Asher Kaufman, age 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. Asher grew up helping the Children's Rosary and participating in it. He now is helping to spread the Children's Rosary to more parishes and schools. He is also discerning a vocation to the priesthood and has applied to the seminary through the Archdiocese of Hartford. Please keep both his trip and his vocation in your prayers. He has been sharing dispatches from the trip.
"Fr. Cleophus’s and my journey to Dar es Salaam began on the evening of Tuesday, October 21. We decided to take a bus because the price was reasonable and the quality of the ride was not bad. The only downside was the length of travel time, nearly nine hours.
Our bus left around 4;00 pm from a town called Himo, which Fr. Emmanuel drove us to. We stopped once to stretch our legs, but otherwise the journey was continuous. We arrived in Dar es Salaam past midnight, and then I called an Uber to pick us up and take us to where we would stay. The Uber delayed some time in arriving, but it was not expensive, even at that late hour.
I had booked, on Fr. Sheejan’s recommendation, lodging at a place called the Atiman House. This is the house of the Missionaries of Africa, often called the “White Fathers.” They were so called because their first mission was in Algiers, in North Africa. In order to more easily integrate into the local population, the priests began wearing a long white cloak like the native gandoura. It was they who introduced the practice of wearing the rosary around the neck in order to imitate the misbaha necklaces.
I had called the priest in charge of the Atiman House to be sure we would be able to come at such a late hour, and he had replied in the affirmative. However, as we rolled up to the residence and not a single light peeped out from its dark and closed windows, I began to have a sense of foreboding. I observed that padlocks were securely fastened on the gates, that no one stirred on the other side, and that overall, it seemed there was no way in. Someone across the street called out that to get in, one needed to walk down the driveway next to the building, which I did. A tall, locked gate greeted my glance. I walked back to Fr. Cleophus and the Uber driver with a kind of desperation. We had just taken a nine-hour bus ride, it was one in the morning, and we had a meeting with the archbishop in a few hours; this was no time to be left without a bed to sleep in!
Blessedly, the Uber driver accompanied me again down the driveway and, less bashfully than I, called out if anyone was there. Someone, who seemed to a guard or handyman who had been sleeping near the gate just out of sight, roused and came to open it. Quickly we were brought inside to find a small parking lot and a multistory building just on the other side. We were escorted there and led up a staircase and into a hallway where a poster hung on the wall with a list of names. Next to two of these names, keys were taped for corresponding rooms. I observed that these two names were mine and Fr. Cleophus’s. Needless to say, I was much relieved. The guard showed us our rooms, and we prepared to go to sleep.
We had not yet had the meeting with the archbishop, but already some important challenges had been overcome.
The next morning, Fr. Cleophus and I found it necessary to sleep past the breakfast time of the house, which was at 7:00 am. We instead went to get breakfast at a small restaurant nearby. Though I thought Dar es Salaam was hot (and it was), somehow this little restaurant managed to be so hot and stuffy inside that it made the weather outside seem like a crisp autumn day in New England. Despite the hard work of a small ceiling fan, I found myself sweating profusely as I ate.
Once we arrived at the archdiocesan offices, we found many others on hand to meet with the archbishop that morning, including priests and nuns. Once these had each met with him, we were shown in. Archbishop Thaddeus Ruwa’ichi turned out to be a very pleasant man, friendly and interested in what we had to present. Once we had explained to him a bit about our work and the apostolate we hoped to spread further in his archdiocese, he expressed support for the movement and committed himself to introducing it more in his Metropolitan See. He accepted our gift of some rosaries and materials, and, after discussing more about the implementation and exchanging contact information, we left feeling satisfied that the meeting had gone well.
Upon exiting the offices, we stopped briefly in Adoration to thank Our Lord, and then we went to go catch our return bus that was leaving at 2:00 pm. The second bus ride was as uneventful as the first, and around 10:00 pm, we reached Moshi again where we had managed to book hotel rooms from the bus.
The next morning was Thursday morning. That day was rather devoid of plans because I had been anticipating it would be spent visiting schools in the Moshi diocese. As it turned out, late on Tuesday, Fr. Asantebwana, the education secretary, informed me the students in the whole diocese would be in exams, and such a course of action would thus be impossible.
