We are nobody

I was leaving Matli (Southern Pakistan) after serving there for ten years. The time haqd come to say goodbye to the many friends I had made during that time. One of the families I made sure to visit and thank was the family of Rono and Hiru. I had known them for almost eight years.

Rono had become Christian in his early days, but when his hopes faded tht the missionaries who baptised him might help him out of his debts, he lost interest in being Christian. He repeatedly asked me for loans to repay his debt to the landowner but I too refused.

Despite Rono's disappintment with me he continued to welcome me into his home. I came to like him. I often joined him at work in the fields during the day and spent many an enjoyable night with him. After a simple meal our discussions lasted long into the night, Romo proposing why I should give him a handout, and me urging him to take control of his own affairs.

Many times I asked myself how I could help Rono and his family? Hiru was suffering from tuberculosis. I arranged for her to have treatment. However, after a few months she felt she had recovered and discontinued the medication. This only meant that the virus reasserted itself with renewed vigour. She then turned to the bhopo, a healer for relief.

I encouraged Rono and Hiru to send their children to the local village school. Without a basic education there was little hope their children would escape the misery and bondage they themselves suffered, but they wouldn’t do it.

On my final visit to say goodbye to the family I was accompanied by Fr Tomas King, a young Columban who would replace me. As we sat on the floor in Rono’s house awaiting the evening meal Tomas and I were talking in English. Our conversation was interrupted by Rono who asked, “Why are you talking to one another in your own language in my house? You have come to visit us, and here you are babbling away to one another in a language we do not understand! What are you talking about anyhow?

“Rono” I said, apologising to him, “I am sorry we have abused your hospitality. But to answer your question, this is what we were talking about. Tomas asked me what I have to show for my efforts here with you for the past eight years? I have told him what I honestly feel as I leave you today. I have received much from you. You have always shown me hospitality and graciousness. I have been touched by the simplicity of your lives. However, I have done very little if anything for you. Eight years later you are still in debt to the landowner. None of your children are in school. Your wife has not fully recovered from tuberculosis. In fact you are worse off now than when I first met you. I feel disappointed that I have not been of more help to you.”

Rono paused for a few moments and then he said something that has stayed with me. “Yes, it’s true you have done nothing for me. All these years I have been asking you to give me money to pay off my debt, but you refused. I asked you for money for my daughter’s wedding last year. Did you give me any money? No. You are right - I am no better off than when you first came here. However I want to tell you one thing. I am not angry or disappointed with you. You have left your home and family and crossed the seven seas. You came from the other side of the world, from a rich country. You have taken the pains to learn our language. You have come here to visit us again and again. You worked with us in the fields and shared our simple food. You have slept with us on this floor at night. You have journeyed with us in our poverty. Whoever comes to visit us? We are considered low caste in this society. We are nobody. You have helped me to feel that I am somebody. For that I am deeply grateful.”

Rono’s words have come to mean so much to me. It is satisfying for the missionary to do things for the poor and feel the euphoria of being a benefactor. But it is more selfless and more important to journey with the poor and share their struggles with them.

Fr Patrick McCaffrey has recently returned to Pakistan.