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We recently received pictures from the Children's Rosary at Holy Name Church in Springfield, Massachusetts. This group had their first meeting on November 21, 2025. They meet on the third Friday of the month.
Thursday, May 21, 2026
Children's Rosary at Holy Name Church in Springfield, Massachusetts USA
We recently received pictures from the Children's Rosary at Holy Name Church in Springfield, Massachusetts. This group had their first meeting on November 21, 2025. They meet on the third Friday of the month.
Wednesday, May 20, 2026
Arrival in Assisi
Asher Kaufman, at 18, set out on June 28 for a yearlong trip to help spread the Children's Rosary in Europe and Africa. He spent the months of July, August and the first two weeks in September in France. He arrived in Uganda on September 15. From Uganda he traveled by car to Rwanda on September 28. After a week in Rwanda there was once more a return for more travel in Uganda. On October 11 he arrived in Tanzania and on October 26 traveled to Kenya. A visit for three weeks to Madagascar followed on November 7 and then South Africa. He spent several weeks in Cameroon and then the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). Angola, South Africa and Mozambique followed. There was a relatively short journey through Botswana, Namibia and Lesotho. This dispatch chronicles his departure from South Africa a short visit to Paris and arrival in Assisi, Italy.
As I sat at Johannesburg O.R. Tambo airport and awaited the start of the boarding process at the gate, I reflected on my time in Africa which had lasted for nearly six months. I had been to eastern, central, and southern Africa. I had spent more time in this continent than I have in any other excepting my own. It had been a beautiful and adventurous experience, one I was profoundly grateful for. I had spent time in small villages and cities; in mountains and plains; in deserts and forests; in parishes and schools.
When I first embarked on this African trip from Paris back
in September, I did not even know the full scope of the countries that I would
be visiting. That is to say, many of the countries simply were added along the
way. For instance, I did not know I would be going to Mozambique until a few
weeks before I arrived there. Obtaining visas and figuring out transport had
not always been easy, but with my guardian angel’s help, I managed. Going to
many countries in Africa gives you an experience that is a bit difficult to
understand until once you are actually there yourself. Many things one hears
about from afar: the safaris, the villages, the colorful clothing and intricate
dancing. Many other things serve as ready deterrents for anyone actually
planning a trip: the malaria, the inadequate road infrastructure, the lack of
public transit (in some places), the poverty, the wildlife, healthcare
services. And as you might expect, the true experience lies somewhere in the
middle. It is true that the pace of life, the diet, the ways of getting around
are all things that require getting used to. However, it is also the case that
none of these will impede anyone’s having a memorable and very authentic
experience. Meeting real people, staying with them, eating at their table,
visiting their churches and communities were all some of my favorite parts, and
of course none of those involve simply following a guidebook and staying at a
hotel. In fact, I only spent a half of one day on safari during those six
months (it was at Queen Elizabeth Park in Uganda). When Fr. Cleophus in Kenya
remarked on how it was such a pity that we would not be visiting the Tsavo Park
on this visit of mine, I remarked that I had come to see children, not animals.
“Good evening, ladies and gentleman. We will now begin the
boarding process,” came the voice over the loudspeaker. We queued up, boarded,
were seated, took off, and watched as Africa slid away into the impenetrable
darkness below.
