Brother James Anthony SSF, who has devoted a large part of his life to helping the people of the Diocese of Masasi, is finally returning "home" to England.   He will be sorely missed, especially by the community at the Rondo, to whom he has given so much.  He has sent us this, his last letter from the Rondo.

 

My Send Off

I refused flatly to have a send off.  I didn't want a send off, I wouldn't enjoy it and would be bored stiff by the speeches when not embarrassed by the thickly larded praise.  I put my foot down - there would not be a send off!

Of course I should have known better.  It's easier in Africa to stop a herd of elephants in full stampede than to try and change the customs and traditions of the locals.

On the great day there was a flurry of activity.  Tables and chairs went dribbling past my house from dawn onwards and pots and pans were borrowed after a lot of whispering.  It was obviously going to be the mother of all farewell parties.  I pretended to know nothing about it but wearily began to hone a" few words".  About midday there was an enthusiastic hunt for squawking chickens, so by now things were building up.

At four o'clock I was summoned down to the guest house where parties always took place, and found the whole school there, together with half the village.  The first half hour consisted of everyone being introduced to the gathering, and then, when there was no one else to be introduced, the head master gave a long laudatory effusion that had me squirming.  The head boy then read out a speech in English that he had composed and I stumbled through one or two words and the first part was over.

The second part was what everyone had come for - the food.  The cooks had obviously been slaving for hours and trooped in with pilau and rice, with roast goat meat and chicken, and beans and salad.  At that point the heavens, which had been getting darker and darker, suddenly opened and the rain poured down, drenching the boys all crowded outside the house.  They had their meal huddled under the eaves, although about 40 managed to penetrate into the hallway.  The smell of boy, wet boy at that, as we went out of the house through them, is with me still.  Everyone, I think, got some food, and everyone got a coca cola, and the general feeling was that it had been a party to remember.  How could I ever have thought to stand out against that?

The next day I left Rondo by the emergency route, as the usual road had been washed away by the floods of water the night before. Now I'm in Dar es Salaam from where I shall send this last Rondo life.

My community has asked me to go to live on Holy Island, up in Northumberland, where one of the brothers is Vicar of the parish.  I hope to be there from early May onwards.  Our community is contracting and every person is needed in Britain, although perhaps eventually someone else might be able to go out to help the church in Africa.  But that will be another tale, and another place.