After breakfast, we decided to walk down to the taxi park to hail a vehicle back towards Mrao, where Fr. Emmanuel’s parish was. After arriving and navigating our way through the chaos that characterizes such taxi parks, we found a bus heading to Tarakea that could drop us in Mrao. We saw the bag safely loaded, boarded, and settled down for the journey. Just then, I received a note from Fr. Ruwaichi that he had been in communication with Monica, the translator of the little Children’s Rosary book, and that she would be taking us to a printer in the next day or so in Moshi. Yet here we were just about to leave Moshi! I showed the message to Fr. Cleophus, and we both agreed we should instead go to where Monica was staying and meet her there to arrange further rather than go back to Mrao. We stood up to get off, but, with the bus literally pulling out of the driveway, the conductor seemed reluctant to let us off. By that I mean, he closed the door that had hitherto been open and stood in front of it to prevent our getting off. The other passengers grumbled and offered complaints about our holding up the bus, for the truth was it had been attempting to pull out for about 15 minutes while Fr. Cleophus and I deliberated, and each time it got muscled aside by some other car. After a short discussion with the conductor, we finally managed to seize a moment to grab my bag and leap off before he could stop us. We quickly found another van to Himo, where Monica was staying, and boarded it.
I should say a word about this mode of transport we were availing ourselves of, the taxivan. It was a bit new to me, coming from North America, but once one gets used to them, they are actually a very affordable and convenient way to get around. The taxivan is essentially like a kind of private bus service. One goes to a “taxi park” where dozens of these vans are parked and looks around for one going in the same direction. Then you get on and pay some small amount, like 3,000 Tanzanian shillings (about $1.20). There are usually more people on board than there are seats which necessitates some squeezing in and rearranging to make everyone fit. No one minds much about having no personal space or being somewhat sat on, and everyone is very accommodating of everyone else.
After about 35 minutes or so, the van dropped us off in front of the secondary school where Monica works, and we met her there. She helped us to book an appointment with the printer the next morning and then took us around the campus, showed us her office, led us through the library where I took a long break to peruse an old Prentice Hall literature textbook and read some short texts, like Travels with Charley: in Search of America by John Steinbeck. Steinbeck’s tale reminded me a bit of my own journey in search of the Children’s Rosary in some remote reaches of the world. The way in which the novelist describes driving through the west of the United States evoked for me literary accounts of the Old West; there was a charm to it, as of a settled, run-of-the-mill New York intellectual setting off into some strange mythical land, replete with strong characters and unexpected adventure. In fact, when passing through some remote towns in Uganda or Tanzania with little more than a general store and a restaurant, sometimes very simply built, I was made to think of what the old West of the US must have looked like a century and a half ago.
Coming back down to reality, I realized Monica and Fr. Cleophus were politely waiting for me to finish with Steinbeck, so I put the book away, and we went on. Monica also took us to her house and introduced us to her daughter, about two years old. After we passed some relaxing time there, we went to stay at a hotel nearby in anticipation of the meeting the next morning.
In the morning, we drove with Monica into Moshi where the printer’s office is. The owner was very accommodating of our requests for the Children’s Rosary book, and we were happy to move forward with the project with him. He promised to print off a sample of the book in Swahili in a few days for us to review.
This done, we set off for the school of Sr. Mary Wandia, whom we had met in 2019. They have a very nice primary and secondary school there, and we stopped in to officially initiate the Children’s Rosary. The nuns were very friendly to us, and so were the children with whom we met to pray the Rosary. They pray the Rosary every evening, and I was happy I was able to participate in this with them. That night we headed back to Fr. Emmanuel’s parish to sleep.
The next day in the morning, I had a very important meeting, which was with Sr. Pelagia. The children from her catechetical program were coming in that day, Saturday, and I was to meet with them and help to run the first Children’s Rosary meeting. We met, prayed, and distributed rosaries. I was so grateful for the sisters’ efforts to make the group a success, and I feel confident the group will be very faithful and regular.
That evening, I had my interview with the seminarian advisory board, and immediately afterward, Fr. Emmanuel drove me up to the border to cross into Kenya. This seems a fine place to end the story for now. I will pick up the Kenyan narrative in the next post."
To see all of Asher's dispatches from his journey click HERE
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