About eleven and a half hours later, the plane coasted to a
smooth landing at Charles de Gaulle International Airport in Paris. I deplaned,
went through passport control (which has now become completely automated for
visa-free passports) and collected my bags. In the process of trying to find
the proper exit for the rideshare rides, I ran into more than one person who
ended up asking me for directions on where to go. The Paris
airport is actually one where one needs to be careful because it is easier than
one may think to get baited by some seemingly helpful gentleman into being
taken to a less-frequented area of the airport where you are offered a ride for
wildly above the government-fixed taxi fare to downtown. There is a
well-organized gang that operates this racket. They have baiters to ask people
if they need a taxi and then pretend to take them to one, drivers who pose as
the taxi drivers, and lookouts who keep their eyes peeled for airport police or
security agents so that the men can scatter at the first sign of trouble. They
depend on your being disoriented from a long flight, not knowing the local
language (i.e., just speaking English), and failing to notice the signage
around you. The first time I was in the Paris with my mother at the airport I
was led by one of these baiters down onto a different floor entirely to a
parking lot completely devoid of people where he left me with a driver who told
us the ride would cost €150. In fact, the government fixes the price of taxis
at €56 or €65 from CDG to downtown, depending on which side of the river you
are going to. A Parisian taxi driver I talked to described the men I spoke of
above as the “mafia” and said they could even become dangerous. One way to know
the difference between a legitimate taxi and a fake one, the taxi driver told
me, is that a real taxi driver will never approach you and ask you if you want
a ride.
“It’s bad taste,” he said. Anywhere else, I would have
dismissed that as violating the capitalist principle of going after the profit,
but in a place like France with its book length set of society manners, I can
believe it.
Not wanting to fall in with any of these men, however, I
booked an Uber from my phone. Nevertheless, I still managed to end up on the
wrong floor (through my own fault, though). Thankfully, the Uber driver was
kind enough to wait the three minutes needed for me to charge down the stairs
to the correct floor.
Soon I was on my way. The driver and I made some small talk
along the way; he was not originally an Uber driver, having only done the job
for four months. His real job, he told me, was working for a company that
produced plane meals. Skychefs or GateGourmet, I don’t remember which.
When we pulled up in front of the parish, I called Fr.
Duloisy.
“Hello, Asher,” he said.
“Hello, Father,” I replied in French. “I’ve just arrived.”
“Why, then, Asher, just come in. You know the code,” he
responded as though I had only just returned from a quick walk to the bakery
for some croissants and coffee.
It was true. I did know the code and somehow had not
forgotten it in all the months that had passed since my last visit. As I came
down the steps into the presbytery (yes, it is down the steps
and not up; it’s a strange 1960s construction), I really did feel almost as
though no time had gone by since my days at the Foyer Jean Bosco when I would
commute down to the parish to serve Masses on the weekends. The same group of
tourists languidly awaiting in disorderly fashion in front of the church the
arrival of their tour guide. The same traffic noisily traversing the traffic
circle in front of the house. The same crisp early morning air that I grew to
love about Paris. I breathed a deep breath of satisfaction. I was, if not
exactly home, at least on familiar ground.
Fr. Duloisy brought me back to reality.
“Will you serve the Mass?” he asked.
I looked at my watch. The 9:00 a.m. Mass was in about twenty
minutes. I had not showered or changed, but at least I was wearing a collared
shirt and slacks. At Mass, I saw the old Saturday morning regulars I had known,
still strong in their daily Mass attendance.
Afterward, after doing some bush trimming (Fr. Duloisy never
shies away from the necessary tasks for the parish), he showed me around some
of the newer improvements he had brought about in the parish, including redoing
the flooring on the altar in the lower sanctuary, which eliminated the tripping
hazards that had almost caused me to fall forward headlong with the tall,
silver processional Cross on one Sunday when I served Mass during my last stay.
I reminded Fr. Duloisy of this event, which he himself had not forgotten.
That evening, there was the Saturday night Mass. Just before
this Mass, I saw Alain, a good friend of Fr. Duloisy’s and also a friend of
mine that I had gotten to know well during my last visit. He is a renowned
singer who has performed all over the world for a French cultural institute.
The three of us went out to visit a parishioner who had
invited us over to see his house in the Bois de Boulogne, a very exclusive and
wealthy enclave just west of Paris. This parishioner had an out-of-the-way,
unassuming house on a small side street dinner at a quiet restaurant in the
seventeenth arrondissement not far from the church. The seventeenth is not much
of a tourist area, despite its proximity to the Arc de Triomphe, but it is one
of my favorite areas of Paris due to its elegant Haussmanian architecture,
charming restaurants, and intimate neighborhood feel. Unlike Montmartre, which
is busting at the seams with foreign tourists, the seventeenth is a real
Parisian neighborhood, and you can feel it.
