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| Bon Dimanche! |
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 and sometimes Marc Antoine at the table next to it. We girls sat at the table to the left, closest to the camera (eventually settling on sitting in birth order).
During the week, dinners were "monastic": taken in the refrectory, in silence with a recorded reading. On Sundays and feast days, we ate on the terrace. My first meal at the mission, which I recorded in my journal, was pretty standard: water (always), pasta with cut up "hot dog" pieces (I later learned they were chicken franks), watermelon (I will devote a post to Gabonese cuisine soon!).
After dinner, Canon Fragelli introduced me to the rest of the community and the layout of the mission. When I asked him if he would be able to email my mom to tell her I had arrived (it would be a bit before my phone would work), he pulled out his phone, asked for Mom's number and dialed it. He talked to her for a moment before handing me the phone. I was only able to talk for a couple minutes before the connection got dropped, but at least it was something!
Our evening prayer in community was said typically between 8:30 and 9:00 p.m. It was in French and consisted of three invocations to the Sacred Heart ("Cœur Sacré de Jésus, ayez pitié de nous"), three to Our Lady of the Blessed Sacrament ("Notre Dame du très Saint-Sacrement, priez pour nous"), and once each to St. Thérèse of Lisieux, St. Francis de Sales, St. Thomas Aquinas and St. Benedict (the patrons of the Institute). This was followed by a couple minutes of silence for an examination of conscience, then the Act of Contrition. After that was St. Louis de Monfort's Act of Consecration (not the whole thing, just the heart of it), then whichever of the canons was leading it would state some prayer intentions. Then we would sing a Marian antiphon (Ave Maria or Salve Regina usually) and a Gloria Patri. We finished with the Fatima prayer and the priest's blessing.
As can be imagined, I needed a shower. When I went to do so after evening prayer, I was given a crash course in missionary life: there was no running water. I was surprisingly calm about that, and managed to clean up using the 1.5 liter bottle of water in my room, brushing my teeth with a bit of San Pelegrino I had left from my travels.
I remember very little of my first few days at the mission; some of it I know had to have happened, but I have next to no memory of it! I know we had Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament after Mass on Thursday (my first full day), because... it was Thursday. I believe that was the day I asked our vicar what his name was (he figured out my French quickly enough), learning that he was Canon Sigros. I can recall walking to Benediction (I made another attempt at French, asking some boys if it was time for Benediction. They also figured me out eventually), as well as my first meeting with the girls from Maria Bambina, the boarding house/orphanage run by the mission. It would also have been the first time I had aperitif there--though I can't tell you anything about it!
On Friday, I know I went to the dispensary to see what I could do there. After using Angelique's phone translator to make myself understood (I tried! But they couldn't understand me), they told me I could start on Monday. We also watched a movie after dinner (Friday night tradition): L'aile ou la cuisse, my first introduction to Louis de Funès (I would see three of his films in my time at the mission). I hardly understood a thing ("La viande!" was about all I could get; I only learned the name of the film and actor after I got home), but one joy of comedy is that you can enjoy it without really knowing what's going on.
Saturday was memorable for several reasons: first, it was raining and I slipped at the edge of the refrectory, resulting in a very large gash in my left knee, from which I retain an impressive scar. That afternoon was my first catechism class at the mission (every Saturday at four p.m.), during which Canon Fragelli used me as an "example" (he was explaining something and needed an example of two different shades of white skin; I'm paler than he is, besides having been the only other non-African in the room!). After class, Canon told me there was choir practice: "You do sing, don't you?" Not sure how he found that out, but he was right and I would become much more involved in the music than I could have anticipated.
Then was Sunday. I sang in the choir, of course, and after Mass, everyone started taking pictures (Canon Fragelli not excepted; he needed them for a mission report email he would write later). The one at the top of the post is from one of our seminary candidates, and I was able to get my hands on Canon's pictures later:
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| The seminary candidates (left to right): Victor, Modeste, Victor (yes, two Victors!) and Gerard. And of course, Canon Fragelli in the middle. |
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| The oblates: Paul, François, Dieu-Vivant, Steguen and Gabriel. |
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| Angelique, Faith Frances and Martha. Don't know how that American got in there. |
Canon Fragelli left that afternoon to be at the Institute's seminary in Italy for the feast of St. Francis de Sales (January 29th). It was during the ten days he was gone that I began to experience some frustration, expressed in my journal:
Things are a little rough--I think it's the lack of anyone who speaks American English. [...] Really want to do something, to work! Frustrated w/ lack of work--not my fault, though. There simply seems to be nothing for me to do, at least for now. [...] Perhaps there is something more to my being here than I imagine--a purpose I don't know, beyond nursing work.
The next day:
Pretty much bored to tears. Frustrated over sim card [I was never able to get an African sim card to work in my phone]. Want to work.
There are happy notes, however. There was French class every morning (is that a happy thing..? I once told Canon Fragelli, "I've never hit my head into a brick wall, but sometimes I come away from French class wondering if I don't know what it feels like."), and I was spending time in the dispensary, observing, when I could. We were planning a surprise party for Canon Fragelli's birthday when he returned, and so were learning some African songs for that. I was in the choir and getting to know the "Bambinette".
This was my mom's take on it:
Sarah called me this morning in tears. She's lonely too given the absence of English speakers (Canon Fragelli, who speaks English very well, has gone away for a week) and is finding the adjustment quite challenging with her limited French. She had an accident Saturday, slipping in the mud, resulting in a pretty nasty gash/tear in her knee. We talked for quite a while and she started telling me about all the good things: Catechism classes, French language classes, communal living with 20 other young adults, French dinners every night starting with appetizers and drinks on the porch, etc, etc, etc. All good. Today was her first day working in the clinic but she said she couldn't do anything because of her language deficiency. However, the doctor had her sit with him for a couple hours and explained everything he was doing--very good instruction! So she cheered up as we talked, knowing it will take time to become acclimated and feeling useful as a nurse. The first week of anything is so hard!!
Despite all the mixed emotions, I knew I belonged at the mission and would say how Gabon hardly even felt foreign. "Here I am, for Thou hast called me."
Because otherwise, I would never have been there.
In Christ the King,
Sarah
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