By: Sr. Jasmin Peralta, SSC

Jasmin Peralta is a young Columban Sister in Korea.

Here she describes some of her “teething” problems.

Humiliated and Frustrated
I never felt humiliated and frustrated in all my life until I came to study “hangu mal” Korean. Every time my teacher talked to me I heard nothing and understood nothing. All I could do was to keep guessing the meaning of the sounds and most of time I guessed wrong! Indeed, language study id draining. I would come home from school dead tired.

Maybe They’ll Laugh at Me
It was winter when I started the first level. I was shivering with cold because it was my first taste of winter. I learned very little then because I was anxious and preoccupied with difficulties of learning the language. I was scared to be with people for fear they’d laugh at my mistakes in speaking Korean. I kept tagging along my security blanket –the English dictionary.

Why Did I Ever Come?
I used to ask myself during those first months, “Why did I ever express interest in coming to Korea? Why did I not choose an easier mission? Why did I have to leave the Philippines? Why did I ever come to this cold hermit Kingdom? Why? Why?

A Ray of Light
There was a ten day break after finishing the first level. During this break I never once opened my hangu’mal book. I was lonely and frustrated and it led me to reflect on the experience of the recent past. I prayed and saw a ray of light.
During the Easter Triduum, I came to grips with myself. I asked the Lord, “Lord, will it be like this for the rest of my life?” I felt some assurance when a Sister warmly sympathized saying “It is okay to feel that way when you’re here less than a year. It could be different if you’ve been here for thirty years. And you’ll have to not learned the language. Now, that would be something to worry about.”

Spring
Spring Term came with lovely white magnolias and bright yellow kaenari flowers. The cool breeze and the scenery welcomed me as I walked back to language school early Easter Monday. I was full of enthusiasm to begin the next level of “hangu’mal.” I wanted to speak the language and not to compete in speaking it. Competition can be stressful while speaking can be fun.

 

 

Laugh at your Self
Laughing at myself and allowing others to laugh at me has given me the courage to meet and to talk to people. I am more relaxed now and I am enjoying my time at language school. I try to speak the little Korean that I know when I go to market, when I ask directions every time I lose my way and I am with our Sisters. My school work has improved and there is more expression and life in my basic dialogue in class.

Faux Pas
I remember the time when I asked the teacher something and she came swimming towards me. The class was in hysterics. I was wondering what was wrong. “Are you hungry?” my teacher asked. And I burst out laughing when I realized I had called her sensunnim (fish) instead sunsengnim (teacher)

Washing teeth with Rat Poison
In Cheju, I went to a yakpang (drugstore) to buy chiyak (toothpaste). The lady at the counter was so glad to hear me speak Korean knowing I was a foreigner. With out any questions she looked into my big brown eyes and handed me chuiyak (rat poison).

Courage Versus Intelligence
I have learned to appreciate the challenges and surprises God has put in the store for me here in Korea. My fellow Filipino missionaries have been a great support. They have learned to pick up the signs- when my fiery eyes grow dull, when my pleasant smile becomes a pout, when my giggles become sighs- they know I have the blues. One of theme said to me, “Learning the language is not so much the question of intelligence as it is of courage to speak it.” “Yes,” I agreed, God knows I have all the courage in the world but I just don’t have the word.”
One day I prayed earnestly, “My God will I ever learn to speak Korean?” And to my big surprise God said, “Mulon I ji jaz!”

By Fr Joseph Panabang SVD

Unworthy Vehicles
In Ghana you have to register your car every year at the Ministry of Transportation for road worthiness. After I registered they asked me to pay four thousand “cedis” (local money). I complained that it was too expensive. But they assured me the money was for road repair, to which I replied, “The road may soon be worthy but the cars would not.” At this the fierce looking face of the registrar melted into a smile like clouds giving way to the rising sun.

Amen Amen
Portor is one of my Konkomba villages. After Mass one New Year, I instructed my congregation, “Bow down your heads for God’s blessings. For every blessing, you say Amen. Now I am giving you the New Year’s Blessing.”
“Amen,” came the immediate response, before I could even start.

Healing the Physician
At the consultation room in Nkawkaw Hospital run by the Holy Spirit Sisters I ran into a Ghanaian Brother. “Why are you here Father?” he asked surprised.

“I am checking if the doctor is well,” I answered as the Brother rocked with laughter and made his way to the end of the waiting line.

Japanese Lanterns
My laboratory test showed I had worms scientifically called Trichuris trichiurae, commonly known as Japanese lanterns. “But I’ve never been to Japan,” I told myself.

Studying my symptoms, the doctor was surprised, “Such worms can cause vomiting in children,” he mused, “but for adults, I doubt...”

“Perhaps it is possible, doctor,” I whimpered. “You see, I am very childlike.” The doctor smiled but nodded dubiously.

If Looks Could Kill
At the Holy Family Hospital ran by the Medical Missions Sisters, the doctors was questioning me in the presence of my Sister nurse.
Doctor: Do you eat?
Fr. Joeker: Yes because the sisters are forcing me.
Doctor: How often do you cough?
Fr. Joeker: Between very much and very often.
At this point the Sister wanted to get out. When the doctor and I left, the sister threw me some dagger looks which I tried very hard to avoid.