The parishioner we went to visit was an artist and had a
formidable collection of art that only he knows how he managed to obtain. It
included works from his grandfather, small statues from more than one famous
sculptor, and paintings that were from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.
In the center of the house (which was itself of a wonderfully charming
nineteenth century style) was a small courtyard with potted plants that was
completely shielded from the street. Really a delightful house.
For dinner, Fr. Duloisy, Alain, and I went to a local
restaurant where we had our reunion dinner. It was wonderfully spent, even
though Alain had the misfortune to have some meat juice spilled on his evening
jacket by a waitress.
The next morning, after an early breakfast, I set off for
Assisi where my Italian classes were set to begin the following day. Alain was
kind enough to drive me to the airport.
Upon arriving, I was quite literally shocked by the
stringent weight and size control measures Air France (of all airlines!) had
put in place to make sure no one was bringing anything remotely overweight or
oversized on the plane. All of my carry-on luggage had to be under 12 kg, I
found out (after I had already sent my very underweight checked bags through).
Every passenger had to put his bags on a scale and fit them in a box to make
sure they were the right size. After seeing my bag ring up at over 14 kg, I was
sent back to the check-in desk where I was told I needed to have the bag
checked for 80 euros. Beginning to feel like I was being robbed in broad
daylight with my eyes wide open, I decided to see do what I could to avoid this
hefty fee. After combing through the bag for anything I could possibly jettison
and cramming everything I could in the various pockets of my cargo pants, I was
helped by the very nice employees who let me through with a bag that still was
most of the way to 13 kg. After passing through the security line, I proceeded
to put everything in my pockets back in my bag.
Otherwise, my travel went smoothly. The flight was on time
and proceeded without a hitch. At the Florence airport, I was able to easily
board the tram that went directly to the Santa Maria Novella train station
where I boarded a train bound for Foligno with a stop at Assisi.
That evening, I arrived at the Casa Papa Giovanni, the guesthouse where I am staying for the entire month of May while I take Italian courses here. It was a relief to arrive at this comfortable, centrally located, welcoming place after a couple of long days of travel. I met a very nice young Australian man at dinner, and after dinner he invited me to take a walk with him through the town, where preparations for a medieval festival called the Calendimaggio were in the fever pitch of preparation. I’ll explain more about the Calendimaggio later.
After getting a very good night of sleep, the next morning,
it was time for my first Italian lesson. I was actually quite excited to begin
formally learning a language I had long admired from a distance, so to speak.
The instruction, even for us beginners, was from the first moments, completely
in Italian. The teachers made it known that they would not be willing to use
English at all in their classes, even if just for translation purposes (e.g.
“What’s ‘cup’ in Italian?”). Instead they we were obliged to stumble about with
these strange new words, often resorting to a kind of clumsy sign language, or
some badly disguised Spanish. But within a couple of days the wisdom of their
approach began to show itself.
Without recourse to an English crutch, our minds
began to latch on to some Italian phrases, especially those needed for
inquiring after more. We had to rely on our rapidly increasing Italian
vocabulary to make our way through the lessons, and the whole experience felt
rather like a stranded sailor who, after much flailing and useless kicking,
finally begins to grasp about the edges of the rocks and then, slowly but
surely, hauls himself up onto dry land.
Learning a language is really not a very linear process, and
there are often days that feel very good and others (like when one is sick)
when the last thing you want to do is fight your way through the unbroken
snowdrift of an unfamiliar language with its foreign pronunciation. Some words
or concepts only require one lesson and stick immediately while others require
many reiterations and mistakes before they begin to stick, but in the end,
seeing yourself go from a clueless babe to a conversant participant in a
language is such a beautiful experience, it is hard to compare it to any other.
