LAGARBA ETHIOPIA MISSION - FR. PAUL SCHNEIDER

​

SUDAN AND THE MISSIONARIES

Saint Josephine Bakhita - February 2023

Dear friends,

Today's message is a bit different from the previous ones. This time what I'm sharing is not what I have recently done in Lagarba, but things that I've seen, heard and reflected upon, and some details of my personal story. I'll leave the current news of my small mission of Lagarba for an upcoming letter. 

After Ethiopian Christmas, which was on January 7, I went some days to Khartoum, the capital of Sudan, the neighboring country, to preach a retreat to the Missionaries of Charity of Mother Teresa, who have four houses in that country. I was also with Fr. Jorge Naranjo, a Combonian missionary that has been now for several years working in Sudan. Some years ago I met Jorge through a common friend, and it turned it we were from the same town of Majadahonda near Madrid and we had been attending the same church in our youth. Surprising coincidences of life. During those ten days in Khartoum I was drawn closer to the figure of Daniel Comboni (1831-1881), his apostolic journeys and adventure, his ideas for the regeneration of Africa, his longing for the  advancement of civilisation and Christian faith, his endeavors to promote literacy and to put an end to slavery in black Africa. The Combonian missionaries run schools and a university here, and other religious orders have also been taking care of refugees and the impoverished for decades now. Comboni's master plan was "The Regeneration of Africa by the Africans".

My admiration for missionaries of all times is ever growing, as they were men and women who undertook long journeys and endured fatigue and privation, and sowed the seeds of faith. Coincidentally, Saint Daniel Comboni had a special friendship and even veneration for the first bishop of my Vicariate of Harar in Ethiopia: the Italian Cardinal Guglielmo Massaja (1809-1889), a Capuchin Franciscan. Massaja initiated the missions in which my companions and I continue to work now up to the Somali border, one hundred and thirty years later: Midagdu, Karramile, Chelenko, Doba, Jarra, Chaffe, Awale, Dire Dawa, Lagarba, among others.

In Khartoum, Sudan, the two Niles come together, and it is a unique spectacle: the White Nile, which rises thousands of kilometers to the south, in Lake Victoria, and the Blue Nile, which has its sources in the highlands of Ethiopia. From there, from Khartoum, a single Nile flows northwards to its mouth in the delta on the Egyptian coast. This river is one of the most mythical in universal history, cited in ancient literature, in Homer, in the book of Exodus, and obviously in Egyptian hieroglyphic writing. Africa continues to represent a mystery. You know that I did not leave Spain to do tourism or ethnographic studies, which interest me very little. I came to live in simplicity, to say Mass to the people of Lagarba, to be their priest, and to help the people and the nuns and my bishop here as much as possible. But in the end you say yes to a request from the nuns, almost reluctantly you leave your mission for a couple of weeks, you take a plane to go to the neighboring country to preach a retreat to their sisters, and you end up seeing special things that you did not expect and you hear even more incredible stories. You learn history, you learn about the Church and about Islam, and you see other cultures and expressions, climates and geography, and the current development of Africa in its cities. And you combine that information with everything you had previously learned. Books, the internet and the audiovisual media can teach you things, but by going in person you get much more of the nature of the places and the peoples.

Regarding the sources of the Blue Nile, in northern Ethiopia, I have to mention the name of a figure that captivates me and whose story still seems awesome to me: the Spanish Jesuit missionary Pedro Páez, who was held captive for seven years in Aden, Arabia - he was trying to reach the Ethiopian coast by ship from India - and was the first European to reach the sources of the Blue Nile in 1618. He converted the Ethiopian Emperor, known in medieval legends as Prester John, to the Catholic faith , and died in the city of Gorgora in 1622. Then that Jesuit mission failed and the country was closed for three centuries to the entry of Catholic missionaries and Europeans in general.

