By Father Alex Ulpindo, CICM

Fr. Alex Ulpindo entered Missionhurst- CICM in 1963 and was ordained in 1969. He was sent to Dominican Republic in 1972. He was served as a Provincial Superior from 1981-1988. He is now Director of the Novitiate in the Dominican Republic.

My first assignment was the Dominican Republic in Herrera, a parish in the city. With another confrere I lived in the heart of the slum area of the parish. Two days a week we helped our neighbors contract their houses. Twice a week, at night, we would have a prayer group in our small house. At first about 15 to 20 people came-men and women. Within three years we had establish 45 small Christian communities where we would gather to reflect on the reality of the society and pray to discover God’s will in it all. It was a liberating experience. We would see the poor learn to take responsibility.

Protest March
One Palm Sunday procession turned into a protest march against the almost non- existence basic services in the barrio. At the same time it was a prayerful act begging God to accompany us in our quest for God’s justice. Our prayer was heard and the mayor sent some help to repair the roads and build a cistern. In this small act the Christian community committed to justice inspired by faith learned it is possible to change their living conditions. Our small success stood out as a prophetic sign. Some of the neighborhood people who had gone to nearby, beautiful churches returned to work and worship with us. They told us they come back because they saw our small community was interested in people and not in the money. They had learned the most basic fact about the missionary Church-it is God’s people who count.

Dividing The Food
In another of the Basic Christian Communities a day long encounter was encounter was organized. About 50 people attended. There was a lot of sharing about the theme of “solidarity with other communities. They set up special commission to visit the other neighborhood communities to share something of themselves and to learn from them. As a tangible sign of their willingness to share of themselves everyone put the food they had prepared on one of the table for the noon meal. As they sung the song the food was divided and everyone had enough. They learned they can share from the little they have Sharing from one’s poverty is another signs of a missionary Church.

 

 

I have Forgiven Her
I have likewise witnessed the deep spirituality of these impoverished people. One 65 years old lady, Rosa, was a “Fighter” in the efforts to get potable water, electricity, and the roads into her barrio. For 30 years she struggled to build her own home. Now she is blind and crippled. Her only daughter, in a scheme to “legalize” her mother’s house, sold it for 25,000 pesos and then left the town. Left with nothing-no family, no material things- Rosa’s friends from the Christian community helped her construct a three walled shack near some outhouses in the barrio. Of her situation Rosa says, “If one day my only daughter will come back I will receive her gladly because I have already forgiven her. Without anything , I feel I am filled with God.” Even in such a miserable condition as Rosa, the poor are sources of hope and encounter with the Lord.

Evangelizers Evangelized
These are but a few examples that have taught me more about being the part of a missionary Church. I have seen the growth of a genuine Church. I came to evangelized. I came to share the Gospel and have discovered the richness of the Gospel in the lives of the people. The more we experience the love of God, the more were able to open ourselves to another. We become like the Samaritan who opened himself up to the wounded man on the road to Jericho and lived in solidarity with him This is what happening in the poor Churches in the Third World that are becoming missionary; they have the capacity to share from their poverty; they have the capacity to evangelize and be evangelized, their deep religiosity is an unquenched fountain of spirituality.  

‘Our prayer was heard; the Mayor sent some help to repair the road and build a cistern.’

 