One realizes that one has not only unlocked random workbook sentences and
phrases but a whole world of places and books. It is enchanting, really, and
often you will find yourself wanting to read a book in this foreign language,
no matter its subject, for no other reason than the sheer enjoyment of reading
and understanding thoughts and sentences in words and syntax other than your
own. I have often felt that it is rather like what one would feel like if one
were to open a trap door and enter another world, full of its own places and
people, all different from our own.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Of course, as I said,
before the euphoria comes many days and weeks and often months and years of
arduous toil in the desert of workbook sentences and phrases, verb
conjugations, vocabulary memorization, and all the other banal tasks involved
with taking on a new language.
This indeed was the work to which I was now consigned to
spend a month engaged. There were only three of us starting the course on the
same day, and we were all beginners. One of my classmates is a Tanzanian nun
named Sr. Agnes, and the other is an Irish scholar named Catherine.
Having been signed up for the super intensive course, I had
afternoon one-on-one lessons in addition to the morning classes with the
others. One day a week I was given with no afternoon lesson so that I might
have some free time to walk about and explore.
One of the great benefits of taking classes while being here is that the entire surroundings serve as a classroom. When one steps foot into town, reads a history plaque, orders food in a restaurant, attends a Mass, converses with strangers, reads a book in the guesthouse library, it is constant immersion in Italian.
To see all of Asher's dispatches from his journey click HERE
Tuesday, May 19, 2026
Children's Rosary Begins at St. Gabriel's Parish Langkaku in the Shendam Diocese, Nigeria
We received a lovely email from Fr. Paul Miapkwap from Nigeria. He reported that he was able to introduce the Children's Rosary at St Gabriel's Parish Langkaku in the Shendam Diocese. The Children's Rosary now meets each Tuesday evening at 4PM at the Church. They were given rosaries and the group leader received a Children's Rosary T-Shirt.
Sunday, May 17, 2026
69,405 Handmade Rosaries Begin their Journey to Africa
These barrels will begin a four month sea voyage on May 29. The rosaries will help our Children's Rosary groups in Uganda and Rwanda! A special thank you to all the rosary makers who put their love and time into making these rosaries.
Thank you to the sponsors of each barrel. In some cases one person was the financial wings to bring a barrel to the children in Africa. In other cases multiple people contributed to the transport costs.
Thank you to Mary Ann Swain who worked with great care to packed each barrel. This process of preparing 9 barrels takes months. But this shipment represents a victory for Our Blessed Mother. In her month of May, this shipment leaves for Africa which will allow thousands of children to be able to pray the rosary holding a beautiful handmade rosary.
A list of contents of the 9 barrels:
69,405 handmade rosaries
760 Children's Rosary books
630 Color Children's Rosary pamphlets
180 Child Consecration books
120 A Soul Prepared through Suffering Books
180 Miraculous Medals
195 Scapulars
9 Children's Rosary T shirts
If you are interested in sponsoring a barrel or box click HERE to donate.
Saturday, May 16, 2026
First Pictures from the Children's Rosary in Alexandria, Egypt
Today we received these pictures from the Children's Rosary at the Maronite Church of St. Therese in Alexandria, Egypt. The pictures were forwarded to us from Bishop George Chihane from Egypt. He had already begun a Children's Rosary in the Cathedral of St. Joseph in Cairo. The news of this second Children's Rosary in Egypt was unexpected and very exciting.
Friday, May 15, 2026
Novena to the Holy Spirit 2026
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Thursday, May 14, 2026
Wednesday, May 13, 2026
Journey through South Africa and Lesotho
Asher Kaufman, at 18, set out on June 28 for a yearlong trip to help spread the Children's Rosary in Europe and Africa. He spent the months of July, August and the first two weeks in September in France. He arrived in Uganda on September 15. From Uganda he traveled by car to Rwanda on September 28. After a week in Rwanda there was once more a return for more travel in Uganda. On October 11 he arrived in Tanzania and on October 26 traveled to Kenya. A visit for three weeks to Madagascar followed on November 7 and then South Africa. He spent several weeks in Cameroon and then the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). Angola, South Africa and Mozambique followed. There was a relatively short journey through Botswana and Namibia. This dispatch chronicles his return to South Africa and journey to Lesotho.
