By Fr Joseph Panabang SVD

Viernes Santo to Easter Sunday
With a worried look on his face the catechist introduced a man to me. “What’s the matter with him?” I inquired. The man, almost on the verge f tears, confessed that he dreamt his newly built house was burning. To build the house for more than three years and now see it burning in your dream is no joke for a man whole believes so much in the reality of dreams as perhaps one legacy from his ancestors. “What is your job?” “Farmer”. “Are you married?” “Yes” “How long?” “Just three days ago, I found a woman I wanted to marry and I’m really and madly in love with her.” There you are, I told myself. “My friend, this is your dream. The house that was burning was your heart in love with that woman. Into your new, you shall bring the woman and the two of you shall live happily ever after. Both shall be burning with the fire of love. So, there is no need to worry. Instead, rejoice for you shall marry. “With that, the Good-Friday face of the man turned to Easter Sunday.” “You ‘obruni’ are like gods, you know everything,” he muttered but when he left, he said something to the catechist which I did not understand. Later, the catechist confided to me,” that man said you talk like a witch-doctor.”
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Macho Paa or Macho Pa?
Kumasi is one of the cities in Ghana. During the colonial times, because of its beautiful landscapes and gardens, it was called Garden City. But now that it is no longer beautiful, some critics call it the Garbage City. Anyway, I was at Kumasi bus terminal on my way to Accra, the capital of Ghana. I had just sat when a hurried lady stopped, looked at me and said seriously, “this obruni is macho paa...” while laughing at the compliments, my eyes followed her, wondering where the hell did she get the word “macho”. “Obruni” means white man and “paa is a superlative which means ‘very’.
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Midlife Crisis
I suddenly felt restless, could not sleep; lonely, anxious, afraid of the dark, and felt threatened inside my room as if the roof was falling on me. I couldn’t understand inside my room as if the roof was falling on me. I couldn’t understand myself and couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was wrong with me. The following day, I drove to Wenchi, an hour and a half drive, to see, Sr. Lourdes Pilapil, RVM. I confided to her and with confidence as if by instinct, she stood with ease, got a book and read: “Cold feet, skin dryness, palpitations...So, Joe, these are the symptoms of midlife crisis.” She showed me the book. The Future Woman by Shirly Conran and Elizabeth Sidney. Shocked I said, “Do you mean these symptoms are for women?” Seeing my reaction now in double crisis, she politely assured me that some symptoms are common to both men and women. Thank God it is all over.
***
Poetic License
Meditating on midlife crisis, foolishly I composed a midlife toast patterned on the Gallic Toast. The toast runs:

“That the roof above may not fall on me, and that I below may no fall apart.”
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Hair Raising or Death Stirring
The mother of Bishop Dominic Andoh, Bishops of Accra died. I happened to be at the funeral and the preacher gave an excellent homily on death that really made the audience, almost hypnotized, hang on every word he said. After the Mass, in the sacristy while the priests were removing vestments and exchanging comments, the preacher passed he right in front of my nose and I remarked, “Father, that was indeed a death-stirring homily.” Someone at the back responded, “beware, he (pointing to me) is a joker”.