By Fr Joseph Panabang SVD

We have here at our mission two big mangoes tree outside our mission fence. But half of the branches hand over our land. One afternoon, I saw James, our mission helper gathering some ripe mangoes from the tree. Afraid I asked him why. He said, “don’t worry Father, the mangoes belong to us because the branches are over our land.” he left me wondering under what category of justice I should classify this.
***
Sometime at the middle of this year, the doctor diagnosed me with an ulcer. I was advised to drink plenty of milk regularly. Two weeks after, I reported and the same doctor whose expression seemed not serious inquired, “so what have you discovered? Feeling he was kidding, I replied, “Doc, I discovered that when I started taking milk I have developed a childlike faith.” Keep up the good humor, its good for an ulcer” he emphatically advised.
***
Sr. Ann MMS, stopped at Kintampo and speaking with enraptured enthusiasm, started sharing how she liked the last retreat she attended. The retreat was all about the new spirituality which they call “phychosynthesis.” In this process, one is taught how to channel all human negatives like hatred, anger, envy into assets. Uninterested, I stood up, went straight to the kitchen, took some fresh cucumbers gathered from the backyard garden, and here are some of my products.” Laughter turned her frustration to gratitude and joy, Psychosynthesis at work!
***
Drowsiness in driving can be anyone’s problem. One afternoon at about five, on a beautifully tarred road, I simply dosed off and hit the newly erected Monastery signboard sparkling in its red color. The post was broken and my right side mirror went off in exchange. Advised by a passer-by, I went to report to the monks who owned the signboard. At the monastery, I was about to get out of the car when Fr. Bede, one of the monks, noticed the red paint all over the side of my car. Before he could check out his suspicion I blurted, “Sorry Bede, I hit your signboard.” You are not alone,” he said with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Fr. Bede, a few days before had hit the signboard, and had his car overturned but came out miraculously safe. Hearing his words, I could not help but recall “hindi ka nag-iisa.”
***
Just after our Sunday Mass at Ntankoro, my biggest bush village, a group of our men came running aghast and reported they had caught a their stealing yam tubers of a neighbor. It is their custom to beat any thief caught red handed. But since they are also Christian they asked. “Shall we join in the beating or not? Torn between Christian love and forgiveness, I did not know what to answer. Later they came back and told me, “we beat him but softly.” The people have their own way of solving their problems.
***
Kuwumpe is one of my poor villages. Because of dirty water, guinea worm is common. One night while checking the attendance of catechumens, every time an absentee was mentioned, those present would say, “guinea worm” which means, he would not come because he is down with guinea worm. The opposite his name, I would mark, G.W. guinea worm) to remind me of his condition. And when a name was mentioned and was present. I would mark him. R.G.W. which means, remnant of guinea worm.”

 

 

By: Isabel Taylor Escoda

I went to jail last Sunday. An Englishwoman I know sent me there. Hong Kong’s Victoria Prison is not far from my small flat, u p a hill in the colony’s Central District. Around the prison block are art galleries, antique and furniture shops and on the same street as the jail entrance, down the hill a bit, is a cozy French restaurant.

Special Permission
I stood in line outside the prison gate, with a group of Chinese waiting to visit the inmates. Once inside the prison I handed my ID card and told the officer I wanted to see Clara Cruz (not the real name). I was told to go back the next room where a young stern-faced woman officer asked if I made an appointment. I asked no but that my friend Ann Smyth had told me I could go any time. I’m sorry,” the officer said flatly. “You cannot see her.” “Oh please,” I begged (Ann had told me to act object-“kiss their boots, if need be, they enjoy that”). “I’m going to Manila tomorrow and I want to tell her mother I’ve seen her.” I was lying, of course.
After consulting with another officer, she told me, I had special permission this once and I wait 20 minutes after writing down my name, address and ID number. Then I was ushered into the “Open Visiting Room” and told I had 15 minutes (everyone gets only the amount of time). There were about a dozen square tables in the room, with people sitting and talking to inmates.

The Story
I recognized Clara at once. She was small and pretty but looked worn out, sitting at one of the tables. She did not know me, of course. I sat down across her and asked. “Natandaan mo ba ako?” she shook her head. I noticed she had lipstick on and some eye liner.
I refreshed her memory. Three weeks ago I had been walking along Des Voeux Road to go an eye doctor. I suddenly came across a crowd of people on the sidewalk, all are staring at two tall Europeans. I went closer and saw a European man talking into his mobile phone, “Please send the police to the corner of Des Voeux Road and Pedder Street immediately.”
Next to him was a tall woman. I edged closer and saw that in between of them was a small dark woman, with her arm firmly in the grip of the man speaking into his mobile phone. I asked a Chinese man in the crowed what it is all about. “Filipanyan pickpocket.” He smirked as he walked away.
I went up to the European woman and asked, what’s going on?”
“This woman snatch my wallet,” she replied. She sounded American but she could have been Canadian. The man sound British.
Like and idiot, I addressed the poor frightened girl, “Kinuha mo ba talaga ang wallet niya?”
“Hindi po,” she replied and hung her head.
I have done some dumb things in my life, but this must have been the dumbest. It would been like asking Imelda Marcos if she’d indeed stolen the nation’s wealth and she’d deny it as surely as night follows day.
I hung around the crowd to see what would happen, and the police arrived soon after and took the girl away, with the couple following. I rushed off to my doctor’s appointment.

