their home. As soon as I got down from the truck I could hear the grandmother speaking mournfully. I was given a small carved stool to sit on and was greeted but I could sense that the greetings were overshadowed by some feelings of dissatisfaction. Finally I told them what I had come for. I was told the grandmother wanted to see me. There were two middle aged women, the two shepherd boys and the grandmother. As I noticed the two shepherd boys I realized what the story was going to be about. Who would break the ice or let the cat out of the bag? They looked at each other and eventually the old grandmother began chanting a funeral dirge for my benefit about the lamb which I ran over.

According to her, that particular lamb was her only sheep in the flock; the rest belonged to her neighbors. Now that I had killed it, she continued, she did not know what to do for the rest of her life! I did not have sufficient command of the language to argue my case. Moreover, in view of the mournful way in which the grandmother was talking, with tears in her eyes, I felt I had to do something to appease her, or replace the lost sheep for her. So, I asked, how much? She named an amount and I put my hand into my breast pocket and gave her twice the sum she asked for.

As I was leaving, the mournful face with eyes full of tears had turned into smiles and a joyful chorus of, Thank you, Fr. Thank you, Fr. Even though they feasted from the lamb I had run over I had to pay for it in order to appease the spirit of the old grandmother. It was a great lesson for me as a learner missionary how to be sensitive to the feelings of the people; how to relate to them without insisting on my own rights; how to take into consideration their poverty and hardship.

*     *     *

MY FIRST VILLAGE EXPERIENCE

After my graduation from the six month intensive language course, I planned to go and visit a village called Gala, it is one of the outstations north of Plumtree. It was opened by the Marianhill missionaries and served by them from Embakwe mission. Embakwe mission is one of the oldest mission stations in the country. It was opened in the early 1900’s by the Jesuit missionaries. Going to the village and spending at least a month there with a family I believed it would help me to improve upon my listening and conversational skills.

The first day I arrived I was heartily welcomed by Mrs. Zaba, she was the mother of the household and she made me to feel at home. She is a devout member of Catholic church community of the village. The father of the household, Mr. Zaba had traveled to attend a funeral about four villages away down the road. He was expected to return the day after my arrival.

I was given a hut and helped to install my luggage. It was round and the floor was well polished, it had a nice wardrobe on one side, a good bed on the other side, with a table and a chair near the wardrobe. Near the chair was a bucket of water. It seemed as if this hut was most carefully prepared for the missionary who was being expected to come from elsewhere. It looked simple and ordinary from outside but the inside was beautiful.

On the wall there were some nice paintings.

There was in another hut, one old granny who is the mother of Mr. Zaba. There was another hut belonging to Mrs. Zaba, and another for the father of the house. In the middle of the compound was another hut where they usually receive their visitors, one could say,

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ONE OF THINGS I LEARNT TO EAT WAS THE CATERPILLARS

All of a sudden there appeared a little girl of about twelve who called for my attention. ‘Supper is ready’ she said to me. ‘Thank you, and what is your name?’ I replied. ‘My name is Siduduzile’, she told me, as I went inside to take care of my supper. The table was well set, everything was well covered, and drinking water was in a jug beside the food. As I ceremoniously unveiled the table I was expecting something really grand, from the way the food was covered but immediately I cautioned myself, ‘don’t expect wonderful things you might be disappointed. Rather expect the ordinary and the simple things, then you will enjoy the surprises’.

I opened the big bowl and I found it contained the thick white corn porridge. I said, ‘wow’, and then I opened the small bowl, it was full of cottage cheese. This time, I said, ‘humm’. This was the first time I have come across such a combination. A little girl of ten brought me water to wash my hands, it was warm and a kitchen towel, and as she went out. I sat down and said the grace, but I did not know where and how to start. This was the first time in my life I had to take cottage cheese as relish. Back at home, along the West Coast of Africa, where I originally come from among the Ewe speaking people of Togo, Benin and Ghana, thick corn porridge is also part of our staple food, so I was delighted to see it. Relish at home varies with one’s taste; it can either be fish roasted over open fire with ground hot pepper soup prepared with vegetables; or stew or gravy prepared with meat, or groundnut soup prepared from peanut butter, or palm nut soup prepared from the palm fruit; or kontomere soup prepared from the fresh leaves of the cocoyam plant; or fried fish with tomato and onion salad; or bean stew prepared from beans or garden soup prepared from egg-plant; the list is endless.

For me this was something new, eating my corn porridge with cottage cheeses! If I left my supper Untouched my host would be unhappy and might ask so many questions.

Finally I took some sugar and added to a part of the corn porridge mixed with a little water, and I ate to my satisfaction. Eventually, I ate more than half of it. When they came to take my plates, they noticed I had eaten a good amount of the porridge but was surprised that I had eaten scarcely any of the cottage cheese. So much for the first night.

For my reflection that night, I said to myself, in order to become an all round missionary I would have to develop a missionary’s taste and stomach, and eat whatever was set before me.

