Disembarking from my KLM flight in Kano, I came head on into my first culture shock. The sun was just setting so that accounted for the scene of east facing, bums up, prostrating bodies that presented. Having newly come from a land of long evening twilight, I scarcely had time to absorb the scene, when lo and behold NEPA (the equivalent of our ESB) conspired with sun down to greet us to a black out. Still on my way, dragging my luggage to the arrivals desk, I surely felt lost until Philo’s voice reached me, from somewhere close by, warning “hold on to your luggage and don’t stir”. After what seemed like a trip to eternity, but in reality was no more than five or ten minutes, NEPA came flooding back to throw some light on my confused and bewildered state. I was reunited with my two travelling companions, Philomena (Philo) and Mercedes FMDM (Liz) from Yakoko now the only white faces in a sea of black ones. Without too much drama and minimal scrutiny, we emerged intact from customs. The Yakoko “pickup truck” complete with driver was at hand to take us to the Central Hotel. After a night of unrest we boarded an Internal Nigeria Airways flight for Yola.
It was early afternoon when we reached our destination and the town that was to be my base for the next five years. The whole mission seemed to have turned out, partly to greet Philo and partly, I daresay, to see the latest green arrival. The warmth of the welcome, to some extent eclipsed the sensation of being over heated – the temperature was constantly in the region of 40 degrees. I was glad when Michael O’Sullivan’s car stopped and deposited us at the front door, where Mary Jo greeted us and we finally could take refuge in the relative cool of Arus Muire.
Outside house in Yola
L to R: Damien (night watchman), Sr. Mary Jo Sheehy, Sr. Philomena, Sr. Eileen Troy (front), Sr. Fidelma & Kathleen Fitzgerald (holding Spark the dog) (back)
The following morning I ventured forth with the late Rev. Thomas Kambasaya, acting as chauffer and guide, and I got my first close up of the October landscape round Yola. Still emerging from the summer rains, it hadn’t as yet taken on the totally parched barren look that was to become so much part of our world further along.
Fr. Tom Kambasaya, RIP, in his native dress (Assistant Director of Seminary)
The happenings and experiences of the next weeks and months and of the subsequent years are a bit jumbled and vague in my sequencing of things. Within a few days I commenced my teaching work in St. Peter’s Minor Seminary, where Michael Sexton RIP was to be my Principal. In the late 1970’s, St. Peter’s was going through a major transition phase. My memories are of a lot of student unrest, a quick succession of Principals, and the consequent uncertainty and lack of continuity. In five years I had almost as many changes of principal, Martin Crean, OSA succeeded Michael Sexton, then came Aloysius Jella, and finally Damien Loughran OSA. With the exception of Martin Crean, all have now gone to reap the reward of their labours. Many of the issues round the unrest finally resolved themselves, with our application, general inspection and acceptance for State Recognition in the 1980’s. I was very happy to have shared the supervision of the first WASC state examinations held in the Seminary, before I returned to Ireland in 1983. The following year Damian Loughran, on his way home for holiday, died suddenly and unexpectedly, following surgery in Rome. One can only imagine what relief and satisfaction he must have experienced in his last year in St. Peter’s having reached the goal he worked and struggled so hard to achieve; not only was St. Peter’s by now enjoying the status of a fully recognised State Secondary School, but it was generally perceived to be one of the best in the local area.
Fr. Michael Sexton, OSA, Rector of minor Seminary, RIP, Sr. Mary Jo Sheehy, Sr. Josephine Walshe, RIP & Sr. Kathleen Fitzgerald with some of the young priests of the Yola Diocese
Looking back from this distance of thirty years, my clearest memories come mostly from my first year with its endless succession of surprises and new experiences. Standing in front of a class of thirty boys and wondering how I would ever manage to name or distinguish one from the other; my first trip to Bare our “Bush” extension mission, where Eileen (Troy) and Fidelma (O’Connell) ran a medical Clinic. As road signposts were non-existent, managing to identify the entrance to the mud path that connected the Mission to the Main Road, was always for me, a hit or miss experience, (the consequence of a miss is a story for another day) as there was no way of knowing whether or not one was on the right path, one just journeyed in faith and hoped that after rattling over ten or twelve kilometres of mud surface one arrived at the desired destination. I can never forget that sensation of relief when the Mud Round Houses of Bare Village loomed into view. Bare was a special place and the joy of reconnecting and celebrating with our two Sisters made the hazards of the trip so worthwhile.
My first glimpse of the Yakoko Hills, was not exactly the Knockmealdowns or Comeraghs of home, but some comfort in an otherwise endlessly flat terrain. I often recall Mike Donnelly’s response to my query “How do I get to Mapeo?” – “Follow the setting sun”. I did, and mercifully arrived before the sun vanished.
Taken in 1979, Sr. Kathleen Fitzgerald & children, taken in Jambuno Mission Centre, during a break in the journey to Mapeo
Getting acquainted with snakes, mosquitoes, lizards and the many moving creatures that, up until this had been part of my storybook world, now became part of my ordinary workaday experience. The absence of telephone and television and the terrible uncertainty round lack of communication from home was another difficult aspect of this new life. And back then it was not an uncommon experience to get news of a family bereavement days and even weeks after the death had occurred.
But through it all what stays with me most vividly, is the good humour, the natural generosity and hospitality of the people. Theirs was a simple uncluttered world, they hadn’t a lot of luxuries but they shared and gave so freely of what they had, they welcomed the stranger and their simple faith and acceptance of their lot was, and still is a source of wonder and admiration for me.
Kathleen Fitzgerald rsm
Southern Province