Before I was ordained a priest in 2007, when I was studying theology, there were extra courses on evangelization and missiology at the Faculty, but I never had a reason or time then to sign up for those classes. To compensate for that, may the true and widely documented stories of humble and ambitious missionaries serve me as a lesson for life. People like, Francisco Javier (+1552, Shangchuan Island, China) Toribio de Mogrovejo (+1606, Peru), Matteo Ricci SJ (+1610, the Forbidden City - Beijing), Eusebio Kino SJ (+1711, Pimería Alta - Mexico) or Blessed Ana María Javouhey who, although she died in 1851 in Paris, had founded schools of her new order of Saint Joseph of Cluny in Reunion Islands, Martinique and Guinea, and her works , convents and schools, spread to India, Tahiti, Madagascar, Angola, up to 60 countries. I am somehow in debt with this nineteenth-century French nun, since I studied all elementary school with the religious sisters of San José de Cluny in Pozuelo. The "mothers" of Cluny, in addition to teaching us French and mathematics, spoke to us about the missions, about Mission Sunday, and about their foundress Ana María. As a child you don't know anything, but there you are, listening and receiving, almost without realizing it, a culture and a way of seeing life, which you later realize is connected with the desire to know the truth and make the truth known. As you get older you deeply appreciate having heard testimonies, having received hope as a child, and a truly Christian, although imperfect, education.

Sudan is the fourth African country I have visited in my life, after Morocco, Mali and Ethiopia. It is the region formerly called Nubia and it has been Islamized for centuries, Arabic is the official language, everything is in Arabic, and the sale and consumption of alcohol is illegal. Our Christians pray in Arabic, and the wine for Mass is made from raisins at home. The future of the country is uncertain: Sharia Law was repealed as a civil law only a couple of years ago, the political situation is unstable, and there are frequent protests, and it is the army that exercises power. From the Mahdi to Omar Al-Bashir, all the regimes have been oppressive and dictatorial. The days that I was there there were demonstrations and streets closed and tear gas could be felt in the air, and I am told it is the bread and butter there. There are a million Catholics in the country, and other Christian and animist minorities.

I didn't know anything about Sudan before, I had only seen images of Darfur on TV back in 2003, when the genocide and the huge refugee camps which continue to this day. I had also heard of the Sudanese Josephine Bakhita, who was sold into slavery several times in the Khartoum markets, beaten and mistreated for years, and ended up freed and transferred to Italy, where she consecrated herself to God and became a religious. She was canonized by John Paul II and Benedict XVI sums up her story in no. 3 of the encyclical Spe Salvi to put her as a model of a woman of unlimited hope. Several books have been written about her, and there is a movie. I saw her image in all the houses and chapels I visited in Khartoum, and many girls are called "Bakhita" after her. It's impressive that a poor black slave becomes an icon, a seed of renewal for a country and a continent always threatened and hit by war.

Returning now to Ethiopia, I ask you to pray for a good man from my area, named Birhanu Petros, 50, married with four children, who comes from the Catholic mission of Edjefara. He lives in Asebe Teferi, and helps the priests with some small tasks in the parish there. The fact is that four years ago he underwent several operations and in the end a colostomy, because he had complications in the intestine. To make matters worse, after that operation he had an accident when he fell out of a tuk-tuk (or bajaj, as they are called here), and his gut split open and he almost died. Although little by little he recovered, it is very annoying to live with a permanent colostomy, because in Ethiopia it is difficult to find colostomy bags, and stuff comes out without warning, and with the smell and everything it is very uncomfortable, you almost have to isolate yourself socially, and the good man had been like this for four years. By the insistence of the priests, at the beginning of December I took Birhanu to various hospitals, in Adama, where his medical records were, and in Addis Ababa, where there are better hospitals, and I had to leave my mission of Lagarba for two weeks, and almost taking him by the hand to each test and checkup, because the man was confused. After many laboratory tests, laparoscopy, and colonoscopy, the surgeons decided that the colostomy could not be reversed. In other words, all our efforts were in vain. He still has a few days to rest in Addis, and then he will return home just as he was. But I wanted to tell you this, because although in my messages I usually share what is beautiful, what is successful, however, the life of the mission is littered with failures. I keep myself from telling you about them, lest I depress or confuse those who are oversensitive or apprehensive. Thank God, failures don't discourage me. On the spiritual level, failures, although bitter, are the best of all, because they make you remember why you are here and for whom you do things. I'm sure that any priest in my diocese of Getafe can understand what I am saying: to fail in the first thousand things you try is the starting point. I came to the mission to obey Him, to do His will, and that is my reward. Neither an achievement, nor the gratitude of the people, nor my personal satisfaction, are the hinge of all this. Birhanu is calmer now, and he accepts his situation, cleared the doubt that everything possible has been done. If even after trying something by many means and having failed you have greater peace of heart afterwards, that in itself is to be appreciated. In the mission almost everything fails, and you have to educate yourself to see the positive, the gifts of God, the details, the evolution of good souls. It does not matter if everything apparently fails if in the end the Beatitudes (Matt 5), the promises of Christ, are true.