This reminded me of what the Lord said to his disciples. ‘Take no purse with you, no haversack, and no sandals; salute no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, let your first words be. ‘Peace to this house.’ And if a man of peace lives there your peace will go and rest upon him; if not it will return to you. Stay in the same house taking what food and drink they have to offer, for the laborer deserves his wages. Do not move from house to house.’ (Luke 10:4-7.)

Here I found myself not able to eat the food set before. It took me nearly another five years before I got used to eating the thick corn-meal porridge with cottage cheese.

I have grown to like it but I do add a bit of sugar each time it is served. The locals say that I spoil the taste by adding sugar, yet to me it tastes better that way. Another thing I have learnt to enjoy over the years was the thorny green caterpillars, known as, ‘amacimbi’, used for relish.

The following morning after washing my face and brushing my teeth outside the hut

I waited inside for me to serve with water to wash myself. They brought me water in a big steel bath and I was supposed to step into it and have my bath. The color of the water was quite different from what I knew to be the water for drinking and cooking which was obtained from the village bore-hole and so was pure and clean. But for bathing and washing it came from a dam nearby from which the cattle and other animals also drink, so it was always disturbed, cloudy and muddy- far from being colorless. To bathe myself in it would be like swimming in muddy river water. Pulling myself together, I

Eventually I stepped in. The water below my ankles, so shallow I did not know where to start. I stepped out, sat on a chair and washed my head, then my feet. For my body, I simply wetted the towel and rubbed myself all over with it. I was not satisfied that I had really washed myself.

What I was used to was to get a bucket full of water of about twenty liters and using a tin, to pour the water over myself before washing with soap and sponge. After that I would use the remaining water to rinse away the lather. This took place in a bathroom or a simple structure without a roof, detached from the bedrooms so that the water could easily drain away. Here I found myself having to use les than five liters of water in the same hut as my bedroom. It was a bit awkward for me, but by the third day I had accepted the fact that this was a new place, new land, and a different people, whose ways of doing things were new to me. So, I had to leave behind my old habits and ways of doing things back in West Africa, and allowed myself to be schooled in the people’s method of doing things.

Soon the head of the family Mr. Zaba, a retired primary school teacher, who was not in when I had arrived, came home that evening. He was delighted to see me, and the following day, we spent practically the whole day together in conversation. Everything had to be said in the local language, so it was not so long before I was struggling to find the appropriate words and phrases to construct correct sentences. Where I made mistakes he was quick to correct me. He would not allow me to get away with one wrong pronunciation. Our conversation very soon turned into a strict classroom lesson.

The women and the children did not have the courage to correct me whenever I made mistakes, they only smiled it away. The old man was very strict and would not allow me to pronounce a second word, if the first one had not been correctly pronounced. He later said with joy, that my visit was the first time he had met an African missionary. This was true. Previously, missionaries had visited them but invariably from Europe or America. So when he was informed that a missionary was coming for a month long visit, to learn and improve his knowledge about the local language. He was in no doubt expecting a white person. ‘A missionary from Ghana’, he exclaimed. ‘That is interesting’, he went further, ‘My son, how did you become interested in the missionary life? Deciding to leave your parents, family members, relatives and your country, and venturing into the unknown?’ I said to him, ‘I was inspired by the dedicated works being done by missionaries back in my country from Europe and America’.

Mr. Zaba, ‘My son, did you have any previous knowledge or experience of Zimbabwe before choosing to come and work here?’

Fr. Gabriel, ‘I had no previous knowledge, but I only knew that Zimbabwe was one of the countries in Southern Africa’.

Mr. Zaba, ‘Don’t you feel homesick or lonely sometimes, thinking of yourself being far away from your parents and kinsfolk and finding yourself in this wilderness?’.

Fr. Gabriel, ‘Not necessarily, yes, sometimes I do think about home, but I do not get sick missing home’.

Mr. Zaba, ‘Are your parents still alive, I would like to know?’.

Fr. Gabriel, ‘Yes, both of them are still at home’.

Mr. Zaba, ‘Were they happy that their eldest son was living them and going far away?’.

Fr. Gabriel, ‘Well, I believe deep inside them, they might not be very happy as loving parents. But the fact that one day I leave home for the missions was always there, since I joined a religious missionary congregation and entered the seminary. But on the day of my departure they felt a little different’.

Mr. Zaba, ‘How different, I am interest to know’.

Fr. Gabriel, ‘You know as human beings, separation is always not easy, so their spirits were down, but I believe they have accepted it by now’.

Mr. Zaba, ‘Coming back to this of loneliness, you did not give me a straight answer’.

Fr. Gabriel, ‘Oh, well as a human being, yes, sometimes I also feel lonely. When I think of my loved ones and close friends I have left behind. But it has never been an issue for me. I have always tried to make myself busy by reading or listening to music and learning especially my new task of trying to master the Sindebele language. And I believe as time goes on, I will make some friends since I am still new in the country’.