Vows of Poverty
And there was Sr. Ann SSpS who upon hearing I vomited up my medicine rushed upstairs and scolded, “Don’t do that, Father. It is against the vow of poverty.”

Fr. Pedro Peñaranda, CICM

Continuing Pedro Peñaranda’s reflection on his trial period as a seminarian in Cameroon.

Double Irony
In Koza, among the Mafas people, it is the traditional chiefs and soothsayers at their side who make all the decisions be it on the social level (sowing, harvest, disputes of all kinds) or on the personal level such as marriage and sickness. The State is virtually non-existence for the Mafas except for the annual burden of taxes they have to remit with much difficulty even if these taxes never return to them in terms of social services. To pay t heir taxes, the men usually leave their mountains and villages during the dry season to get menial job in the cities of Maroua and Garuao, or, ironically, for those who have no identity cards, in Nigeria.

Unjust God?
Here it is the first and the last question of survival. If in our country the problem is the system of distribution of natural resources, here there is not even natural resources to begin with. If we have to speak oppression it is oppression by nature: there is simply no water available! If we press logic further does not injustice come from God?

Dance and Song
Paradoxically, despite their hard life, the people love to celebrate. They give their all, body and soul- to dance and song on their feasts. Their music is composed usually of two or three measure repeated in monotone for hours. It comes accompanied by the complicated rhythm of tambours of different kinds and by the gandzavar or five string harp. This music taken with the local wine which is always served in a single bowl of dried calabash skin is a potent combination by which can transport anybody to a hypnotic trance. Mourning for the dead is expressed also through music and dance and continuous tapping through the night of the dinger or special tambour which is used exclusively for the wake. Anthropologist say the sound suggest the beating of the human heart. The people weep and keen along with the music.

Sad Music
It is the sad music of their dinger that we hear very often in the night. The mortality rate the aged and the children is quite high. The figures rise during the dry season when the contrast between the heat of the day and the coldness of the night is particularly acute. This contrast can be very cruel and one has to be strong enough to resist it. I think I am strong because until now I have no problem. I sleep well and very soundly, never enough, in fact.

 

Limits of Poverty
Apart from sickness and death which for the Mafas is as natural as life it self, life among them is as “dansable” as the rhythm of their tambours. As for me, I too love dancing with them, even if it is difficult to breath amidst a thick cloud of dust raised by the incessant stomping of bare feet. So I ask myself, where and what are the limits of Poverty? But that is a question that may require volumes of theological and philosophical investigations, so I leave the whole thing to the mercy of God.

(To be continued)

By: Sr. Felicitas Aranda

Childhood Dream
Mission for me in Oaxaca Mexico is a childhood dream. I had a deep desire to help the people of Mexico ever since I heard of their religious persecution and the martyrdom of Fr. Miguel Pro S.J. This was renewed in 1986 when I met Sr. Cyril Jacko. I was invited to join her in Mexico.

Colonial Charm
I came to Ozxaca on March 2, 1987. The smallness of the Airport, the colonial charm of the city, the simply dressed folks, the warm friendship of the people gave me the feeling of being at home from the day I arrived.

Eleven Spoken Languages
Language was a problem the first few months. No one would believe that I, Filipina, would have such meager knowledge of Spanish, but at least I knew it well enough to understand and be understood. Oaxaca has the most indigenous population and has eleven or more spoken languages. This presents a problem at work in the hospital where we encounter a lot of indigent patients who speak little or no Spanish.

Manila Mango
Filipinos and Mexicans have many in common. I myself have often been mistaken for a Mexicans. We were colonized by the Spaniards in the same year, 1521. They brought us the Catholic faith, constructed massive and solidly built churches and cathedrals, introduced the same religious practices- dressed images, candles processions and religious celebration. Our physical build and features are some what alike too, short stature, brown skin, black hair. I would meet people who remind me of someone back home. Apparently, I even share the same ancestors of the Aranda family here. Many other family names here are familiar- Castro, Gonzales, Perez, Altamirano, to name a few. We grow the same foods, fruits, and vegetables but the names differ. We enjoy the same tropical fruits. They have one called “Manila Mango”

Beautiful Insight
One of the various works I do is to visit sick people. I have shared their joy when I bring Eucharist, during birthdays, prayer services or just on plain visits; I have also shared their sorrow when they are ill or when there death in the family. A few times, when I was visiting, I would hurry back home to visit the Blessed Sacraments. One day it dawned on me that I was actually in the presence of Christ Alive in the person of the sick I was visiting. It was a new insight or perhaps, I knew it before but had never really lived the reality.

 

Madrecita
In my rounds at the hospital, I routinely introduce myself “Madrecita” (as nuns here are fondly called). Immediately I spot the Catholic patients. Their eyes light up in recognition. Many of then tell me their tales of woe. Oftentimes I come home heavy hearted carrying with me their misery. When I am able to help, heart is lightened. In prayer, I entrust them all to the mercy and goodness of Him who knows and is present with them in all their complex problems.