The years in the mission are making me see how important Medicine and Health are, and the education of the general population to prevent diseases. Good nutrition, good hygiene, clean water, decent housing, and avoiding risky behaviors and harmful habits. I observe, I am learning a lot, and I value health workers who care about the suffering sick person as a precious pearl, whether they are caregivers, doctors, nurses or orderlies. The missionaries of Mother Teresa, at least the ones I have known, are a model for me. In my five years here I have seen and accompanied several people all the way to death, AIDS patients, tuberculosis patients, people with tumors of all kinds, accidents, acute elephantiasis in the legs, mastitis, thyroid goiter, infected wounds that had been untreated for months, colitis and sexually transmitted diseases. Most of them though, with treatment and patience, recover and heal completely. When you work with the sick, with people who are poor or have no family or come from remote rural areas, you see advanced states of disease and deterioration that you would very rarely see in our developed countries; they've been dealing with aches and pain for years. The life of Salomon Shimelis and his sister-in-law Ruman Ishetu, for example, both with severe asthma and neighbors of mine in Lagarba, has improved enormously since last year, when I took them to Addis Ababa for several check-ups at good hospitals, and the pulmonologist found the medication (Symbicort, an inhalation treatment) that works great for them. Whenever I go to Addis I have to remember to buy several tubes, because in the rural area they are not sold, and they are also expensive and Salomon or Ruman cannot afford it. When I spend money on medication and medical treatment, that's when I'm happiest spending it.

I leave you for now, friends. United in the Eucharist. You're always in my prayers, pray for me too.

Fr. Paul Schneider         

​

​

Lagarba, August 14, 2022

Day of Saint Maximilian Kolbe

Dear friends:

Honestly, I never imagined that the mission would be so exciting. Since we finished the water wells in the schools and the rains began at the end of June, my work rate has decreased in terms of construction and large projects, but personal relationships have intensified, with the community, with many families in the area, Christians and Muslims. It's going to be five years that I came here, and I have learned the Amharic language, and I can already speak a little in Oromo. I enjoy with the people, we have good times of laughter, we always talk about the things we are going to do together, and I often feel like no other time in my life would have been better for God to bring me to this place.

We are planting many trees, it is the time for it, now that it rains and the land does not dry out. Just this week, and with the voluntary collaboration of the people, we have planted some five thousand trees, mostly coniferous and grevilleas, on the side of our new road, so that as the roots grow the slopes are strengthened and there are no landslides, and we have also planted many fruit trees in the mission. We already had almost a hundred coffee plants planted, and last week we have added guava, mango, papaya, banana, custard apple trees, among others. They will take years to bear fruit, and those that do not thrive will be replaced. Going back and forth in the pickup truck I am getting to know the public plant nurseries in this whole area, and getting to know more people from other places. As we have done the road and other projects, the authorities are very grateful and supportive, I have contacts, and they give us all the seedlings we need for free. Not satisfied with reforesting the mission land, I encourage all residents to plant trees along the edges of their fields and on land that has been left vacant by erosion or continued cultivation. Nothing can ensure that it rains like it used to, but the shade of the trees certainly reduces the temperature of the soil, prevents moisture from evaporating, and when their leaves fall they create mulch (in the case of deciduous trees) and make the more fertile land. In addition, where there is a grove, crops, vegetables and fruit trees are better protected from hail and strong winds. It costs nothing, a tree takes two minutes to plant, and once it takes root, it hardly needs any maintenance.

