CHAPTER 9

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RUANDA (III)
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Astrida—"Do You Remember?"—Heat And A Bed—A Mighty Church—The College
More White Sisters—Church And State—Prisoners In Chains—The Seminary
The Doctor Is Cross—Bishop Classe—Priests, Black And White
Tamed Wolves—Heads, Blankets And Water—St. Charles Borromeo Is The Patron
Timetables And So On—"You Are Twice A Missionary"—A Reflection On Water

The mighty drums of Astrida Mission were beating out the Angelus as we drove up to the Fathers' house. The joy of every welcome seems to surpass the last. We are never expected anywhere, so that our arrival is always a cause of tremendous excitement. Father Prentice fell into the arms of a priest whom he had not seen for thirty-seven years, when they were students together. Both were amazed to find themselves instantly recognised, but as Father Prentice remains eternally young, even those who knew him as a babe in arms would call him at once by his name.

We listened at dinner to the "Do you remembers?" and the "You cannot have forgottens," of these two veterans of Africa. After the merry meal someone took me by the hand and led me to a darkened room, which was actually cool. Above all there was a bed in it. An hour later I awoke, grateful and refreshed to begin our visit of Astrida.

I recall, above all, the intense heat. It really was beyond anything I had yet experienced. (Even now, more than two years later, my skin shrivels as I write the word "Astrida"). But there were many good things to see. The church, which at a distance appears as a huge cross, is really three churches in one. From the door to the altar we walked one hundred yards; each arm of the cross is fifty yards long, and everywhere the church is very wide. There are no pillars (shades of Mitale Maria!), thank God, so that without any difficulty every person in the church can see the altar clearly, and a priest preaching from the sanctuary can see every corner of the vast building. A marble tablet at the entrance witnesses to the fact that the church was built in memory of Queen Astride of the Belgians, who visited this place and gave her name to the town.

But the chief wonder of Astrida is the college in the good charge of the Brothers of Charity from Belgium. It is an enormous establishment, splendidly built for its purpose and well equipped. It contains a primary school {preparatory - we should call it), a secondary school, and a college of higher studies.

On the professorial staff there are, besides the many Brothers who are fully qualified teachers, two doctors of medicine, a veterinary surgeon and an agricultural expert.

To this place come the elite from "Belgian Africa," and they leave as medical assistants, chiefs, clerks, teachers and such-like, according to their tastes and abilities and the course of studies they have followed. I was told that the college has been open only eight years, and that it is consequently too soon to pass a verdict upon its value. (Later, the Vicar-Apostolic of Urundi told me that the young men of his Vicariate, who have passed through the college, are good, simple, Catholic young men, who give great satisfaction to their employers and to their priests.)

I was told that, although the Government pay salaries to the masters, the Brothers must find large sums of money to make ends meet.

Astrida College is one of the most important educational establishments for natives in Africa, and corresponds to Makerere College in Uganda.

I thought of it, on leaving, as a sun radiating intellectual light from the centre of dark Africa. It is a credit to the Church, to the Brothers who direct it and to the Government who sponsor it.

The White Sisters are here, smilingly efficient as usual, with their girls' schools and all the rest. They have a very fine convent, and I was surprised to find it so grand. The Government, being very anxious to have White Sisters to take charge of the Government hospital, built the convent and, as Mother Superior remarked, "The Government is richer than we are." There does seem to be, in Ruanda, close co-operation between the Church and the State, to the great advantage of both, and I hear nothing but praise of both.

I saw today, for the first time in my life, prisoners in chains. They had an iron chain locked round their necks and reaching to an ankle. In the group, however, the majority wore no chains, and I asked a Belgian officer the reason.

"Those who are chained, you see, have not yet been tried; they might run away," he answered. Our Brother-chauffeur said, "That is a very good idea."

A voice joined in—did I notice an English accent ? An excellent idea, except, of course, that the prisoners might be innocent—at least acquitted."

Anyhow we have different ideas about these things in Uganda.

It was late afternoon when we drove away from Astrida, with many regrets, to go to the Senior Seminary of the Vicariates of Ruanda-Urundi. We left the main road just as the sun left the earth. How quickly darkness falls out here; surely it never fell quicker than it did today. The sunset was inspiring, but the road was dreadful; narrow, rutty, holey and swishing round mountain comers with deep, deep drops on the other side.

It was weird to travel this road in the dark with headlights on. The bush took on strange shapes, rocks and precipices jumped at the car, but somehow never hit it. I felt very far from home; little, helpless and foolish for having come by this road at night. Then the lights of the Seminary twinkled at us. All foolishness fled and gladness filled me. There was another, and this time the supreme, wonder of God's work in Africa just ahead. A Senior Seminary means priests; the Blessed Sacrament assured for all time; a country transformed; hearts and minds made new; future generations saved from the death of paganism and brought into the life of Christ. That is what the twinkling lights told me to the music of the humming motor.

As we drew up in the courtyard, the Vicar-Apostolic was leaving the chapel; he was in cope and mitre at the end of a short procession. The native clergy were coming from the Benediction which closed their Annual Retreat. We had chosen the best moment in the whole year to arrive, for now we should see the Vicar-Apostolic, the Seminary Staff, the students and many native priests.

We were, of course, immediately mobbed by black and white alike, the genial Superior leading me to the Bishop. I congratulated the latter upon his Vicariate. "I did not think," I said, "that such things existed outside Uganda." Alas! for my idle words. A Belgian doctor overhead my remark and he took me to task. I explained that I was daring to tease the Bishop; that all the world knew of the wonders worked by the Belgians under the mandate, etc. No use. "But you said to the BISHOP. . ." the doctor insisted. I had said what he said I had said, and, while I thought lovingly of the cold water awaiting my burning face, and the cold something else calling to my parched tongue, I was held to task.