After arriving back in Johannesburg from our exciting trip to Namibia and Botswana, there was still one place left to go, one more expedition to set forth on. That, of course, was Lesotho. We have never had any Children’s Rosary groups in Lesotho that we know of, and yet it is a very Catholic country and one with a very profound and developed spirituality.
A family member of Gail’s named Pavel generously agreed to drive us into Lesotho on short notice, and so the three of us set out a day after arriving back from Namibia.
Unlike Namibia, Lesotho is a mountainous and chilly nation, often called the “Switzerland of Africa.” And it is true that the natural, rocky beauty of Lesotho is quite impressive. It is the kind of country that seems built for a camping trip. I found the weather to be surprisingly pleasant, rather like a crisp New England October day and not overly cold, even in the early mornings.
Our drive (as you might expect by this this point) took rather longer than we had anticipated. We only arrived in Mohale’s Hoek (the diocese we were staying in) at about 3:00 or 4:00 in the afternoon, and we had left around 8:00 or 9:00 a.m.
We were hosted by Bishop John Tlhomola, the bishop of Mohale’s Hoek, and by Sister Elizabeth, a nun who also worked at the chancery. His Excellency very generously gave us two rooms within the compound where he lives.
Sr. Elizabeth was instrumental to the organization of the events that transpired during our visit. In fact, on the very afternoon of our arrival, we immediately went straight for a local school that had just finished their school day. In the late afternoon chill, we stood outside with them and spoke about the Rosary. I found that their participation was quite admirable and their interest high, which of course I was pleased to encounter.
The next morning was Sunday. We had morning Mass at a local parish, which was replete with dancing and singing. I was able to recognize some of the words in Sesotho as they seemed to bear a resemblance to those of the Setswana language we had heard in Botswana. I was later told that they came from the same language family and that speakers of either language could understand speakers of the other with relative ease.
We were given the opportunity to speak after the Mass, and the animators of the children were so very interested by our address on the Rosary (which by this point had come through much refining after various visits in Botswana and Namibia) that they gathered the children in a nearby grotto afterward for a longer session with us.
We crossed the border almost immediately as the towns we had been visiting sit right on that demarcation, but the drive afterward stretched on longer than I think we had anticipated. Those of you who read my last post will assuredly be familiar with our overnight journey through Botswana and Namibia that occurred on my last road trip. Even though this trip was not through the night, nevertheless I do recall feeling so tired as the evening wore on that I realized at some point after 10:00 p.m. that we desperately needed to keep the rather pitifully uninteresting conversation we were in the midst of going so as not to fall completely asleep. I was worried even for Pavel, the man who had volunteered to drive us. Thankfully, the conversation continued, and everyone remained awake until we crossed safely into Johannesburg. It had been a long day, and I was glad to not have to set my alarm for the next morning.
The next few days were, of course, my last in South Africa. We remained quite occupied, what with meetings and distribution of materials.
On Tuesday, we went up to Pretoria with Cecilia from that archdiocese. We visited the Cathedral where we spoke with some people from the chancery. There, they mentioned that they had interest in organizing a Rosary procession in October such as they had had in Pretoria in years gone by. We thought this would be a wonderful idea, especially since the children of the Children's Rosary were to lead the Rosary for all the attendees. After this, by a blessed chance, we happened to see the archbishop as we went into the chancery. We were not supposed to see him that day, but we did, and we were able to give him materials concerning the Children's Rosary that we had promised to give. Overall, it was a gratifying day and I look forward to what will happen with the Children's Rosary in the Archdiocese of Pretoria.
