It’s six o’clock and still so dark
that I struggle to see the slender young nun opening the side gate for me.
She’s been keeping watch since five-thirty she says, but it’s not a
problem. Sister (Sr.) Edna wears a
sincere smile which matches her large white eyes. Or perhaps they just seem so large because they
are the only objects I can make out between her dark skin and head gear. My day
in the life of a Roman Catholic nun starts at half past six with mass.
Wood. The unmistakable smell holy to
the senses. I get escorted to the front
row while Sr. Edna lights the candles. The
five other cloister sisters enter the consecrated atmosphere at their time, kneeling
quickly before Jesus – still on the cross - cross their hearts and kneel once
more on the provided knee cushions. Prayerful.
The sound of money meeting friends
demands my attention and a solid woman, with slippers and sweatpants, front
right, lights a match. I have come completely open minded. Perhaps a little too
open, as I sort of expected her to light a cigarette. But she lights the candle
she exchanged for her coins.
Another solid body in sweatpants
enters through the side door. After a
quick bow Nikes climb the stairs onto
the pulpit and disappear behind a curtain. Seconds later a priest in Nikes emerges. Father Thabo.
The woman in the slippers reads from
Acts while interrupting herself every now and then: “Response”.
Then the rest of the church follows,
but I only hear the sisters: “Preserve me Lord. I take refuge in You.”
Then the Our Father and Hail Mary.
Father Thabo blesses and breaks the
bread and hands it out to the single file row that formed between me and him.
No wine follows. Perhaps if I had
answered “Yes” to the earlier question of whether I am Roman Catholic, I too
would have received the bread. I get a
tender, clean-smelling kiss on the forehead instead.
Then it’s all over and children get
dropped off at the St. Joseph’s Children’s Centre. Church, cloister, crèche… but a tug on the
arm from Sr. Carmelita invites me to breakfast.
She looks exactly like anyone’s granny should, and on the rare occasion when
she is not smiling, dents left from years of wearing glasses appear on her
cheeks.
One table. Six chairs. And the dining room is filled. On the buffet
sits his holy Pope Benedict XVI.
“A cup of coffee?”
“Rama or butter on your bread?”
Yes of course they get leave – three
weeks once every three years.
The notion that women are cloistered
in for a life sentence once they join the convent is not true – not anymore at
least. There is a process which can take anything from three to eight years,
during which she can change her mind and go back into the secular world. The
first point of commitment is becoming a candidate, after which she becomes a
postulate and then an officiate. After this process she is a proper nun.
However, should she change her mind after this final pledge, she would still be
permitted to leave the convent.
All the sisters living in this convent
– the Franciscan sisters from Siessen, had their training at the provincial
motherhouse, Assisi, in Marseilles close to Lady Brand. This also happens to be
the convent where the late contemporary artist, Father Claerhout, resided.
These sisters derive their name from
St. Francis. This man, I am informed, was unable to find any joy in his riches
when he knew that there were people in desperate need. So he served the
community with his possessions and lived a simple life in love – simple diet,
simple clothing. And that’s what the Franciscan sisters do.
They wear a well-known, simple piece
of clothing called the habit. Although they may never be seen without it, they wear
a special habit every now and then on Sundays, high days and holy days.
Back to current affairs - at the crèche,
the week is themed “fruit”. During the week the children prepare fruit salad
and banana bread, which get digitally documented. According to Sr. Winnie, crèche
principal, the parents enjoy receiving a DVD of all the activities at the end
of the year. For this reason they organised a fund raising at the end of the
previous year for a digital and video camera, as well as computers the grade
R’s get to work on.
“And what fruit makes us drunk?” Sr.
Winnie checks that they still remember everything they learned about fruit.
In the four-to-five year old class the
granny-like Sr. Carmelita has a plastic cup filled with water. She dunks her
hand into it at intervals, sprinkling water over the children while singing,
“Rain-rain, go away. Come again another day.”
Sr. Winnie takes me to her room to load
information from her laptop onto my flash stick. Among her own artwork sits a
well-known drawing. Her friend, Father Claerhout, again enters the cloister as
she describes the sunny afternoon he gave her this artwork after they sat
drawing together.
At three o’clock Sr. Winnie, Sr.
Carmelita, Sr. Blandina and I get into their white city golf. The rhythm of Metro
fm takes us to the hospital where we visit a sick Sr. Sylvie. A chant in Sesotho is recited. I cannot
follow, but know from the rhythm it’s the prayer to their Lady – the Hail Mary.
Five-thirty in the afternoon they have
evening prayer where, amongst others, the Hail Mary and Our Father get recited
again. On Saturdays they spend recreational time on groceries, DSTV, card games
and meditation.
On Sundays they visit other Roman Catholics
in hospital. Then communion is administered to those who wish to accept Jesus. Is
that like being born again? No, we are
all God’s children. But what about hell?
She looks uncertain – it seems to be
an unfamiliar concept. But there is
definitely a devil.
These sisters vote and read the
newspaper. They like Coca-Cola, Mageu
and Hanna Montana. They too sometimes hoot at other cars, take chances crossing
orange robots and neglect to wear safety belts. These women, who surely have fascinated
many and inspired many a religious debates among friends, are not perfect and
their beliefs may not be either.
But they certainly live the greatest
commandment of love and seem to enjoy doing so – undistracted by careers and
glamorous living.
Undistracted also by the joys and struggles
of a family life, financial difficulty and the workplace. Our reality.
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