My Friend Ann
Ann Smyth is, like myself, as long time Hong Kong resident. I meet her because she rang me up one day after someone who had read my letters from Hong Kong told her about me. Ann has been trying   to help Filipino domestic in trouble I n Hong Kong and she is looking for other women to help with a project she has initiated.
Ever since she first called me up, we have chatted regularly and I have been amazed at her energy and resourcefulness. She is a mover and a shaker in the truest sense of the word, and she knows many people in the colony who can help her.
She made me somewhat ashamed of the fact that it has taken an Englishwoman to do something to help disadvantaged Filipino women when there are number of Filipinos in the colony, well-off and comfortable, who should be the ones helping their unprivileged compatriots, But, Sadly, that small percentage of well off Pinays in Hong Kong hate the fact that most of their compatriots are servants and like to pretend they don’t exist. A number of these rich women regularly attend religious meetings, and they seems to think attending to spiritual matters is more important than caring for the material needs of their compatriots.

No Name!
After witnessing the arrest of that pickpocket, I mentioned it in passing to Ann when we next spoke, “Oh please, Isabel” she said, “tell me where this happened and at what time. Did you get the girl’s name?”
I said I hadn’t. Like a dolt, it didn’t occur to me to asked I’d only asked if she guilty.
“I must find that poor girl,” Ann said and rang off hurriedly.
At that point I shook my head. I knew Ann was a do-gooder possesses of a great bi bleeding heart (she worked among Ethiopian refugees and other philanthropic projects), but I thought she was going off the deep end when she said she’d track down pickpocket without even knowing her name.

Ann Gets to work
The next day she rang up to say she’d found the girl, learned her name, and was on her way to visit her at a remand center in the New Territories. This is where they detain people before they are charged and sentenced.
“How on earth did you find her?” I asked.
“I just rang up Western Police Station and asked if they‘d picked up a woman pickpocket at the time and place you told me, that’s how I got the information. And I’ve asked my lawyer to help me out,” said Ann.
Just like that. During the following weeks I received reports from Ann about Clara, whom she’d visited. Ann said she was guilty as hell, having admitted to the pickpocketing, but Ann said she would do all she could to see that she was not deported or jailed (three months is the minimum sentence.) If need be, Ann said she’d hire Clara as her maid.
“Good grief,” I said “the woman admitted she’d stolen and you’re willing to have her work in your home?”
“She’s destitute,” Ann said, “she had six children back in the Philippines she needs to feed them. If I were in the shoes, I’d pick pockets too- I’d probably robbed a bank as well.”
I saw her point. She went on. “Don’t forget Isabel, you should always tell yourself, when you think of thieves and prostitute. ‘There but for the grace of God go I.”

Court Hearing
During the next few days Ann Attended the court hearing, saw Clara charged, spoke to her lawyer who put in a good word with the judge and sat in court next to a woman who had been robbed by Clara. Ann appealed to all these people for compassion; she asked them to see that Clara had been driven to desperate measures. The result was the judge passed a suspended sentence.
Ann described the scene that followed. “As soon as Clara and I heard the judge saying she free to go, and he retired to his chamber, I started to walk up to her and she came toward me. A couple of police officer suddenly grabbed Clara and dragged her away. I screamed at them that she was free to go, but they told me they’d found she had a forged passport and was using a false name, Rita Velez. They were going to lock her up to be tried again in a few weeks! I could’nt believe the inhumanity of those people. It’s so maddening, I felt like resigning from the human race!
When I related all this to some Filipino friends the next day, starting with my having witnessed the arrest, all agreed that Clara should be deported. It’s people like that who give us Pinoys a bad name.” said Maria. “Why do they come here to steal, for God’s sake?”
If Ann head been around, I could have guessed what she’d say to Maria- “Hungry people will steal. Where’s your Christianity?”
When I said to Ann that the business of the forged passport was bad news. I asked. I asked if she’d still want to hire Clara to work for her. “My dear,” she replied, Mary Magdalene was a prostitute and yet Jesus forgave her. Who am I to judge Clara?”