Moving on, let me tell you about two good friends of mine, Adamu and Fikere, two men who now live and work at the mission. They are both in their 50s, and they are truly poor among the poor, and for that reason I try to be especially thoughtful and loving towards them. In March of last year I welcomed Adamu to the mission, and alcohol was one of his problems. Adamu is one of the many farmers in Lagarba, and he has not had it easy, he barely owns any land of his own, he doesn't get along well with his brothers, and at this point in life he has little strength for intense field work . Before we "rescued" him, that is, before we invited him to come live at the mission, Adamu lived alone, got drunk every day (with areke, the local transparent hard liquor) and ate little and poorly, he had pains all over his body, frequent fevers and red eyes from living in dust and dirt, in a hut whose roof was collapsing. During the nights of his last weeks in that state he would scream, I don't know if from drunkenness, fear or panic, illness, or all at once. I don't know anything about alcoholism and detoxification, nor are there rehabilitation centers or therapies here in Ethiopia, but if this man was going to die like this, something had to be done. I could give him food and shelter, something like a home, and take him to the hospital if he'd get worse, and buy medicine. There are tasks here that he can perform: looking after the chickens, the goats, the maintenance of property, keeping an eye on the church. When he came to the mission, he didn't give up alcohol right away. However, as months passed it became clear that he had to quit drinking, and we gave him a last chance warning. I believe that, in order to weed a deep-rooted addiction, many things are necessary: determination, self esteem and support from others, but sometimes being strict and highly demanding works like a charm. Community is essential, the group of those who love you and do not allow you to go crazy or make a fool of yourself, or keep making mistakes. For Adamu, we are now his family: Shawle, Gucho, Demmelash and myself, and since last month also Fikere, who, although not as messed up as Adamu's, was also wasting his life because of alcoholism, loneliness, with no prospects for the future. Fikere is more peaceful, quiet and patient than Adamu, but in any case they have hit it off. Fikere was in charge of the mule when we had it, because I sold it when I got used to walking. He accompanied me to faraway places, and we spent hours together. Now, Adamu and Fikere live here, and they get along really well. Fikere was in charge of the mule when we had it, because I sold it when I got used to go walking everywhere. He accompanied me to faraway places, and we spent hours together. Now, Adamu and Fikere live here, and they feed the oxen and goats every day (now there is a lot of grass that serves as fodder, because of all the clearing we have done in the mission for four years, before it was almost all weeds, caltrops and thorns), and they hoe the earth so that the sorghum and corn grow as much as possible and bear fruit, and they help me plant trees in designated areas. They join me at Mass every morning, and we eat all meals together. It is the closest thing I have to a community. I see them happy, and that makes me very happy, and their health visibly improves every day. They are fighting inside and, in that, we are all the same, we all have our struggles.

Sometimes I am amazed by the fact that I am living here, with these people, and I think back to why I came, and ponder about these years in the mission. I volunteered to come here, driven by the desire for greater detachment, asking my Bishop of Getafe for his blessing to go. Although privations are our daily bread here, if the missionary experience of these years had not been an opportunity to grow in faith and joy, I could've returned to my dear diocese. Faith grants you many gifts, it opens doors, hearts and peoples for you. The mission can only be lived from faith. I didn't really come here to build houses, bridges, roads and wells, or to plant trees or rehabilitate alcoholics. I do all of this because I have to do it and, if I didn't do it, possibly no one else would, or maybe they would, who knows. I don't even consider myself the author of these works, let alone boast of it, even though I enjoy working and I'm passionate about these endeavors. I came here for my salvation, to be more His, to deny Him nothing, and to share His love. That what evangelization is. Evangelization is the most necessary thing for the world, more than all social causes. Everything else comes later, "Seek ye first the Kingdom of God and his righteousness, and everything else shall be added unto you" (Matt 6:33).

My presence here consists of living with the poor, being their father and their shepherd, and doing everything I can to improve their lives, spiritually, materially, in everything. When you live with them, the poor share what they have, and they also ask from you. They ask you frequently, sometimes they overwhelm you, and sometimes you give and sometimes you refuse to give, but in any case you know that Christ asks you to renew your generosity daily, and the mission requires you to overcome your selfishness, make sacrifices and live with austerity.

