Dear Mom,

…I am stationed about 5 miles outside of Arusha among the Wa-Arusha people.  In physical appearance, language, dress and folkways, they are Massai.  But Massai who have settled down to farm small plots of land, growing corn and beans and raising small herds of cattle, sheep and goats.  Temperment wise, most are open and quite friendly.  Father Simon, a native Wa-Arusha priest, and I are opening up the work among these people.  The concentration of effort in the diocese has been among the Massai, leaving the Wa-Arusha virtually untouched up to now.

Hence we are in the initial stages of establishing the Church among them.  The main mission, Bourka, is central to the area inhabited by this tribe and so far Father Simon has established four outstations, each with its small primary school of three grades.  We also have two dispensaries operating.  Two weeks after my arrival, I began what will be my basic mode of activity for the foreseeable future.  I live in each of the areas for four or five days at a time, getting around more and more each time in each locality –walking, visiting various huts, talking and getting to know the people.

A Wa-Arusha hut is built of long poles bent over at the upper ends to form sort of an igloo.  This frame is covered with mud and then grass.   In the center is a fire for cooking and warmth.  This house, which is quite large, constitutes not only a home for the family (except the man, who has his own sleeping hut) but also a storehouse for corn and beans and a shelter for cows, goats and sheep.  Although we are now in the rainy season the house is always warm and comfortable because of the fire and the many occupants.

At each stop the Mama offers me a little stool to sit by the fire, then some milk to drink or sometimes an ear of roasted corn.  Then we talk for a while until my still meager vocabulary runs out.  I play with the children and give them candy.  Some of you are probably familiar with a toy called the magic slate.  I bought one of these.  The writing disappears when the plastic cover is lifted.  It amazes the kids.  I’ve had a bit of fun with it and its helped to make them more comfortable with me. When we’ve had our visit, we say “Serena Nikidua” (goodbye till we meet again) and then I am off to the next little place along the path.

We have not been able to add on a place to stay at any of the little schools, so I say with the people most of the time.  This turns out to be much better for many reasons.  Usually I walk a good number of miles each day.  This was very difficult at first, but I’m getting used to it and it’s doing me a lot of good.  Not long ago I tried to get to one of the outstations by car.  Usually Fr. Simon drops me off about two miles from the school or a fairly good road because the “roads” into these places are little more than cattle paths.  After getting stuck and digging myself out six times with plenty of help and advice from many people who gathered each time I sunk down in the mud, a man stopped whose shamba (farm plot) was near by.  He told me to wait where I was.  In a little while he returned with six cows, hitched them to the car and pulled me all the way back to the main road, about a mile and a half.  It was quite a sight.  I wish I had a picture to show all of you.

Before coming to Africa, I was frightened of being a foreigner here, perhaps for the rest of my life.  Although I’ve been here only a little over a month, I feel very much at home and a part of these people already.   It’s a beautiful country, filled with very warm and friendly people and I am very happy here.

Love,

Ned

Dear Mom,

…….This morning, celebrated Mass at one of the outstations, the one that I’ve gotten stuck trying to get to the last two times.  A WaChaga African priest stayed with us last night.  He is from Moshi and had a landrover, which he let me use.  With the four-wheel drive and the weight I was able to get through.  We have Mass in a classroom of a small cement block school built in the shape of a WaArusha hut.  Except for the size and building material, it’s no different from the huts surrounding it.  The huts are circular, built of mud, cow dung and grass with a sloping roof, having a smoke and air vent at the top.  The roof of the school is corrugated tin and the inside space is partitioned off into four classrooms.  The classroom was crowded with children and about fifteen adults.  The entire Mass, except for the Canon, is in Swahili and they sing hymns in their own language to their own melodies.  I talked with a number of the children before and after Mass and am finding that they are more and more comfortable with me.  Language is much less a barrier with kids than it is with the adults.

Most of the rest of the today, I spent in another area east of here just walking and talking.  There is much fear to be broken down, because many of the people in these back areas have never spoken to a white person and seeing one walking across open country right up to their huts must be very disconcerting.   The children run inside for the most part and the women are very wary at first.  The men usually have had some contact with strangers, so it’s easier with them.  It’s clear that the way to these people’s hearts is through their children.

They have such a tremendous love for them that if you show interest in and a liking for the kids, the adults are quickly won over.  Along the way I met a small boy.  We talked for a while about his family, where he lived, how many cows belong to his family, etc.  Then he decided that he would act as my guide for the rest of the day.  We walked along footpaths from one small group of huts to another, while I was trying to talk to anyone who was around.  He would tell me the right word when I got stuck.  At the end of the afternoon, he was as fresh as when we started and I was very tired.  I’m getting more used to the walking, but am still pretty soft. ………..

Love,

Ned