By Fr. Dufe Joseph Ndzelen OFM Cap.
April 28, 2000 to April 28, 2022
This is a long post. But if you care, and think that this opening reminder is not enough, you could still remind me in the comments section that it is/was long. If you are asked how a priest should look like, what would you propose? What image would you offer? Sometimes I am marvelled at the speed with which my hair turned gray – then I am consoled by the fact that there are some priests who would have even gone for the whitest hairs on high speed, but unfortunately they have not got even a strand of hair on their heads. Once upon a time one of my sisters told me that one girl had told her that I was too handsome to be a priest – that she wondered why I decided to waste my life; “did he have a failed affair”, the girl had insisted to know. In another occasion another lady boldly gathered courage, approached me and said similar things herself directly to me, asking if I will really leave this world without keeping what she called a photocopy. And another still, came with the same worry. I am trying to figure out how many other instances of such calibre have occurred in my life as a priest. At each instance I have felt proud and fulfilled, that at last it had been seen that I really sacrificed a lot, and offered something worthy to God. But does my vocation depend on public opinion? Is my life a parliamentary session? To an extent, yes, to an extent no! I am the people’s priest, so they have the right to their opinion about their property in me. I am proud to be a Catholic priest. Handsome or ugly, people will still try to tell you what you would have been or done apart from what you are and are doing – they would want to be gods, trying to mould you out and away from God’s design into their own image and likeness.
If there is one thing that propels life and zeal in me – and I mean first of all priestly life and zeal – it is positive energy. In my writings I love to call only the names of people who would not strangle me for doing so. I know that some would eat me up if I dare call them by name, yet they remain my goodwill ambassadors. A friend of mine by name Samson Mbilam has constantly asked me how I manage to go about the multitasking things that I do. I tell him it is about positive energy, proper planning and trusting in divine providence – God’s grace builds on the energy that we supply. I am the type that do not care so much about negative energy, which some people say also helps in growth, yet I also send a few of my roots into it, especially when it comes from the dust bin in me where some people dump their troubles and worries. Sometime last year I wrote what I thought was a master-piece – and till today I still believe it was because it is the post of mine that has received the highest reaction so far, all, and I mean all in every sense, positive. Someone found it lovely, copied it and shared in our holy fraternity forum. Someone read it there and commented that not everything should be shared in public. And was like “public!!!” I never commented since I never brought it there in our holy forum. Had it been the comment had come in the spot where I had originally posted it, I would have said a holy word to the holy commentator. Someone who supported the view that not everything should be posted everywhere soon came back to me when I asked him in private: “if there is anything unholy in what I wrote, kindly tell me so I can fix it or I be careful next time”. He told me he was sorry that in his haste to savour from my intellectual largesse he had missed the first sentence. What did this sentence say? It simply allowed people to read their minds into my write-up. It is very amazing how I embrace people who try to smear me, or who mistakenly (mis)read me.
Not long ago a friend with whom, in 1982, I isolated myself in the little forest behind our class 7 and planned on how to go to the minor seminary, challenged me. In reaction to a post I had just made, he jumped in and told me that “some of them” had been observing my wayward behaviour and waiting for the chance to vomit on me. And actually he did dump it on me, but the interesting part was where he ended by recommending that I go back to the seminary. In other words he was telling me that my behaviour was that which he saw in 1982 and that he was so surprised that I had not changed after 40 years. And what do we say about a fool at 40? That he is a fool for life! I am the type that do not breed on junk dropped on me, but I do give myself as a trash can, and that is why I pray for those who drop their junk in the can more than for those who make the sun shine on me, those who curse HIESACAM as they pour their rubbish in their trash can, spit over it and then walk away. This reminds me of some trash cans at the middle of the street cutting through the Mokolo Market in Yaounde, where so many men stop by to urinate. While driving past last that street last year in May, I also saw a lady “standing” and freeing herself there. Why do I care care-less about the negligible few who eat my banana and place the peelings on my path? Was it not Christ who had it said that only the sick need the doctor? Well, he did, I do and I cannot live without those people, yet I appreciate the sun above me more than the junk, positive energy more than negative energy. Positive minds give me the energy to be able to face negative energy.
After 22 years into the priesthood, I don’t doubt, for an inch, what I have done. If I were to be asked what I would want to be, I would propose three things and stick to them: a priest, a priest and a priest. You may ask me why I am not talking about “a Capuchin” but “a priest”! It is because I was ordained into the priesthood today 22 years ago. On 17th September, if we wish, I would tell the Capuchin story, but for now, one thing at a time! It has come to dawn on me that each new day I seem to perform better than the previous days – the grace in me grows with age. My wish is that when I reach 65, that is 13 years from today, I will retire. I will start alerting my superiors from now; they say that constancy impinges and imprints. Do priests retire, your may ask? Yes, even if they don’t, at 65, I will. Something in me tells me that when I would retire I would be more useful to humanity than now that I am running up and down like a gazelle. I would also be more useful to myself – come to think about it! I hope no one defines retirement the Cameroonian way as rendering oneself useless or unproductive. I pity people who go on retirement when they are no more productive, as consumers and as a burden to others.