Austerity, for example, in food. Here, if I have some special food that I like, I have come to the conclusion that I prefer to share it with those who live with me and, if it's not for sharing, it is better to deprive myself and not buy it, and just eat what they all eat, although sometimes I miss some things like chocolate or meat. Here food is very simple, you do not order from the menu. When you eat with others, it is rude to make differences and eat expensive or special things bought in the city for yourself, such as cold cuts, canned tuna, cold cuts, powdered milk or chocolate (all of them unaffordable products for the country people), unless, as I said, you share with everyone who is with you there at table. I no longer have an excuse for not eating the same as them, even though I don't always love it, because my stomach is more than adapted, and I have gotten used to always eating injeera, vegetables and legumes, and not eating meat, dairy products or eggs except very occasionally, when there is a party or when I go to the city, which may be once a month or every other month. This is how most of my families live in Lagarba, they cannot afford more. As far as possible, unless there is a medical condition, whoever comes here for a long time should eat and drink what they have here, what the people here eat and drink. (Cfr. Luke 10:8 'Eat and drink what they give you', is one of Jesus' instructions to his missionary disciples.) Nobody dies of hunger in Lagarba, but many families are poor and go hungry, they only eat one or twice in the whole day, and the food is very simple and the servings are small, normally there are no leftovers. Everyone loves sugar and coffee, and this is the land of coffee, but many families, due to low ncome, spend days and weeks without taking coffee or sugar. Of course, when there is an important festival, such as the Ethiopian New Year (Enkutatash, September 11 or 12), or Easter (Fasika) or Christmas (Genna), all families eat meat, even if they have to borrow money to buy some pounds of meat, and they spend their savings that they have that holiday so that there is plenty of coffee, sugar, khat, and cookies for the children. The families who can afford it also buy their children new clothes for their children on those two or three designated days of the year, but many others cannot. I am not telling you all this to make you feel sorry for them; the poor in the countryside, although they would never have voluntarily chosen poverty and having been born here, have nevertheless a special strength to live with continuous privations, and they also have the innocence and desire and excitement of those who are neither satisfied nor stuffed, and you don't see bitter or lonesome people as you see in the city. By sharing all this I wanted to relate to you my experience, which has a lot of liberation, and which has been a gradual adaptation, not exempt from sacrifices, even in something as mundane as food.

The Son of God worked with his hands and taught us that manual work is a school of holiness. Saint Paul did the same, and the Fathers of the desert, the Benedictines, and the lay people of all centuries. Like the priest in Miguel de Unamuno's novel, San Manuel Bueno, Mártir, I like to lend a hand to farmers in the fields, and that is also part of evangelization, being with people and working with them, knowing their hardships, and becoming one with them. Working together, sharing food, praying together, this is the Church. There is a time for everything, a time to put on the cassock and a time to take it off and roll up your sleeves, pick up the hoe, and get calluses and blisters on your hands, and get dirty with sweat and dust, and in everything one can find the joy of the Lord.

I lack space to tell you a very interesting story of reconciliation that we had a few months ago with some fanatic Muslims. I say fanatics, not to say brainless thieves and scoundrels. They are a clan whose houses are at the foot of the mission lands, between the mission and the river, and they have a bad habit of trying to rob us, like when they tried to take the land of Kirara from us 3 years ago, gun in hand, shooting at the air and threatening. Although they cause us a lot of trouble, we always end up forgiving them and even helping them, that's how dumb we are, and they eventually go back to their old tricks, it's been three times in five years. However, their attempts are getting more and more ridiculous, and the other Muslims are starting to hate them, and in that clan they even hate each other. They rarely get away with it, in the end they have always ended up having to return what was stolen or compensate for the damages. I have a good relationship with most Muslim neighbors, we appreciate and help each other, and many are close relatives of my Catholic parishioners. In any case, I learn from the experience of each day, and I remind myself of the Scripture, 'Do not return evil for evil, nor insult for insult; on the contrary, bless, for you have been called to inherit the blessing (1 Pet 3:9)'. So please pray for them, because the Lord commands us to pray for our enemies. For your pray to be more intentional, here go their names: Saaniyo Mohammed Seid, Hassan Abbas, Bediru Jamal, Harifu Saaniyo, Deme Saaniyo, Megersa Saaniyo. 'Ye have heard that it hath been said, thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust. For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same? (Matt 5:43-46)'. I hope to be able to see you soon and share with you in detail our reconciliation process with them, and other stories that I have lived and am living. I will go to Spain in the middle of October, God willing.

I am content with this life, with its toils and privations. It is the dynamic of sacrifice that is repeated every day, like the Eucharist. You are like a candle buning away, and you know that sacrifice has an eternal purpose, that God has refreshment and reward prepared for you. Pray for me in the Eucharist, offer your bodies to God as a living host (Cfr Rom 12:1).

Big hugs and see you soon!

Fr Paul Schneider