Each morning, when the gazelles wake up in Africa, they know that they have to run faster than the fastest lion, or else they’ll never see the dawn again.
Each morning, when the lions wake up in Africa, they know that they have to run faster than the slowest gazelle, or else they’ll go hungry for the day.
It does not matter whether you are lion or gazelle. When the sun rises, you’d better buck up. (p. 43)
When signing for his first safari in a hunting park in Tanzania, the American tourist feels sure about how to act before any emergency. He tells the local guide: “I know that if you carry a torch you can keep the lions away.” The guide answers: “That is right, but it depends on how fast you can run with the torch in your hand.” (71)
African proverb: “It takes a whole village to rise a child.” (74) In Europe, it would seem, a kindergarten is enough.
When I was working as a parish priest in Tanzania, I spent a whole year preparing a Masai group for baptism. At the end of the year I had to decide who were ready for baptism and who would have to study some more time. Ndangoya, the eldest in the group, stopped me gently but firmly: “Father, why are you trying to divide us? We’ve been together for the whole year in this class. When you were absent we kept speaking on these things among ourselves at night before the fire. Yes, there are quite a few lazy people in the group, but we have helped them with full interest. There are slow people, but they have been helped by the bright ones. There are people with little faith in the village, but those whose faith is great have encouraged them. Do you want now to send away all the lazy people, the foolish ones, the ones with little faith? I have always spoken on their behalf from the first day, and now, after one year, I can bear witness to them and to all that we have reached a point in our life when we can say: We believe.”
I looked at the old man. I baptised them all. (101)
I took some photos of the children in the village. I developed them and showed them to all. Little Mohammed recognised each one of his friends in the photos and was showing them to his mother giving them their names, but he never named himself. Was that shyness? No. His mother pointed to a photo in which he appeared and told him: “Mohammed, this is you.” I then realised that little Mohammed had not recognised his own face because there are no mirrors in the village. Mohammed knew himself only through his mother, his friends, his neighbours. People in this village know themselves only through human mirrors. When they salute each other, How are you today? You’re looking fine. You’re not looking very well today. Why are you looking so happy? is when they learn who they are and how they look. That night I prayed to God: “If ever modern mirrors come to this village, let these good people not forget their human mirrors.” (109)
During the genocidal war between hutus and tutsis in Ruanda, in an area in Kigali neighbour attacked neighbour and many were killed. In a certain village, a hutu killed his tutsi neighbour. Some time later, when the Ruanda Patriotic Front won the war and had taken over the government, the crimes committed during that period came under investigation. The widow of that murdered tutsi was asked to identify her husband’s murderer. She knew who he was, but she refused to tell, as she knew that the hutu would be summarily executed. She chose pardon. (123)
Africa understands death. A young woman, married in another village, came once to our village and paid me her first visit in the parish. I knew she had aids, and was in fact far gone in the sickness. She had come so say farewell. She told me:
- I’ve come to see my mother here.
- Are you getting worse?
- Yes, it seems so.
- Are you afraid?
- No. I’ve done all I wanted to do. My children are grown up. I’ve made sure they’ll be looked after. I only need now to see my mother.
We took leave of each other and I kept looking at her as she went up the street. The young woman walked as a queen. The ground beneath her feet became hallowed ground. (125)
On 29th April 1994 twenty-two persons, mostly schoolgirls, were killed during an attack to a girls Catholic school in Muramba, Gisenyi region, Ruanda, close to the frontier with the Congo Democratic Republic. During the genocide war between hutus and tutsis, a group of armed men attacked the school and ordered the girls to split in ethnical groups, hutus to one side and tutsis to the other. The girls refused, protesting that they were all one community and they loved each other. The men opened fire on all of them killing seventeen girls and wounding other fourteen. Sister Margaret Bosmans, Belgian missionary, head of a near-by school, tried to stop the soldiers, and was also killed by them. (127)
Some foreigners in Africa are upset at the lack of competitive spirit in some Africans. Tanzanians seem to have chosen collaboration and camaraderie as their way of life instead of competition. The first inkling I had of that was when watching a sports competition for secondary school girls. There was no archery, no javelin throw, not even tug-of-war. Only races. After half-a-dozen eliminatory trials for the fifty yards dash, the Sister in charge realised that something strange was happening there. She found it hard to determine the winner at each race: they all arrived at the finishing line at exactly the same time. After seven trials, the Sister asked them: “What is happening here? Nobody wins!” The least shy among the girls answered: “Oh, Sister, isn’t it better if we all arrive together?” (185)
Fr Jack, as every other foreign missionary in Tanzania, felt very awkward at the difference between his own life standard and that of his neighbours. People lived in adobe cottages with thatch roofs while he was living in a concrete house with a tiles roof and a terrace. The natives had to carry water from a well at a great distance, while he collected water during the rainy season in tanks on his roof to last the whole year. And his food was richer and much more varied that what the people ate. Once, while travelling, the missionary confessed to Charles, his catechist, how uneasy he felt living as a rich man among the poor. Charles frowned as a sign of incredulity and then burst out: “But father, you are the poorest in the village. You have no grandchildren!” (189)
A missionary went to a remote area in Tanzania to preach the gospel to the Masai people, famous for their valiant warriors. One day the missionary was speaking before a group of adults about the salvation Jesus brings to us. He explained how Jesus was the Son of God, saviour and redeemer of humankind. When he was through with his sermon, an old Masai stood up slowly and told the missionary: “You have spoken well, but I would like to know more about that great chief Jesus Christ. I want to ask you three questions about him, and on your answer to them will depend our acceptance of him as our Supreme Chief. First, did he ever kill a lion? Second, how many cows did he have? Third, how many wives and children did he have?” (199)