Not Words but Deeds
I found out Ann is a Catholic after she sent me a note in which she mentioned Purgatory. She is definitely one of those practice their faith, not just mouth it.
So now, just before Clara/Rita is taken to court again in a few days Ann has been visiting her and consulting with the lawyer. She suggested I visit Clara too, so that was how I got into Victoria Prison.
The jai occupies a whole block on the corner of Wyndham Street and Hollywood; it is neat and well kept but its’ keeper all seem to have hard looking eyes. Perhaps one gets this way when dealing with criminals, but pickpockets and women with infants on their breast cannot possibly be hardened criminals. I found myself getting a bet like Ann-though I will never match her guts and determination. I haven’t the stamina to be a do gooder, I fear. I knew from the books that Englishwomen can be formidable in their strength, and I’ve been finding this out and now.
Clara’s Story
Talking to Clara/Rita during those 15 minutes allotted to us, I found her lapsing into Cebuano, so I made it easier for her by also speaking in hat language. She told me she was from Davao, is 30 years old, had married at age 14 and had six children. She said her mother, who looks after five of her children, is going blind. They all live in a hovel in a Davao slum (her father is dead) She said she left her husband because he was palikero and he does not support the children.
Clara/Rita said that last year she was hired by a man to come and work In Hong Kong. When I asked what kind of man and what sort of work, she said he was a ‘bugaw’. I was intrigue by the word because in Cebuano it means the act of shooting away, while in Tagalog it means pimp. She admitted she worked as a prostitute and then was caught and deported.
Before she first came to Hong Kong, Clara/Rita said a friend of hers in Manila offered to look after one of her Children. But when she got back from Manila after being deported from Hong Kong, the friend demanded 10,000 pesos before giving the child back. At this point Clara/Rita began to weep quietly.

Became a Prostitute
I asked her about the bugaw, what his name was, if she was among many women he brought over, but she said she would rather not to talk about him. She told me frankly that this time, when she arrived in the colony in February, she was installed at the hotel in Tsim Sha Tsui in Kowloon but she hated the work. “I didn’t like being treated like a baboy with all those men mauling me, so I ran away.” She said she had no money and wanted to find a job as a housemaid, so he begun to look at advertisements in supermarkets. But after two days she was so hungry, she decided to pickpockets.
The police officer in the room begun to tell everyone our time was up. All I could tell Clara/Rita was to have faith in Ann, and that perhaps she’d be able to save her again. I quickly asked her if her cell was comfortable and she shared dormitory cell with 20 other women, all Chinese some with children. She said she couldn’t eat well, often had headaches and hardly slept.

What is the Answer?
What will become of this miserable Filipina, one among many who has fled the poverty of our country? As things stands now, there is a glimmer hope. She may not get suspended sentence again, she maybe deported the second time. But what will she be returning to- hungry children, a sick mother, a lost child, penury? Will she fall back into the clutches of her bugaw? Will she make another attempt to earn a living on her back in Hong Kong, much as she hates being treated like a pig?
I wish I had the answer, Perhaps people like the formidable Ann Smyth do.

 

I recognized Clara at Once. She was small and pretty but looked worn –out, sitting at one of the tables.

Next to him was a tall European woman with her arm firmly grip of the man speaking into his mobile phone
...They’re going to lock her up to try her again in a few weeks! I can’t believe the inhumanity of those people.

 

 

 

 

 

 
By: Emma Pabera

“There’s no place like home.” Yes it’s true. Leaving home and family is not an easy because we Filipinos are known for our close family ties.

