My Trip to Moxico and Angolan History - DAY 5
Today it’s my official twentieth (20th) anniversary. It has been 20 years that I have been baptised. I didn’t want to celebrate my 20th birthday, so I hope Maria forgets about that detail… We never know in here! Anniversary of baptism is very important in the Catholic Church…
D. Gabriel took Maria, Orlando (a seminarist) and I to Kamanongue, 55 kilometres from Lwena. We had to take the road to Sakassange, the same road we took to go to Moxico Velho and to the refugees’ camps. Sakassange is well known by the massacres during the War of the Forty-Five Days.
“The people of Moxico suffer a lot. They suffer a lot!”
It was a long, long way to Kamanongue. Orlando, natural of this area, was telling us the history of the region during the Forty-Five Days and during the whole war. There is a part of the road to Kamanongue that was really a torture during that period. It was called the “Help us God!” path. If it weren’t the landmines, the rebels of UNITA were nearby. There were ambushes in the area. Trying to escape from the landmines, drivers would leave their trucks and cars, but if it weren’t for the landmines were there, hidden in the middle of the vegetation, practical for a guerrilla scenario.
We arrived at the Father Abílio’s (the Benedictan) mission.
Kamanongue: the house of the priest is a small and old cottage with 4 rooms. It is very deteriorated. D. Gabriel is taking care of the material for the restoration of the house. There was a time that Father Abílio wouldn’t even sleep inside of the house, but in the car, because of the lack of roof. Now, the roof is there, thanks to D. Gabriel.
In the yards of the house, there were 3 huts. A whole family lived in those. A 10 year-old boy was carrying a baby in his arms. Maria approached and looked at the baby. A beautiful new-born baby girl. She was 5 days old! Never saw my Mother so… emotional and sad! She says that her maternal instinct was asking her to take the baby away from there and adopt her.
The fact is that with 5 days old, normally the babies can’t get out of the house (or hut in this case). It was a very cold day and the nails of the baby were almost violet. She was sick and had cold. When we asked where the mother was, the boy said she went to the river to pick water.
“We, urban women, when we deliver a baby, we become the most fragile persons in the world. We can’t do this, we can’t do that… Everyone does it for us. But in the countryside and in the bushes, the new-mother starts working in the plantations, goes to the river, takes care of the family…”
We stayed a while. Maria had the baby in the arms and said that wouldn’t mind taking her home. She needed medical care. The father of the baby appeared later and said that the baby had a problem with the belly button. Maria couldn’t even imagine how bad that could be. She could take care of it, she knew how to, but there was no conditions. No sterilized water, no clean clothe…
The boy had said that she was born in the hut. In such conditions, I wonder how the baby is still that well! Maria said that the baby needed to be changed. So the father came and wanted to take the baby. But it freaked Maria out. He probably came from the plantations and had dirty hands from the labour. So, Maria “evangelised” in her way. She taught him he should have his hands washed before taking the baby. Then, the baby couldn’t be outside with all that dust and cold. A boy cannot take care of a baby, even if he is very responsible… Well, the things you do and shouldn’t do when you live in the big cities!
There were at least 5 children in the area. D. Gabriel said they were from the same couple and all of them lived with the grandmother and a young widow in those huts. We left before Maria started crying! Leaving the yard, we found the mother of the baby arriving, carrying water over the head and milk pouring out by litres.
We stopped to talk a while with her, Maria remembering her she had a hungry baby, and then we left. Maria was still very emotional upon this. I believe she really wanted to take care of that baby…
Tonight, we went to dinner at the Reparatory Sisters. They were Sister Maria Auxílio (superior), Sister Maria Rosa, Sister Maria Julieta and Sister Maria. They live 5 minutes away of The Bishopric, and as the rest of the population, without electricity. We didn’t have dinner under candlelight but under oil lamps. Like in the good old times!
It was delicious, and we had lots of fun. Sometimes, I remember those dinners as something I would do with friends of my age or probably not. Just with friends. I have lots of friends who are ten years older than I am. We laughed so much! Of course Maria had to ask about the role of the women in the Church. I guess she made that her mission in life! But we spoke about all. I mean: they spoke about all. I just listened and from time to time would give my 2 cents. But I am not a Bible expert and I don’t live in Angola for too many years to be “aware” of what is happening around me.
