...the
hippopotamus of the ZambesiDear friends and relatives, four days ago I received a group of people coming from a faraway village; they wanted me to reach their village to talk to a man awfully ill.
The place was Kassiciri, some 16 km away. In the previous days torrential rain had hit the area. Very soon the river beds had filled up and as quickly as a blink the surrounding areas had been flooded. I remained stuck in Boroma. On the following day a catechist came to visit me and brought fresh data on the catechumen of his area. He walked 15 km and should have walked another 15 to get back. I therefore decided to take him by car as close to his house as possible. We left and during our journey picked up some people on foot; I was surprised not to cross any other car. We met another catechist who came to Boroma to register his children at the local school.
-" Father the path to Mitsagna is blocked. Water knocked down the remaining stone and concrete bridge. What is left now is the river; 3 meters deep and 6 meters wide!" I left other passengers to their destination and Manuel, the first catechist, as close as possible to his own.
Together with Domingos and some students I kept on driving towards Mitsagna. " Goodness me ! " The streed abruptly ended with a steep slope on the river below. Water was no longer running, but it had time to dig a trench some 30 meters long, 7 meters wide and 4 meters deep. I had to stop and to drive back.
On the next day in Boroma I found a man coming through the woodland by bike summoning me to Kassiciri..
I tried to organise and left towards Mitsanha. The agreement was that I should have stopped in Mitsangna without crossing the river and the sick would have been brought by cart up to the river. That sick person wanted absolutely to meet me.
When I reached Mitsagna I spotted tyre tracks going down the slope and inside
the river.
I studied carefully the possible path, moved some stones, filled a few holes;
what worried me most was climbing up the slope on the other side since it
was littered with big stones and promised to be difficult to overcome. Should
I have got stuck nobody would have been able to recover me. On the other hand
I had a very ill person coming to me, carried on a cart.
I geared up and ventured down the slope (45% steep). I prayed our Lady of Loreto, patron saint of aviators. I got to the river bed, crossed the river and sped up on the slope between big stones and deep holes. As if by miracle, although shaken, I hit the road again. The young man who was journeying with me got back on the car: since I was not sure of the result, I had crossed the river alone.
We sped up for the last 6 km up to Kassiciri. Nobody was to be seen around since everyone was working in the fields. I overcame the village and the chapel and I went through an unknown road, blowing the horn to see if anybody appeared. At last... here they were!.
7
men and 2 women around a cart.
They had tied a rope on the front wheel: three men were pushing and other three pulled from behind while the seventh propped the cart. The women were beside the sick to prop him up. The sick was just sitting on a cover, his legs falling in front of the cart and his arms on the sides of the cart to balance. They were climbing up the slope of another water stream and stopped panting in the shade of a tree nearby. The came towards me smiling and hug me.
The sick was a young man aged 26. He could not lye down lest he could not breath. His legs were horribly swollen and he could speak with difficulty. I sat beside the cart and the seven men and two women accompanying the sick retreated under a tree.
They warned me - " Father, he wants to talk to you and confess!"
We remained alone and José, the sick, began to talk. Since he could not breath if he lied down, all he could do was sitting. His back and chest ached whenever he breathed, as if a knife had stung him; he could not feel his legs any longer. On the front of his head he had a bump as big as an egg. He had a bad lung infection, maybe pleuritis, and - who knows - a kidney infection.
We talked together about God's forgiveness and mercy. When we ceased talking we both had watery eyes.
I gave him anointment and absolution. José felt quiet and ready! He didn't want to go to the hospital; driving up there would have been far too painful. All he wished for was coming back home.
I greeted him and tried to comfort him. Since God was with him now, he had nothing to fear. He rested in His hands.
While the group of people took leave, the catechist told me about another sick person one km away.
Since I should have crossed another river, I just left the car.
We reached a cluster of huts and found a woman, some 30-year old, sitting on a chair. I sat down on a turned bucket. Other people sat down on the bare earth in a circle. The woman had both legs and bellow swollen. She could no longer stand. She had kidney infection or hydropsy. How much I missed a doctor! Those people were left abandoned
The woman was a catechumen at the second year and asked me to baptise her. After a brief explanation and some prayers, I gave her the Water of Life..
The woman's name was Diolinda! She was terribly conscious. There was nobody at home but a child lying on a side under a rotten cover. He must have been sick with malaria.. All the relatives were in the fields. I suggested to take her to hospital. But since no relative of her was around it was not possible! It was afternoon by then and I had to get back to Boroma and meet a group of young people there.
We waited on end since a niece of her arrived. Her relatives wanted to take her to a medicine man. I could do nothing.
One hour later we left Diolinda's house and got back to the car. Most likely I wouldn't have seen her again. I took leave deeply saddened.
José and Diolinda; two youth I wouldn't have met again on Earth and
to whom I could give nothing but the comfort offered by our Faith in God.
Good Lord, why on earth are so many men and women deserted, without doctors
and treatments?
Then I remembered José smiling although suffering, because he was
no longer afraid. He could face death. I came back to Boroma crossing the same river and the car nearly fall on the
slope, but God cares for us missionaries.
The young people I had to meet there was waiting for me. I cooked a couple of eggs and began the meeting. Life must go on.
Please pray for José and Diolinda!
Father Claudio from faraway Africa....