Sorry, I did not intend to say much today, but as this day kept drawing nearer and nearer, I started wondering what I could say of myself. I was about asking the wife of Moses Lavngwa, Lady Seemndze Ita Nawom to lend me her pen, but someone deprived her of this privilege. Yet she is not yet free from my hook, though. Her pen is erudite. But who displaced Nawainsi of Noi of this privilege? Yesterday morning Fr. Mark Ndifor, the great and only Cameroonian Capuchin poet, posted this reflection on our Capuchin Forum. When I begged for his permission to use it today, he told me that he too had found it in their own clergy forum of Kenya and had thought to share. That is how God answered my puzzle and I share it as virgin as it came. While on a telephone call, Fr. Mark told me that he would like to read my life-story. I think this means that I should start collating all these things that I keep throwing left and right into a book. As for my life, my I would start penning it down and picking some of these bits and pieces and putting them together when I retire at 65 – only if God leaves me till then. Here is what Fr. Mark posted:
MY PERSONAL OPINION
TOPIC: I AM A CATHOLIC PRIEST AND SHE SAID, “THANK YOU FATHER”.
When I went to renew my drivers’ license yesterday, the woman there gave me a form to fill. She was silently gazing at the form as I filled it, until I got to the “date of birth”. When I filled my accurate date of birth, she looked amazed and exclaimed, “Sir, is that your true date of birth or are you using it just for official purposes?” I said “no; that’s my actual date of birth.” She said, “impossible; you look years older than this your real age. You are my junior, but just take a look at yourself and myself.” I refused to be dragged into that discussion, but she persisted, “sir, is your wife or family troubling you?” I said “no.” “Are you passing through difficult moments?” She asked, “you look old and burdened...” I said, “yes; I am burdened with the burden of souls; as I speak to you, I am worried about a family that lost their parents; I am troubled because I have to look for funds to pay the fees of so many orphaned children in my school. I have sermons to write and there are souls that I feed daily on Facebook. I have no wife, no child, no house, but I bear the burdens of families and the society. Madam, I am a Catholic priest and I look older because I face things I don’t discuss with anyone but my God.” She turned and said, “Thank you Father.”
See, some might feel that the life of a priest is flowery, sweet and without burdens, after all, “he is childless and wife-less.” Some have concluded that his car entails a life with no scars. Some have sadly said that the priest is exempt from the distractions, frustrations and troubles of life because he is not married. Some have desired to become priests because of the aroma of the food emitting from the priest’s kitchen. Some have said that the life of priest is stress-free. But I wish to say that the life of a priest is like that beautiful rose that has thorns all around it. Priesthood is beautiful, but it comes with its thorns and burdens which so many persons don’t see. Pray for your priest and don’t prey on him with your tongue. See, the priest also cries; he faces temptations and trials; he has his pains, sorrows, groanings and weaknesses that he doesn’t discuss. And as the shepherd, the searchlight of the evil ones is constantly focused on him.
See, when a priest closes his door, all that is left for him is himself and his God; so if he is not anchored on God, his boat of life will begin to sink as chronic loneliness and temptations take their tolls on him. Pray for him and don’t forget to tell him, “thank you Fr.” She said “thank you Fr.” because she understood that the age of any Catholic priest you encounter is not an immunity to the burdens, trials, temptations, stress, hurdles and crosses he must carry. Your priest is wife-less, childless, but not purposeless, and that is why he sometimes looks older than his age. To be a Catholic priest is not a child’s play. To detest life’s greatest pleasures in order to take up the higher pleasures of serving God as his “priest” is not by any one’s power, but God’s grace. Nobody is perfect, and that priest called to the order of Melchizedek is not excluded from that imperfection. Today, tell a Catholic priest, “thank you Fr.”
Your servant,
@Fr. Albert Nwosu
Let me continue. You may think I am gone. No! But before you jump to tell me “Thank you Wo Milan”, listen to what caught my attention in the second but one paragraph of Fr. Albert’s reflection. These days, social media is preaching against domestic violence. I have this friend who used to batter the wife, sometimes badly, and the following day would start crying seriously, wondering if he was actually the one. Once I was told that he had done it again. I called him for a drink. As we sat over our drink sharing pleasantries, I broke the ice block and asked: “So you laid your hand on her again?” Before the last word dropped from my mouth, a stream of tears gushed out from my eyes. I think I last shed similar tears when at 6 my dad bribed me with a 25frs, as the deal was, in order to remove a jigger from my foot. Not even when I was given serious flogging while I was in class 7, for stealing garden eggs, did such tears show up. The tears I had been preparing to shed on the day my mother or father will die, all came out – or so I thought – as I shared a drink with a wife batterer. Know what? The man also burst into tears! Here were two men, a priest and his friend, crying over their bottles of beer, because of the actions of this man on the wife. Had the bar tender entered he would have been shocked. This was not a confessional booth, but a bar. This is precisely where the miracle was made. Till date, I have never heard – at least to the best of the lobes hanging on both sides of my head – that the man misbehaved again.
