Sister Maria’s letter from Sudan

JosephiteSister Maria Sullivan writes from Maria Comboni Mission, Mapuordit, southern Sudan. The following is an edited extract of a letter she sent to her Aunt, Josephite Sister Helen Sullivan, our Mission Liaison Officer.

“Life is busy and I am learning every day. It is still very hot although we have had one small shower of rain … I have been sleeping outside in the open and had to pick up my bed and walk when the rain came. I do some teaching and help the women with sewing and do other odd jobs.

I have realised how limited the experience of the students is. They have no idea of car travel, air travel, of space travel, movies or significant jobs or any of the normal dreams that our children would have. The people live in such isolation that they have no concept of anything more than a few kilometres away and the very isolation and ‘ghettoism’ leaves them enmeshed in their ignorance. There is no television so there is no outside image of anything at all.

There are 300 children on the property every day. There is food provided to the school and because there is such poverty, the children need it to survive.

The students in Forms 3 and 4 have bench desks but the lower classes have no desks and have to write on their laps. Every child in Primary has to bring his or her own chair or sit on logs. The floors are all dirt. Many of the children walk for hours to get to school and to go home again. We have two hours study after school as the students do not have light to work at night.

The children have to pay a small amount to come to school and so many cannot afford it. It is so sad to see the little ones at the fence on the day the others come to school. There is no option as it is the only way the teachers can be paid.

You will not be surprised to hear that the saddest thing is the situation of the girls. Only one girl came back to secondary school. Most girls (if they come at all) leave in Grade 4 or 5. As a result of this lack of education, women do not know their rights.

The Sisters live very simply and things are always going wrong. There are only three of us here now and none of us is young!! The water pump broke down last week so now we are carting water for washing ourselves and our clothes. I wash my body standing in a basin, then use the water to wash my clothes and finally put the dirty water on the seed bed. There is a solar panel providing some electricity to the sleeping area but the batteries went flat about a month ago.

Every night we have packet soup, rice or pasta, tinned beans or peas and fora change tinned tomatoes with onions or tinned beans. Very occasionally we have meat from the markets made into a stew, but the meat is unbelievably tough. I am not complaining in the least because the people have far less. The missionaries who stay here certainly do it tough though. The vegetables I am growing using our waste water are not yet ready to eat although there is one lettuce looking promising. (Given there is tinned cheese we shall have a party when we pick it.)

The church is a hayshed with no walls. The parish priest is a 34-year-old Mexican priest who gives the best homilies every day. To see the people who are blind kneeling to kiss the crucifix is a telling moment.

The Stations of the Cross are very different. Each Friday we start at the little chapel and wander through the village accompanied by dogs, goats, street children (some undressed) and other mottled congregation members. One day we were interrupted between stations nine and 10 when the presbytery dog took off after a goat. He was chased by all six catechists who finally headed him off at the church. As if nothing had happened we simply continued with prayer!

I love the little children who roam the streets. God knows where their parents are but the children seem quite self-sufficient. There is one little boy whom I meet at various spots all around the town. He was wearing a woollen red top with a hood when I first came and, despite the heat, he still has it on. I am fairly certain it has never left his body during that time, for any reason at all. He wears no pants (he would not have any) and the jacket does not quite reach the vital parts. Every time he sees one of the sisters he crosses the road to shake hands and then goes on his way. We call him Little Red Riding Hood – he might be four years old.

God bless and much love, Maria.”