Hope for Transformation
The parish groups journey together in the deepening of their commitments and responsibilities. My role here is to help the pastor behind the scene: organizing, planning coordinating the group work with the parish council members.
I think we are getting results. In reality many people have been conscientized and have demanded their human rights as citizens of this country. There was been marked growth in open protest since I arrived through rallies, strikes, closures of food markets and bakeries. Sometimes they are heard, often times not. Injustices, oppressions, vice, and poverty are rampant in the city. However, if we continue to live out what we have learned I see hope for transformation.

Sometimes Disheartened
I get annoyed when I have to wait for hours at government offices to ask for help for someone in need only to end up leaving empty-handed. But it is one way of entering the frustrating lives of the poor people. I doubt if I can learn to have the patience of these people.
I get disheartened with people who cheat and lie to get what they want. I have met some, tried to understand their behavior and tried to correct them by letting them know there are other ways better their lot than being dishonest.
All my frustration, however, are compensated for by the joy and beauty of Oaxaca the picturesque Sierra Mountain ranges encircling the city the blue sky close enough to touch the tall cooling trees, the opportunities for spiritual growth, the warm friendship of the peoples- all are so inspiring. Praise and thank the Lord.

To be a Loving Presence
Mission work is constant and daily challenge. There is continues discovery and learning. No predicting what the day will bring. I pray that I may be open to God’s messages through the people I meet and that I may never tire of being a listening and loving presence!

 

By: Fr. Bobby Sagra, MSP

Two Months Old
Last November 14, 1990 I arrived here in Kerema, Gulf province, Papua New Guinea. I was only two months and seven days old as a missionary priest on the day of my arrival.

My first experienced of “missionary initiation” was walking four days four days from Putei the main parish where I am assistant parish priest, to Wanto, the outmission station located in a hidden valley in the remote mountains. On December 12, I started walking together with one guide and two local seminarians.

Thick Forests and Mountains
We first followed a little stream, then it became bigger and bigger. We paused for lunch at about 1:00 PM. We had brought along biscuits and canned fish and meat for food. After that break, we keep on moving. The track that that we were following became difficult for we were starting to climb the first mountain. When we reach the top, we looked down and saw many other mountains all filled with green and thick forest at a distance. The air became cooler and we passed the reverence and silence beneath the shadows of tall trees which protects from scorching heat of the sun. Then we slithered down very slowly because the trail was slippery and then when climb up another big mountain, kissing our knees at every step. Finally we found a small cave to rest for the night, just minute before the darkness engulf the bush area.

Cave of Prayer
For an ordinary mountain sojourner, a cave means a place to rest, but for me the cave meant more than that. While resting in the small cave I lost no time concentrating myself in prayer in prayer.
When we woke up the next morning, I celebrated Holy Mass in that small cave of “prayer”.
We continued our second day’s journey following again streams and rivers. At one point, one of my companions collapsed due to exhaustion. I also met an accident. I stepped on a slippery stone in a riverbed and gashed by big toe. I thought it was nothing but as we kept walking the pain increased. That little wound forced me to walk more carefully the rest of the journey.

The Waterfall
We paused for lunch near a beautiful waterfall. I took a bath to refresh my sinews. I loved the flowing waters; it reminds me of God’s love- free, joyful, constant. I looked back with my gratitude to the day of my ordination last September 1990. Since that day God’s grace has kept flowing like the waterfall. A journey can be just a journey with a prayerful pause.

 

Another Cave
At one point we lost our way. We had to return to a crossroads and decide to follow another track. When the rains came, but we trudge on afraid to spend the night on the wet trail. It was almost dark and it seemed hopeless to find a proper resting place. But my companions urged me further on. Finally we came to a bush area. To our amazement we saw a big cave with a lovely spring beside it and a lush garden of sugarcane, bananas and sweet potatoes below. The cave overlooked the magnificent mountains. Only a poet can describe its grandeur. I was Dec 13, the eve off the Feast of St. John of the Cross, a lover of the peace and the quit of the night in a cave.
That night we felt strongly how God walked with us in our journey and when it was time to rest, He provide us a place to lay down our heads and to ease our aching bones.
The third day we reached a small village. Here in Papua New Guinea a small village could mean one or two houses a distance apart from each other. An old man welcomed us. He made us sit down and gave us bananas to cook. We ate our first cooked meal in days. WE spent lighthearted moments sharing with him our adventure. Then we moved on, relieved that we were no longer in “no man’s bush land.”

New Friends
In the afternoon we met a group of men along the river. One of them invited us to stay the night at his house since it was about to rain. He was very happy to receive us his guests and new friends. Everybody observed me during the meal. They serve their local food of sago, hamanga or pandano and their staple, kaukau or sweet potatoes. They were surprise and overjoyed to see me eat everything. That moment I won their hearts and their generosity and their innocence won mine.
The following day, led by our new friend, we reached our destination. We arrived at Wanto by noon. It was the fourth day. For me it was not only an arrival. I was a day to celebrate my passing the test of “missionary initiation.”