As Maria so well put it, in Luanda, I was never of lack of anything. I had tap water and electricity. Of course, as all the Angolan, we have already had water shortage and hours without electricity. But we knew when it would come back. Principally in the Citadel, where I live. We have a generator and a cistern. So if we had water shortage, it would be for an afternoon or for a morning only. The same with electricity. We would only “be in the dark” for a couple of minutes before the generator is turned on.
In all those details, I keep on saying I am privileged. And more privilege than many of other teenagers that live in the same situation as I do, because I don’t even live in Angola! If UNICEF says that this is the last country to be born in, I sometimes give them reason. Although I believe that in Sierra Leone or in Rwanda, the situation can be more difficult than in Angola.
Sister Auxílio explained that they had electricity till May. One of their neighbours who had a generator lent them some electricity. So a cable went from his house to the sisters’ house. But in Lwena, the situation is so bad, that the only burglars you’ll find are electricity cables burglars. They stole the cable once. Then, the second time, the Sisters asked for a man to “keep” the cable. Without knowing how it happened, the second cable was stolen too.
Sister Rosa said that that night, she had never cried that much! “All my relatives are already gone, and I have never cried that much in my life! The next morning, it looked that I have been on the death of someone I cherished a lot! It was one of the worst nights of my life!”
We laughed so much! Sister Rosa is the funniest person I have ever met! And probably the first with a strong will. She told us, during dinner, her story. Actually, Maria was curious to know how did they end up in the Congregation of the Reparatory Sisters. She just said: “Sister Maria, put some oil on the lamp!”
D. Gabriel started laughing. And so did we. It was the dessert time already and the fruits had a little white wine on. This detail is for later…
Sister Maria Rosa's story: “When I was a teenager, living in a village, I was a real tomboy. I would help my father in the plantation and in the construction of the house. As years went by, my friends were all getting their boyfriends, and I didn’t. So, one day, my father called me. I was 14. At this time (back in the 1980s), it wasn’t you that would choose your husband. It was all arranged by your parents and someone else’ parents. My father said ‘Here are your uncles. They have a son…’ The first thing I asked was if he studied and if he was at school… He said yes and was very advanced already. I told them we had to study to work to support them in they late days… I said I wanted to meet the guy to know if I wanted to get married or not… The fact is that no one asks that and those uncles never appeared anymore…”
At that time, she was very brave to ask for such: to meet the man to see if she wanted to marry him or not. Normally you just do what your father says you to…
Then, Sister Rosa put some more of the fruits on her plate under the comic “again?” eye of D. Gabriel.
“My father knew I wanted to study, so he put me on a school and as it was far away from the village, I had to stay at the house of Sisters. To ‘teach me how to be a woman’, said my father. Then, at the Church, I met the first Black sister and I admired her. I said to my parents I wanted to teach Catechism. But at that time, there was no woman teacher. So I replied, ‘if I can’t teach Catechism in the Catholic Church, I will go to Protestant Church!’”
Right there, Maria was so pleased to have met Sister Rosa! “That’s a woman with strong will!” Mind you, I quite imagined she would say that…
D. Gabriel shook his head. I guess at that time, I would have too. He was the only man at table and I was between Sister Rosa and Maria. Without knowing, a great friendship was born in each one of my sides and my ears…
“I wanted to meet that sister (it happened to be Sister Auxílio), but I didn’t know how! It was already too difficult for me to go to someone and say “I love you”…”
Right there, I blushed! D. Gabriel said “Jo! Isn’t that you?” Then Maria “Oh! This one is a professional when it comes to hide feelings!” Oh, my! I was too naďve to think the topic of the conversation was the Sister Rosa’s way to the religious life! I guess Sister Rosa saw my embarrassment and took over rather quickly.
“But, while I was wondering how would I talk to that sister and ask her how could I get into that life, she was the one that called for me. I knew this day, after talking to her, that I wanted to become religious…”
Years after, Sister Rosa happened to be with Sister Auxílio in Lwena, and that probably was mark of the destiny… I would love to believe in that!
We came back home (The Bishopric) at 11 PM. It was a funny evening, and I sure was tired…
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