On Wednesday night, we had a dinner with some of the members of the Lebanese Maronite Catholic Church in South Africa. Thanks to Gail’s coordination, they would soon be praying a cross-country Rosary with a Children’s Rosary group in Lebanon. We saw Br. Ramzi, Joumana, and Fr. Saade of Our Lady of Cedars Catholic Church. It was a lovely dinner, and I was so glad that they are part of our South African Children’s Rosary team.
Interestingly, just before we entered the restaurant, we were still standing in the parking lot when we heard much shouting and saw people running. A group of store workers gathered around a car and began blocking and kicking it. The car drove towards the exit but then was blocked by a car coming in, and whoever was inside was made to get out. As the scene developed, people began running from all corners to see what was happening and to help in collaring those in the car. Apparently, as we learned from a coffee shop worker as she walked back from the scene, the would-be escapees were pickpocketers who had managed to make off with some goods from people on the opposite side of the strip mall; they had been spotted, and thus the chase that I witnessed.
The next day, Thursday, Gail and I visited the printer who was the one printing our Children’s Rosary book locally in South Africa, a wonderful Christian enterprise that incidentally did a very nice job printing our book. That evening, we met with Fr. Deneys Williamson, the head of the Catechetical Department for Archdiocese of Johannesburg. Fr. Williamson was a very delightful priest with a thoughtful, refined manner of speaking and very open and easy demeanor. He had helped us in making sure the Children’s Rosary was officially approved to go in the Archdiocese.
We wrapped up the evening by meeting Fr. Jean-Marie, the chancellor for the archdiocese, and someone else who has greatly helped us, for dinner. Fr. Jean-Marie had helped us, for instance, get a brief opportunity to meet Cardinal Brislin back in December 2025, and he had also connected me with the vicar for the Archdiocese of Kinshasa when I was in that neighborhood.
The next day, Friday, was my last in South Africa. The main event for that day was the brunch that Gail worked so hard to put together with all of the Children’s Rosary team leads from the Johannesburg area who could attend where we had some time to get to know each other and also some strategic discussion on how to implement the groups further in the Archdiocese.
We saw, in the course of things, some of the other tables getting a birthday celebration that included restaurant employees bringing over a cake with a candle and singing a traditional birthday tune while everyone claps along. Somehow my birthday came up in the discussion; Gail said that she had forgotten to send some birthday message back in February and that, in place of that, she would have them come with a cake for me. I was mortified, not the least of which because I felt like a birthday fraud. What should happen if they asked my birthday.
“Well, actually, it’s in February,” I would inevitably answer.
I could see it happening before my eyes.
But yet, nothing of the sort did happen. They brought the cake, sang the song, and everyone loved it, including me.
However, all good things must come to an end, and after the brunch, off we went, Gail and I, to the airport. She dropped me at the check-in desk, and I began the next phase to my trip which would take me back to Europe. How I fared on the journey back to that ancient continent I will leave for the next installment.
To see all of Asher's dispatches from his journey click HERE
Tuesday, May 12, 2026
Children's Rosary Informational Meeting for Portuguese Speakers Sunday May 17th
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We will be having our first Children's Rosary informational Zoom meeting for Portuguese speakers on Sunday, May 17 at
3 p.m. PM Eastern Time
4 p.m. local time in Brazil
8 p.m. local time in Portugal & Angola
9 p.m. local time in Mozambique
Please feel free to invite people who you think might have interest in the Children's Rosary.
Topic: Portuguese Informational Meeting
Time: May 17, 2026 03:00 PM Eastern Time (US and Canada)
Join Zoom Meeting
https://us02web.zoom.us/j/
Time: May 17, 2026 03:00 PM Eastern Time (US and Canada)
Join Zoom Meeting
https://us02web.zoom.us/j/
For more information about the Children's Rosary in Portuguese visit our Portuguese website https://rosariodascriancas.org
Monday, May 11, 2026
Preparing Flowers for Our Blessed Mother
As a special treat for the end of the Children's Rosary meeting, Lourda made special gingerbread cookies for the children.