Resolutions: Do not tease Bishops. Do not tease anybody when Belgian doctors are present. On arrival anywhere wash and drink before talking.

Bishop Classe was worth coming thousands of miles to see. At 73 he is as active as a young man in Europe, and from him one can obtain knowledge of this country. I hung on to his lips, as in his beautiful French he spoke words of purest gold. If ever I should forget you or your kindness, My lord, I should deserve to be obliterated like the mosquito you squashed on my neck.
We went to supper in the big refectory, Bishop presiding; black and white priests mixed up like draughts on a board and all talking French in loud, happy voices.

On my right was the doctor!

As I looked round at the calm, peaceful faces of the native priests, I recalled what I knew of the Banaruanda and the Barundil of the not distant past; of how they would kill a man to steal his cow or even his hoe; of how they would let a man drown in a fast flowing river so as to be able to cut a hand from his corpse and possess a bracelet of no value; of how they had shot arrows into the bodies of the first missionaries who came to their country. (Note: Banaruanda = natives of Ruanda; Barundi = natives of Urundi )

That was scarcely fifty years ago, and here I was at table with the descendants of those barbarians, and just at that moment of my reflections, one of them said to me in pleasant French, "May I trouble you, Father, to pass me the vegetables?" And he was a priest.

How great is the power of Jesus Christ, and how good it is to realise that, even if I am going home, I am a member of the Company, who in God's hands have been the instrument of His grace.

The Seminary being crowded with the Native clergy who had come for the retreat, I was given a Seminarist's small room, with a Seminarist's small bed, but no Seminarist's lamp. There were not enough lamps to go round. I managed to obtain a tin, a piece of rag and some kind of grease. It smelt fishy, but it gave some flicker of light. Darkest Africa at last! The room is really and truly hot. The Seminarist must like that. It needs much persuasion, all over Central Africa, to get students to leave a window open, and not to close up every crack through which air or a mosquito might penetrate. Nor can students' heads be kept outside blankets at night, unless the masters take drastic measures. I saw one master in Ruanda going his rounds of the dormitory late at night with a jug of water. When he could not see a head he pulled the blankets from it and emptied the jug on it.

13th August, I938
I spent the morning asking questions and listening to the answers, which the Vicar-Apostolic, the Superior, and all the staff of the Seminary with wonderful forbearance, gave to them.

The Seminary is under the patronage of St. Charles Borromeo, because of his priestly virtues; his purity and holiness; his heroic detachment from the things of the earth; his clear and pure doctrine; his indefatigable zeal for the glory of God and the salvation of souls. A good patron for a place in Africa—when one knows Africa one realises how good—which aims solely at forming a "Secular clergy full of the love of God and souls," as the Seminary Statutes read.

Photo : "The genial Superior" of the Senior Seminary, Ruanda Urundi.

We went deeply into matters like timetables, curriculum, methods of teachings, training in virtue, holidays, the books used, the food eaten, the drinks drunk, lodging and washing, games and avocations and statistics.

In many details things are very different from the Seminary at Katigondo in Uganda, and one felt that both might profit from an exchange of views. But I left this Seminary convinced that the priests who come from it could be first-class pastors, well trained for the country in which they will work, and such a conviction is more than enough to warm the heart of any missionary.

I did not fail to talk with the Seminarists; that was easy, because they all talk French. They speak French much better than the Seminarists in Uganda speak English, that is because French is the "lingua franca" here, whereas in Uganda, English is but a secondary subject taught in class.

Here at the Seminary for Ruanda and Urundi there are men from both countries and also from the Upper Congo Vicariate. There are some of the Batutsi, the noble race who probably came down from Abyssinia and conquered the country; and there are some Bahuti, or peasants. All are living together, I was assured, in harmony. This supposes common sense, character, some power of self-adaptation, a desire to reach the priesthood, common sacrifices, bearing and forbearing and a good dose of charity. That is to say that these men must possess the Catholic spirit. How they would have fought one another in the old pagan days!

The Batutsi, the noble and superior people, make up one per cent of the population in Urundi, yet the proportion in the Seminary is thirteen per cent, which is not too bad. Very great care is taken in the choice of candidates for the priesthood. Twenty-five were eliminated out of the first seventy-five to enter the Seminary, and, of course, the proportion of eliminations was much higher in the Junior Seminary. As time goes on more students will surely succeed in reaching the priesthood, for the beginnings of the formation of a native clergy in a primitive country are very hard indeed. In the Congo, when the first native priest was ordained it was found that 199 candidates had been rejected at one period or another of their Seminary training.

The life of a missionary in a Senior Seminary in these countries is one of prayer, study, teaching, making far distant ends meet, immense consolation, huge anxiety and constant happiness. It is difficult to imagine anything more interesting than this close contact with the best of the natives, the most virtuous and the most intelligent, and I find here, amongst the staff, the same enthusiasm for their work as exists at Katigondo. It is not what one expected to do when one joined a missionary congregation. It is more; it is the very fullness of missionary life. The Holy Father said to a professor of Katigondo, "You are twice a missionary."

We visited the many buildings, of course, fine but not yet completed. They stand in a saucer, and all round, quite close, are the mountains. At night I could hear, and I wished that I could not, a mountain stream streaming noisily. Water, fresh and always cold at one's door is a boon—except to visitors at night. The Seminary is like that running stream; at the door of two countries bringing streams of life-giving grace to the population. And what if it does cause some sleepless nights to those who watch over the stream and labour to keep it pure? How tiny a price to pay.

Good-bye! good-bye! One's hand aches but not as much as one's heart with these reminders that a ship is even now on the waters to take me with it into the old and the cold . . . but, perhaps, I shall like the cold.

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