Loving Africa

  Bon Dimanche! I was awakened by a knock on my door. It was Martha, coming to get me for dinner.  Dinner at the Mission was at 7:30. Because of our proximity to the equator, Martha's and my walk across the lawn was in the dark. Sunrise was at six a.m., sunset at six p.m. She first took me to the kitchen, where I met those who, in addition to Martha, were to become closest to me over the next five months: Maman Noëline, her ten-year-old son Marc Antoine, and Faith Frances (pictured above, farthest right), a postulant whom I later learned is from Nigeria. I also met Angelique, the nurse who runs the dispensary, but I don't remember if it was right then.  Once dinner was ready, we took our places in the refrectory, easier to show than describe: The priests sat at the head table. Two candidates and two oblates sat at the first table to the right, two candidates and one oblate at the table to the left. The oblate who was serving that evening sat at the small table, with one oblate

Our Lady greeted me on my arrival at the Mission. Because of the seven-hour time difference between here and Gabon and the late departure times of my flights, it took two days to get to Libreville. After an overnight transatlantic flight to Paris, a 12-hour layover and another overnight flight, I finally arrived at the Leon M'ba International airport around 5:30 a.m. local time (my internal clock was so confused, I had no idea what time it felt like). One of the first things I noticed was how humid the air was. Another thing that quickly struck me (and probably shouldn't have) was the lack of English spoken by the Gabonese.  In the Paris airport, I had been praying in the chapel and met the chaplain when I was leaving. He's Polish, but of course addressed me in French. Given my limitations with the language, I thought the best thing to do was use my best phrase: "Je ne parle pas le français" -- I don't speak French. I don't recall what he said next; I beli