Here is a video one how to create a home altar:
Sunday, May 10, 2026
First Children's Rosary in Iraq
We are excited to announce that a Children's Rosary is forming in Iraq. The new group will be meeting at the Church of the Immaculate Conception in Qaraqosh (Bakhdida) next to Mosul, Iraq. Fr. Rony Marzina has gathered one hundred and fifty young people age 11-14 who will be forming this new group at the parish. They are shown below.
Saturday, May 9, 2026
Children's Rosary Introduced in the Santa Elena Diocese of Ecuador
We are grateful to Henry Bukenya for traveling from the Archdiocese of Quito to the Diocese of Santa Elena to provide an informational session about the Children's Rosary to catechists at San Juan Buastista Parroquia.
The three hour session was held on Sunday May second and 62 people attended.
Friday, May 8, 2026
Missionary Disciples
Liam, age 4 was also overflowing with joy. He left most of the explaining to the older children but he was unmatched in his delivery of rosaries to those who entered. Thank you to Ethel (shown below) who has been helping the Children's Rosary. She returns to Ghana at the end of May and she will bring with her a missionary box of materials to help start the Children's Rosary at her home parish. Ethel has been studying at UConn Law School and was able to become confirmed at St. Thomas and St Timothy parish at Easter.
Thursday, May 7, 2026
Journey Through Botswana and Namibia
Asher Kaufman, at 18, set out on June 28 for a yearlong trip to help spread the Children's Rosary in Europe and Africa. He spent the months of July, August and the first two weeks in September in France. He arrived in Uganda on September 15. From Uganda he traveled by car to Rwanda on September 28. After a week in Rwanda there was once more a return for more travel in Uganda. On October 11 he arrived in Tanzania and on October 26 traveled to Kenya. A visit for three weeks to Madagascar followed on November 7 and then South Africa. He spent several weeks in Cameroon and then the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC). Angola, South Africa and Mozambique followed. This dispatch chronicles his journey from South Africa to Botswana and through Namibia.
The journey into Botswana and Namibia began on, as I said in the last post, one day after my return from Mozambique. We were set to depart early on the morning of the day appointed. Our group was comprised of a diverse group of faces, Cynthia Stimpel, a former executive for South African Airways who lost her job in 2016 due to her role as a whistleblower in exposing the deep corruption present in the airline. Also on our trip was Dr. Mimi Choon Quinones, a public health professional with the Pan-African Parliament. Of course, Gail Walters and I rounded out the group.
Prior to setting off, we had the perpetually humorous experience of attempting to cram as many bags and suitcases into a small car as one possibly can and the tremendous feeling of satisfaction that comes along with successfully doing so. When we finally pulled out of the driveway, we looked like we were leaving on a cross-country road trip, which in point of fact, we were.
The drive to Gaborone was not slated to be a long one, given that that municipality sites quite near the South African border to the northwest of Johannesburg. However, along the way, some traffic cops informed us that one of the main roads into Botswana was closed due to maintenance work, and so we were forced to divert onto a road of noticeably lesser quality and of greater distance.
Our drive included a great deal of monotony as one might expect; however, there was a generous share of funny and memorable moments, such as when we arrived at the border crossing and found the large trucks parked there for processing nearly alive with monkeys that ran about the parking lot like so many escaped prison convicts intent on enjoying their few hours of freedom. Upon finishing the formalities at the border, we went to drive out, only to realize that there were no clear markings indicating where to proceed to enter Botswana. We drove through what appeared to be a gate, past some trucks, around a corner, and…back to the South African entry! We turned around, made our way back to the parking lot where we were and saw some people who looked like they might be able to tell us where to go. We asked, and they vaguely indicated in the direction we had tried. Encouraged, we attempted going in that direction again.
“Perhaps we missed a turn or something,” someone suggested.
