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Deep In The Heart Of Wedza
Their correct name
is the Little Company of Mary, but they are everywhere known as the Blue
Nuns or simply as the Blues. It has nothing to do with their temperament.
Their foundress, Mother Mary Potter was simply bubbling over with humour.
They became known as the Blues in popular parlance because they wear a blue
veil, whereas most nuns wear a black one. The next thing one would notice
about them is that they are a young Order and they have all the fervour,
ideals and enthusiasm of youth. They are what is technically known as a
‘mixed Order,’ that is to say, they combine a life of prayer with the active
apostolate, which in their case is nursing. They consecrate their lives to
the maternal heart of Mary as she stands on Calvary and intercede with her
for the sick and dying. They do not neglect the role of prayer.
This side of their
lives is of particular importance on the mission field where there are so
many demands on their time and the Blues are wise enough to know that they
won’t suddenly develop the spirit of prayer on the missions if they haven’t
developed it before they get there. In Africa the Blue Nuns have two
European hospitals, one in Harare (Zimbabwe), and one in Port Elizabeth
(South Africa); they have two African hospitals, one in Wedza (Zimbabwe) and
one in Korstan (South Africa). The staff in all these places are mostly
Irish and thanks to the spiritual training they get at Milford House and the
medical training they get at St. John’s Hospital, Limerick, people of all
denominations are agreed that the Blue Nuns run the best and most efficient
hospitals on the African continent. Their mission in Wedza was opened last
year; it is out in the bush over 100 miles from Harare. It’s not exactly the
place I’d choose for a picnic. I did the journey once from Harare and I
nearly had to go to bed when I got to the hospital; the usual story, bad
roads, car bogged down in mud, etc.
However, the
Reverend Mother there had a soft Tipperary brogue which gave me a new lease
of life and I managed to struggle through a meal before I presented myself
to the Jesuit Fathers who live a mile down the ‘road’. The father in charge
there was a German with an Irish brogue. Apparently he had been a patient
with the Blue Nuns one time and he picked up the accent during his sojourn
in one of their hospitals. He did not dream at the time that one day he
would have a community of Blue Nuns on his mission, but it looks as if there
is a destiny which shapes our ends, rough hew them how we will.
Wedza is an
African Reserve. Reserves are big places, as big as an Irish county and
sometimes bigger. No white men are allowed to live in a Reserve unless they
happen to be missionaries and as a matter of fact a white man must get
permission from the Local Commissioner before entering a Reserve. The land
is mostly poor, consisting of sand and rocks, and a good many of the men
have to go off to town to earn enough money to provide for their families; a
good many of the men, but not the ngangas. These ‘doctors’ are always sure
of making a living. This is where the Blue Nuns’ hospital comes in. It helps
to break down superstition and to dispel ignorance which the ngangas thrive
on. The Apostolate of the doctor and the nurse in Africa cannot be
exaggerated and without Catholic hospitals, our schools would do very little
good. The nuns in Wedza are also trained in maternity work and this too is a
great gift to the people. Where there are no hospitals the infant mortality
rate is alarmingly high, as most of the people know nothing about germs and
less about disinfectants. There is a maternity block in the hospital at
Wedza with cots attached to the beds, no baby sitters are necessary; the
mother can shake the cot by simply moving it with her feet. They even have a
hot water system installed, as up-to-date as anything you’ll find in Europe.
This was one of
the things that impressed me most during my visit to Wedza: to find such
amenities out in the bush miles from anywhere. However, the thing that
surprised me most was the healthy complexions of the sisters there. Most
nuns are supposed to look pale and delicate like a lily gown in a hothouse,
but the nuns in Wedza looked like an advertisement for Palmolive soap. The
local people are at a loss to understand this as most white women in
Zimbabwe are dried up and bleached from the sun and they cease blushing as
soon as they get out of the cradle. An African once told me that he reckoned
the sisters had their own witchdoctors who supply them with the secret of
perpetual youth. At any rate there is about these a freshness and a vigour
and a zeal and irrepressible gaiety that no African can resist, and many a
hard-bitten missionary has steered his truck for Wedza when, after a week
slogging around the bush, he found himself like Ruth, sick for home and the
alien corn.
Mel Hill, O.Carm.
First published –
1955.
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