Are you wondering why I am called Fara Wo Milan? Well, one thing with me is that I am called many things. The other day one of my kids was surprised how for years she had never known that I am also called Ruka. Anyone one can call me anything as long as that makes us feel fee with each other, for freedom is the highest-valued gift from God that one can treasure. Some have called me “Saint”. Well, if that makes them free with me, fine and good. But what does it take to become a saint? Sometime earlier in 2021 I told my superior that I will be a saint. I went ahead asking him to start taking every detail of my life seriously. I said this just shortly after COVID-19 mercilessly snatched off 2 of our saintly brothers – it could have been me, I thought. When my superior continued to gaze at me with his wide-open mouth I cleared the file by reminding him that they should concentrate more on the negative aspects about me, because I already have more than enough positive testimonies – and I meant it. The process of sainthood is not valid without the role of, and data from the devil’s advocate’s book. The devil’s advocate is someone officially appointed to take part in the process of sainthood, usually a bishop or priest, and whose role is to bring up points that could counter the process of sainthood. The devil’s advocate concentrates on negative energy. If I struggle 88% to radiate positive energy I pity those who feel (or presumably so) the weight of my unfortunate 12% negative energy, over which I fight with most of my energy, only trusting at last on divine mercy. Lord, have mercy on me!
In the early days of my formation, I had thought, like many, that a priest was one free of/from wife and children. 22 years has proven me wrong, wronger and wrongest. I have hundreds of sons and daughters. Sometimes by head becomes hot and kicks because of these souls that I have been leading with trembling hands. One of my sons is Fr. John Bintum. I gave birth to him when he approached me and asked me to give him a retreat on the occasion of his 40th anniversary into the priesthood. I took the bull by the horn. The birthing was not easy, but he came out. Another is Fr. Joe Akem, little of whom I know, but as his 40th anniversary of priesthood approached he came to me asking me to be the preacher of the day. I even own whole families to which I have given birth. Permit me not name any hear, but Shey and Yaa banmbuh know what I am talking about. Voila! When I was being sent on mission from Big Babanki to South Africa in the August of 2019, Cynthia wrote and read a poem which made me weep internally. After all men do not weep in public – except over a bottle of beer. I am still searching where I left it, and praying that when my computer crashed shortly after that I must have dropped it somewhere online – the wider field that I plough with ease. Someone might be wondering why I am not in South Africa today but in Loreto. Read the story of Jonah. That is how it happened. Aha, I just got up this morning to read from one of my beloved kids. As you would guess from the tone and emotions, it must be a female handwriting:
Les anniversaires vont et viennent mais vous restez ferme et vous servez volontierement Dieu votre créateur
22 years not 22 days
Unto the cold area
A warm storm now comes
Announcing the arrival
Oh how blessed Shisong is
The land where only honey flows
Now watered with baptism
he grows and suddenly a voice calls
Yet answering was the best thing he did
And on this faithful day...
My father said, yes Lord
I come to do your will
He that cleanses the foxes holes
and catches the swallows on the nest
For the son of man
to have a place to lay down
Yes the journey of 22
isn’t easy
He leads with example
Oh my perfect living saint
A Melchizedek of our generation
Taa wo Milan
Daddylos may your source
of living water never run dry
Hip hip hip hip hip
Hurreeeay hurrrrrrayyyy
Itz exact 12:00 a.m.
Now my daddy is a big boy
Happy anniversary to you
that heal the wounds in people’s hearts
and prayer for the needy
you give it freely
That gentle smile
that heals the sick
and the soft 22 years of service
The ministry is blessed
Mbuluf is honoured
Kinsenjam is blessed
Shisong is privileged
Sop is favored
Kinkaari is unique
Kumbo is anointed
Cameroon has just the best
Fara wo Milan
Happiest
22 years not 22 days
Not 22 seconds nor 22 days
But 22 years
And my brother priest nailed it here:
Happy 22nd Anniversary of your priesthood. You have since then done your utmost and continue to do so to serve the Lord with joy and gladness. They have been years of deep discovery of Him who chose you and called you to friendship with Him. Definitely, you’ve had profound discovery that the priesthood is a communion of union and friendship with Christ, His Church, with your fellow brothers in the presbyterate and with the people of God. In your endeavour to faithful service, you’ve experienced the good, the bad and the ugly. Thank God for all these, His love and mercy surpass everything. On this day, I add my voice and prayers of thanks and gratitude to God for this precious gift to you, unworthy as you are, to stand at His altar to raise the cup of salvation to Him to draw not only many to God, but for your salvation too. May His grace never fail you. May His love and mercy never extinguish from your daily experiences, and may your weaknesses never discourage you from doing His will. Happy priestly anniversary, weey. United in prayers!
Now you can also thank me, Fr Dufe Joseph Ndzelen, while mentioning my name. But before that, I thank you all who have made me the priest that I am. There is no value in a music that has no listeners, admirers and dancers. Tell me that you want to listen more, admire more and dance more, and I will play the more. It is the music of God, I received without charged and I am determined to give without charge even till my retirement age 65, and above, till death will do me part. Lord, may I live to die your priest. Amen.