We found another gate opening we had not seen before, leading into what seemed to be a truck waiting area. We continued through, found the exit, followed the ensuing road, and found ourselves…back at the South African entry!
Really becoming frustrated (but also secretly quite amused) by this point, we saw a lady walking along the side of the road. We asked for indications to the Botswanan border, but she only vaguely indicated in the direction of the building we had started from. Finally, the third attempt yielded the desired results, and soon we were cruising along the road into Botswana.
It was not a particularly stunning landscape that greeted us, but rather a wooded, grassy landscape set against an overcast, slightly wet day.
We drove to the Diocesan offices in Gaborone, where we were met by Fr. Ketshepileone Puoeng and Tapiwa Mokoka who is in charge of children’s affairs for the diocese. They took us to a parish of children who were waiting for us that same evening, where we were treated to a carefully curated event of prepared music, messages, opportunities for us to address those present, and gifts prepared by the the children. It was really quite an event, but it was the first of many such.
In the evening, we took Fr. Puoeng and Tapiwa, as well as another priest friend, out to a local restaurant for dinner where we enjoyed some nice fellowship time.
The following day included a morning Mass some distance from Gaborone itself where we were able to address the faithful at the end. We then had to exit the premises rather quickly in order to make it to one last parish in time (as was rapidly becoming a common theme on this trip), they had been waiting for us for a while.
What ensued afterward was rather interesting. We went to a shopping mall where we ended up having to wait on something (the specifics of which evade me at the moment) which so delayed us that we decided, instead of driving part of the way to Windhoek (for that was our next destination) and staying the night in Charles Hill, near the border with Namibia, to instead drive through the night to Windhoek in order to avoid being late for our meeting with Fr. Matthias, the OMI priest hosting us in Namibia.
I had never driven through a night before, and so I was rather looking forward to this experience. The road we were traversing was remote, to say the least, and downright isolated and forsaken, to say a bit more. It contained treacherous potholes, which we had anticipated, but also something far more dangerous and difficult to manage: cows. There were a number of cows and bulls grazing along the side of the road, and they would not infrequently take it into their minds to traverse the roads, or, what was worse, simply stand or kneel in the middle of it. The effect on night driving is a profound one. One minute you are cruising along at a comfortable 100 kph with a clear road ahead; then suddenly the headlights pick out a large brown cow just in front of you. Then two more. You’re forced to swerve to the side and slow way down. Sometimes the cows were so numerous and blocked the whole road such that we were forced to come to a complete stop and wait for them to move.
At one point, it began to rain, further impeding the visibility. Then a large attachment to one of the windshield wipers flew off, rendering the one on the right-hand side (that is, the one that enables the driver to see) completely ineffective. Thankfully, the rain stopped, so we just wiped off the windscreen with a cloth and continued resolutely forward.
Finally, around morningtime, we arrived at the Namibian border crossing. We succeeded in coming through that border with less confusion than we had endured when going into Botswana.
The landscape in Namibia was markedly different from that of Botswana. It was noticeably hotter, drier, and much less vegetated in Namibia. The road stretched on in a straight line through the empty desert with depressing monotony. Everyone’s cell service stopped working once we entered Namibia, but thankfully we had already loaded directions to Windhoek. These we followed, and then we stopped off at KFC to use their WiFi to load more precise directions to the OMI house where we were staying.
By 1:00 p.m., we rolled into the expansive OMI property where we would be staying. We had the opportunity to shower and change, much needed after our journey, and then we went into town to meet with Fr. Matthias, the OMI provincial who was hosting us.
Gail had already corresponded with Fr. Matthias before about the Children’s Rosary efforts, but this was the opportunity to hand over materials and coordinate efforts with everyone present. The next day, we visited a kindergarten run by the sisters right next to our OMI residence as well as a parish in town in order to begin the process of starting Children’s Rosary groups.
To see all of Asher's dispatches from his journey click HERE
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