Longtime Desire
In December, 1990, I applied to join the Columban Lay Mission Program. For a few years I had work as a member of the pastoral team in the diocese of Bacolod. I was happy in my work, but it had long been my desire to be a lay missionary. When Father Michael Martin, former superior of the Columbans in Negros, now full-time Lay mission Coordinator in Philippines, invited me to join the program, I didn’t hesitate to accept his invitation.

I asked my elder sister for advice and I was overjoyed when she gave me her full support   and understanding. She said, “Go ahead if it is where you’ll be happy, “Go ahead if it is where you’ll be happy.” Happily, there were no objection from my other brothers and sisters.

Look of Sadness
My first concern was for my parents, who are both elderly. Father is 77 and mother is 76 years of age I felt it was my responsibility to support them, because I am the only one in the family who isn’t married. My brothers and sisters assured me they would look after our parents. And when I ask my parents for permission, they respected my decision, though I saw the look of sadness in my mother’s face.

Preparation
There were many reasons for feeling assured about leaving home: the support of my family and of Columban priest and friends, an orientation period that included a short course on Clinical Pastoral Education, with some exposure to tribal Filipinos and the Muslim communities in Southern Philippines, more seminars and finally a directed retreat.
Community participation in the mission –sending ceremonies in my home parish, as well as the one at the Columban House in Manila, gave Pilar, Gloria and me the assurance that we’re really loved and needed. Finally, we gathered inspiration from the six Korean lay missioners in the Philippines.

Landing in Pakistan
Landing in Karachi International Airport on Mission Sunday, October 21st , it felt like homecoming; full of joy, excitement and hope. God is a friend eagerly waiting for me in Pakistan-welcoming me home.

 

 

Time Flies
By now, it’s hard to believe we have been in Pakistan for a year. We finished language study in August, and Pilar and I were assigned to Shadbagh, a Columban parish in the old city of Lahore.

Muslim Town
We had hoped to start work in the parish soon after studies, but the house we were to live in wouldn’t be ready until the end of September. In the meantime, we stayed in the Muslim town, at the Columban Center house, Fr. Pat McInerney, the parish priest, plus Pilar and me. They speak Urdu which we don’t understand, because we had studied Punjabi. Fr. Pat patiently translated for us and we had an over view of the parish programs and activities.

How to Dialogue
Later, Fr. Pat introduced a community – building activity to the group. Each one of was given a set of plastic pieces cut in different sizes and each had to form a square of the same sizes as a model. Instruction was given, but no talking was allowed: one could give but could not ask.
I was familiar with the activity, because I done it many times with our Basic Christian Communities in Negros. Forming a square is like building a Christian community: it requires planning and analyzing, communication and dialogue, sharing with cooperation
Reflecting on this activity I see myself in a situation where I am in total control. I feel dependent and helpless, like a child not knowing what to do, where and how to stand in my pastoral work.

Different Language
Language is a problem. I discovered that what I leaned is quite different from the ordinary language of the people. It takes time to get familiar with the words and sounds because people speak fast.
I have been in Shadbagh almost two months now, and I’m slowly settling in. I’m still struggling with the language but somehow I manage to communicate with the people, even with the use of signs language at times.

Only Male Catechists
At present our work is to visit families in different communities, getting to know them and learning a bitn of their culture. A catechist comes with us when we go on visitation (all catechist here are male) but later we’ll be on our own. Most of the people are out working as sweepers during the day. So, our visitation is from 4:00 or 5:00 in the afternoon till 8:00 in the evening. In Pakistan it’s rare to see women out at these hours.
The young and the educated are surprised that we did not study Urdu, the national language of the educated. On the other hand, the old and the uneducated are pleased when we address them in their language. Their joy can be seen on their faces. I feel one with them.
Not Easy For a Woman
Working in Pakistan as a woman is not easy. Yet, to see the many faces of God in the poor Christian minority is, for me life-giving, enriching and challenging.

