Today’s blog post comes from Paula – the lovely nun that Sheila has mentioned before, and talks about in this post. Paula already guest posted for us once, and we’re thrilled to have her do so again – thanks again Paula!
I am not sure how Sheila manages to think of something to write about every day. I said this to her on Wednesday in the kitchen at Catching Lives and so ended up promising to write another few words for her.
Almost twenty years ago I spent some time in Africa and several memories, since Sheila’s proposed climb, have come back to me quite forcibly.
One was the happiness of the people who had so little. The man in this picture lived in a township and ran a small garage from one of the tin huts. He was so pleased we visited and he invited us into his home – another tin shack. It was neat with very little in it – notably a chair on which rested his youngest child – a little mite only days old. He and his wife were so proud. I came away humbled and promised myself I would never complain again – which of course I did!
My second memory was going with a nurse to this little blue hut village. We went by van – over tracks and arrived at the bottom of the hill. We walked the rest of the way to the small painted hut. Inside were wailing women surrounding a woman lying on a wooden platform. Her six children were there too. My nurse friend said we would have to take her to hospital, so we brought the woman down the hill and placed her on a mattress, which we had put in the back of the van. We set off – three hours to the nearest hospital – then a four hour wait for her to be seen by a doctor. The prognosis was bad – she had AIDS and would probably die. We left her in hospital.
Later that week I visited a small home run by sisters. It was a place for abandoned children – all of whom had AIDS. I spend a morning trying to feed some of them whilst others clung to me wanting only a bit of human contact. These sisters worked so hard just to provide a shelter and food for all the children. Again they told me that many would die.
A very forceful and committed religious sister ran a project just outside the township – again made up of little thatched huts – and bigger ones too. Here she taught skills – bread making, candle making and coffin making – the latter mostly for children. The people in their grief were often exploited by funeral directors, so this sister decided on making affordable coffins so people could bury their dead with respect.
I could go on telling stories of that memorable time in my life but will end on a happier note.
My last picture – or two – were taken at an initiation ceremony after the boys had come home following their initiation ritual. One of the religious sisters I stayed with belonged to this tribe – hence our invitation. It was joyful and the lads so proud to now be men! We ate a cow which was ritually killed and pieces boiled in a huge cauldron.
I give thanks for women like Sheila who is so generous and loving. The people climbing with her and her family are in for a treat. May her efforts bring much funding for the charities which are close to her heart and for the ones bringing relief to the needy of Africa.