By
Muchiri Muchoki
 |
| Bishops' Procession: Sr. Irene's Beatification, Nyeri- Kenya |
James
Wanyoike, a great friend of mine for many years and a Nairobi based Catholic
faithful, could not wait for the day that Sr. Irene Stefani Nyaatha would be
beatified.
He
had informed me almost a full year in advance that on the material day of the
beatification, I should reserve two seats for him. His and his wife’s.
A
week to the material day, I didn’t have the car to salt away these two seats,
but I had secured a classic 9-seater tour van ready for the once-in-a-lifetime
pilgrimage. This would be the very first day in my life that I would enjoy the
privileges of a tour van. It was irrefutably an important day.
Besides
the Wanyoike’s, I had in mind six other great friends, who were as eager to be
part of thousands of pilgrims at Deaden Kimathi University of Technology in
Nyeri.
At
3am, we (I had hosted some of these friends at my house for easier logistics)
had woken up and we were all set for the big day.
4am
sharp and we were already along the Thika Super High way, headed to witness an
occasion that we believed would amplify our faith.
Here
was my argument, many Roman Catholic Christians pay over $1, 000 air tickets to
go and witness beatifications and canonizations at the Vatican City; what is the
$93 that we were to use for the Van and a full day at Nyeri compared to the
former?
As
the co-driver, I was sure that I knew Nyeri as I know the palm of my hand. I
wasn’t worried about the gridlock that had been predicted at the former Central
Province Headquarters, particularly on the beatification day, which was to
happen on May 23, 2015. I knew that we would meander our way through the network
of Nyeri roads with ease.
After
all, this is the place that I was born and brought up. I was raised at Mihuti,
a small village that overlooks the gargantuan, white-capped Mt. Kenya and
Mihuti Catholic Church – my village local church – had been one of the original
18 local churches under Our Lady of Divine Providence, Gikondi Catholic Parish.
I
grew to know the old Gikondi Church as the ultimate place of worship. The
little boy in me only knew the Arch-diocese’s Consolata Cathedral as a preserve
of those who would have enough money to visit Nyeri Town – around 13 Kilometers
from home.
As
a little boy, I vividly recall how we used to occasionally attend out-door Holy
Masses at the Our Lady of Divine Providence, to celebrate this great Italian
Sister, Irene Nyaatha, who lived and served in my old Parish.
During
such Holy Masses, we would even have the Arch-bishop of the day around, as the
main celebrant. During my time there, it was the late, soft-spoken, Ach-bishop
Nichodemus Kirima. I would also witness many white people in these Holy Masses
– I was knowledgeable enough at around 10 years of age, to know that they were
Italians and that they came from another small village, far away from Gikondi,
called Anfo.
This
is the place, we would be told, where Sr. Irene Stefani was born and brought
up, before she came to our land and got herself a local name from our old folks.
During
one of these Holy Masses, our Local Church Chairman – Erastus Gathogo, who is
also my God-Parent – would be very much involved in the arrangements on what
these Italians would take for their meals.
We
all viewed Mr Gathogo as one of the most exposed members of our Parish and his
knowledge of the outside World would always come in handy on such matters. He
was the man who would advice his co-officials on how important it is to include
Macaroni as part of our Italian
guests’ menu.
Then
there was one Fr. JB (I can’t recall any other of his names). Through my boyish
eyes, this man of God was the finest and most versatile that any local seminary
could ever produce!
He
was articulate and multilingual. He could speak Italian with ease. His presence
at Our Lady of Divine Providence during such occasions deserved no gain-saying.
Of
course at that point in my life, I didn’t know that our Parish was gearing
towards such a huge course, Beatification (and ultimately what we all now look
forward to, Canonization)
Back
to the tour van: Besides myself, there was only one more man from Gikondi and
indeed the Arch-diocese of Nyeri aboard. John Gathua. A man I consider my
brother. All the others came from other dioceses in Kenya.
This
to me was an affirmation that Nyaatha’s beatification had outgrown our old
Parish. It was an enlivening thought.
After
all our efforts to meander through Kenol, Saba-Saba, Maragua, Murang’a Town,
Mihuti, Kiahungu and finally Gatitu; it was amazing that so far we hadn’t
encountered any traffic jam. Aas we drove though Gatitu and into Nyeri Town.
Having
used this road over and over again during my hey-days at Kagumo High School, I
was amazed on just how the entire road from Gatitu to Nyeri Town had acquired a
face-lift. The tarmac wasn’t anything new, but the road-side electrification
was out-of-this-county!
A
simple Sister, who lived amongst my ancestors when Africa (on the account of
electrification) deserved the phrase the ‘dark continent’, had now posthumously
contributed to electrification of an entire town.
I
am sure it would have taken the County Government of Nyeri some more years and
a huge amount of good will, to execute such a project.
The
County Government had advised that all cars should be packed at Ruring’u
Stadium and that we should then board some special vehicles to drop us at the
venue, Deadan Kimathi University grounds.
We
never saw any sign of cars being diverted to this afore-planned packing, and so
we moved along with the traffic flow all the way to the venue of the day.
At
7am, ‘my team’ was already inside the venue, having gone through all the
security checks, ready for the big Holy Mass.
Send feedback to this author: paradisedoorstep@gmail.com
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