Far away in Argentina, in Latin America, four Filipina Sisters will celebrate Christmas on their knees before the Blessed Sacrament. They belong to the group popularly known as the Pink sisters not because of their politics but because pink habit they wear. They live a hidden life but I’m sure they will forgive me for sharing a little bit of their letters to us.

Like the Little Flower
They are contemplative sisters. It is through prayer, silence, meditation and loving community sharing that they step into the Presence of God and ask help for the whole Church especially the missionaries: “Without leaving the cloister, like the little flower, we try to reach out to all the mission territories of he world through our prayer and sacrifices. Our Blessed Founder entrusted to us a special obligation: to pray for the priest and candidates to the priesthood. In the first place of course we support the missionary activities of our SVD Fathers and out Missionary Sisters SSpS through our prayer.” Said Sr. Mary Reparatrix.

Also Touch the Poor
However, eventhough they were enclosed in a convent, Sr. Mary Reparatrix added, “We also assist the many poor people who come to the door begging for bread and used clothing. Daily we share our bread with the poor who come to us, and we also assure a special remembrance in our prayers to all those who ask for them.”

SCA Long Ago!
One of them, Sr. Mary Christofilde, got the seed of her vocation while working a member of Student Catholic Action in Manila with Fr. Michael Nolan of the Columban Fathers. She says, “My spiritual Director now is Fr. William Peelo. He is assigned here in Cordova for 4 years, after that only God knows where he will be sent next. Lately he finds the job too much for two priests imagine taking care of 45,000 people in our parish, that means for each of them 22,500 people to take care of! But this is something not unusual here in Argentina, because the shortage of priests. Do you have any Columban Fathers here? Argentina needs missionaries like you. I wonder if parish work is part of your apostolate. The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few!”

The Better Part
From their cloister the Sisters’ prayers to go around the world and the word of Jesus to “Martha has chosen the better part and it shall not be taken away from her.”

 

“Without leaving the cloister like the little flower, we try to reach out to all the Mission territories of the world.’

 

By: Fr. Bobby Sagra, MSP

‘As a Filipino missionary, I am not a stranger to his experience of life and death... I came from a country whose misery of death and Hope of life is deeply felt year after year’.

Here in Papua New Guinea I serve the Kamea people. A few months ago, I brought a sick man of the Kamea people to the Kokipi Health Center. The man was suffering from cerebral Malaria. He was already in a state of coma and just moaning in pain when we took off on our small river dingy from Putei. We left at 4:00 p.m. and after cruising the winding Tauri River for six hours, we arrive at Kokipi in the night. He was given immediate medical attention, but on the following morning there was no sign of improvement. The nurse in-charge made speedy arrangements by radio for the man to be brought to Kerema Government Hospital.

No Doctors
While at Kerema, the man was given intensive care. I went back to Putei, leaving him still in his unconscious state. Three days later I was informed that the man died. It was as quick and simple as that. A man got sick in the mountains. We tried our best to rescue him, and he did not manage to survive. His case is only one among the hundreds of other unknown cases of getting sick and dying in this poor Kamea region. From the villager I heard more stories of children and old getting and dying after few days without the attention of any doctor. There are only two doctors in the whole province of Gulf, one in Kerema Government Hospital and one a Catholic priest from Melbourne working in Kanabea Mission Station. The rest are less trained nurses and aid post orderlies. Death is therefore inevitable in cases of serious and sudden illness like cerebral malaria.

Pouring the Water of Life
A month later, I found myself standing on a rock in the Wanto river, pouring the life giving and cleansing waters of baptism on one hundred and forty Kamea men, women, and children. It was a touching moment of my missionary life- the joy of being used by God as his instrument in giving new birth in Christ to my poor Kamea people. I’m amazed at the response by the people, most of them tribal leaders, to God’s call to embrace the Christian life.

Rain, a Grace
We had great feast after the baptism mass. The people arranged themselves in grouped and cooked the Momo Kaikai. It consists of pigs, sweet potatoes, gabi, and green vegetable leaves. When the food was ready, we all gathered around and asked God’s blessing. A gentle rain came from heaven washing us bit, a sign of God’s cheerful approval of our fellowship in his name and glory.