Mr. Zaba, ‘That is interesting being the first born son in the family, and having the courage to abandon them. Taking upon yourself the task of a missionary, you a black person like myself, and coming to work in black Africa. Zimbabwe for that matter that is something. By the way, for how long do you intend to stay and work in this country?

Fr. Gabriel, ‘There was no time specification to my appointment. Therefore, as long as permits, by God’s grace, as long as the Bishop wants me to work, I will continue to work’.

Mr. Zaba, ‘Does it mean, you will forsake your own people only to come and work in Zimbabwe?

Fr. Gabriel, ‘My people will count it rather as a blessing, that their son is able to share the message of Christ with others. Moreover, I will not call it forsaking my people, because after every three years or so, I will be given that opportunity to go home and see my folks and to renew that connections with them’.

Mr. Zaba, ‘My son, I can only say, you have boldly taken a noble path. Which often times it is up in the clouds for our young generation to think about. May the Lord bless your work in Zimbabwe- that is something’ he concluded.

And so it was for the rest of my stay, he took me for two hours in the morning and another two hours in the afternoons, to drill me in the language. In the late afternoons I would be taken to visit other families as well.

After all the years of studying to become a missionary, now here I was at the feet of this Old man everyday.

*     *     *

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NDOLWANE MISSION: HALL AND CHAPEL

HEAD ABOVE THE GROUND

From August 1994 to August 1999 I was working in our Formation House at Ndolwane as a postulancy master. I was helping and guiding our young men, accepted by our vocations promoter, to discern their call to the religious life. It was a full year’s programme which exposes postulants to priestly and brotherhood vocations.

It was a fulfilling job yet very challenging for me trying to help the young men dig the foundations of their future. In those years I learnt to accept and cherish whatever came my way. On two occasions I had only one candidate for the whole year.

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NDOLWANE MISSION:SVD FORMATION HOUSE.

In August 1998 I had four candidates from Zambia. This group was lively and vibrant. Our favorite sport was volley ball and on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the afternoons we would drill and entertain ourselves on the volley ball court. The primary and secondary schools around us came to join in with their best players to make the games more interesting.

And so there was fun galore, especially when a team had many novices on their side. Some would volley the ball over the net and others over their own heads to the laughter and giggles of the spectators.

So, after a delightful afternoon game one of the postulants said to me, Father, today I have played my last game.

What is your reason? You are doing well on the court these days, I asked.

At the least mistake I make people laugh so much and so loud that it gets on my nerves.

I replied, My young brother, do not allow those moments of laughter to get on your nerves. It is all part of the process of learning how to tolerate people and to control yourself when you feel hurt by what they say or do. He took this to heart and by the end of the year he was considered to be one of the best players.

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KIZITO FISHING IN A POUND

On the day this group left for their home holidays I was visited by an unwanted guest. For the whole year when I had been with the four young gentlemen in the formation house the visitor had never bothered to call. I came in from outside, parked the truck in the garage and was walking on the veranda towards the sitting room door when I heard a loud, ear piercing hissing sound. I could not move but had to look in the direction of the sound.

Lo and behold I saw a two meter long brown cobra resting on the door mat with its head about 20 -30 cm off the ground. Its hood was spread, its tongue flickering in and out and its body seemed coiled ready for action. At the sight of this ghastly creature my heart ‘dropped’ into my stomach with fright.

My mouth was wide open and for several seconds I was glued to the spot not knowing what to do. Then I began reversing my steps, carefully keeping the snake in view.

It was also watching me. As I stepped to the right or left its head swayed that way; when I stopped it stopped also, waiting for my next move; its forked tongue flickering to and fro as if preparing to spit at me.

There were no stones within reach and anyway the sitting room entrance had a glass door. A stick would not help either because to use it I would have to get within range of its deadly venom. And so we stood for a full minute, taking stock of each other and weighing up our options. I felt as if I was besieged in my own premises. Had it moved away I would have been happy to have allowed it to go anywhere it chose.

The keys to all the other rooms were on the sitting room table. There was no chance of getting them and opening other doors to let it out unless the creature moved aside.

Then I had a bright idea. I knew snakes do not like fire. I opened the truck and took out a rag I use to clean the windscreen. Fortunately I had half a liter of petrol in the garage and matches in the glove compartment. I soaked the rag with petrol, lit it, and hurled it at my unwelcome guest.

When it saw the flame flying towards it, the aggressive attitude changed. The big white hood and tongue disappeared and the head lowered. It was now looking for a way to escape. The verandah has a smooth polished floor, too slippery for snakes to make a fast move. I laid my hand on a stout stick making no attempt to hit the snake with it but continuously maneuvering the burning rag towards it.

At one point it was cornered and tried to climb the wall so I gave it more of the rag until it fell down. Seeing my deadly opponent on the run I took courage and ran to the kitchen for more towels which I also soaked and lit. Faced