 

Memories of the Philippines
The memories of death and life in my precious moments with the Kamea people will always be part of my own faith experience as a missionary. As a Filipino missionary, I am not a stranger to this experience of life and death. I came from a country whose misery of death and hope of life is deeply felt year after year. What I am doing here with my Kamea people in Papua New Guinea is a sharing of my experience of death and life as a Filipino- a loving and caring in moments of sickness and death, and a joyful sense of gratitude in moments of feasting and celebration of birth of both in life and in Christ.

Lacordaire’s Word’s
As the rainforest remain strong and the springs and rivers continue to flow, I go with my journey. I hear in the soothing echo of the mountain breeze, Lacordaire’s praise, “What life! Ands its yours, O priest of Jesus Christ” Before I end this writing, I need someone to remind me I am not dreaming.

 

By Sr. Joy Agudera, OND

I work as youth coordinator in Papua New Guinea. I’ve been planning for ages to write a short article but somehow the “mañana” habit prevailed. We’re always eager to see the latest issue of the Misyon Magazine because it gives us renewed inspiration to continue working as missionaries of God’s word. It also gives us a sense of solidarity...that we are not nag-iisa” in trying to share the Word of God amidst strange people in a foreign land.

Male Dominated Society
Since we belong to a male dominated society, I always encounter raised eyebrows when I introduce myself as the youth coordinator of Port Moresby Archdiocese. I’m the only female youth coordinator in the country. I sometimes have a clash of wills with my youth leaders who are all male. Youths here are not unmarried youth in our country. Here they can be a grandfather and still they call themselves youth. Most of my youth leaders are married. There’s even one now who has a balding head and been married for a long time and yet calls himself a youth. One time I encounter Willy, one of the active leaders. He was telling me tat he was not accepted for the army because he was over age. I asked him, what age is he. He said, he’s already 45 years old. I smiled to myself, if he consider himself a youth then I can still consider myself youth too.

Youth Peace Day
What I have doing these past years? My main concern is the training of youth leaders. I have been organizing seminars, prayer, rallies, recollection, retreats, sportdays, Catholic Youth Days with the hope that they will embody some Christian values in their lives and be a leaven to the society.
Last year, we organized youth groups to join us. We marched through the city streets praying the rosary and singing hymns for the intention of peace especially in the City of Port Moresby. A curfew was imposed last year for 7 months in order to curve the growing lawlessness in the city. Nobody dares to go out at night. Even those inside the house are not safe, the rascals can break in and get what they want. We’re trying to instill into the minds of these young people, the love of God and respect for other human being.

Terrifying Trip
We had our first National Catholic Youth pilgrimage last August to Rabaul. All the mainland delegates had to ride a boat. The boat ride of 2 days was terrifying...it really became a spiritual pilgrimage. We were praying all the time that we’ll be spared from capsizing. I doubled my prayers since I know that we don’t have insurance for all these people. Were planning to buy some insurance but on the last minute, we didn’t have the funds. We went visit and pray at the tomb of St. Peter Torot, a Papua New Guinean catechist who died during World War II defending the faith. We prayed too that he’ll intercede for PNG in these times of crisis. We joined too the Pope and all the youth representatives in Poland. It was during this time that they had the Pilgrimage to the Black Madonna. There were about 250 youth leaders who attended this pilgrimage. As usual my skills and experience as a youth coordinator were tested by a male dominant group. Every time they called for the youth coordinator, one of my youth leaders would forward and claim the position. I have a feeling they don’t want to accept the fact they have a “female” youth coordinator. What can I do? We’ve been a long way to go before we women can be accepted. But we’ll get there. Patience and perseverance.

Fr. Nolan, I think I have written plenty already and I’m afraid Fr. O’Brien will have a hard time in performing “plastic surgery with this, I’ll end here. I won’t be answerable if he gets ‘longlong’ (pidgin word for crazy).

 

“We’ve long way to go before we women can be accepted. But we’ll get there”