(Editor's note: I am re-publishing this OMI experience in the Sahara Mission, because of the interest that the Sahara generated by the Badaliyya Blogspot.)
*Jabara: News sent out for centuries among the desert people, without the help of press, radio, and TV.
One of the many inquisitive journalists that passed through here, notebook and ballpoint poised to take notes for his “best-seller,” when he was told the statistics of Christians of every race, language, country, and color that we know about…only know about…in these 280,000 square kilometers of what was once the “Spanish West Sahara,” and is now the “beloved Southern provinces” of Morocco, and specifically, the statistics of the Catholics that are in Laayoune and Dakhla, was unable to hide his surprise in the question he posed: “Is it worth the effort that you are here?”
Since I doubted that he could understand or that I would even know how to explain it, I simply answered him by asking a question: is it worth the effort for the lonely tree to grow on top of a mountain, or the one on the high plain or in the desert; and what about the little spring that bubbles up, hidden in some corner of the planet, especially in the Sahara? The ones to answer should be the birds, or the mountain dwellers, or the exhausted travelers, or the workers in Castile and Andalusia, or the desert nomads.
Nor is it a surprising question, because some Oblates in the province ask us the same question. “What are you doing there? Why don’t you just come home?”
But if the example of the tree or the spring does not convince them or seems childish, the only thing we can say is that “it all depends…”
It all depends on one’s notion of Church and of the Mystical Body, the “Great Mystery” of which Pius XII spoke. We repeat the answer which, according to what they told us 50 years ago, a little boy in communist Korea gave to the authorities who told him that there was no Church and that all the Christians had gone away: “I am the Church!”
His answer and idea have special meaning in the Muslim world, where, as some of them tell us, we are no more than a drop of water in the ocean, trying to absorb their greatness, connecting with them, and trying to share their joys and hopes, their dreams and their disappointments – as the Council says – and more so now, in the circumstances and ordeals they are experiencing. We are not unlike the grain of salt in the fable, who understood the sea only when he jumped into it.
We neither measure nor take into account whether they are the poorest or if they suffer the most. That would make no sense, because pain and suffering cannot be measured. In the Gospel, one does not read: “Blessed are the poorest…or those who weep the most…or come to me, you who are most burdened…or the most persecuted.” Nor did Christ raise up those who were the “deadest.” It only says “the poor…the burdened…the persecuted.” Those are pages from the Gospel that resonate in a special way in the Sahara ever since the latest events of last May, well known because of the coverage they had in all the media, and which continue to this day.
This is the situation in which they have lived for the past 30 years: the diaspora, and deportation to the camps of Tinduf. There is the separation of families – almost every family has someone there. There is poverty and marginalization. It’s an almost total obstacle for youth who have no future or feel that they are in a little boat where “up ahead, there are light and dreams; behind, there are hunger and suffering. To the left and to the right, there are distant boats with lights on them…and below, there is death.” That’s what one of them told us who, coming home by sea, lost his way in a storm. Just when he thought he had finally reached the beaches of Fuerteventura, he discovered that he was once again in Tarfaya, his point of departure.
Added to all that are the internal fights for political and economic reasons and the awareness that their resources (fish and phosphates) are being exploited – for that is the toll the government is exacting for the massive development of the housing and logistical infrastructure.
There is disenchantment, disappointment, and lack of trust for MINURSO – the UN Mission for the Referendum – which has yet to happen after 15 years of presence in the Sahara, even though one must recognize that they have been working. These are some of the reasons for their feeling that they have been abandoned by governments and international organizations: such unhappiness…and such patience.
The detention, imprisonment, and mistreatment received by one of their most distinguished leaders and a defender of human rights was the spark that set fire to and provoked their determination and unleashed the demonstrations, including hunger strikes.
The people, especially youth, women and even children, went to the streets late at night in numerous demonstrations, claiming independence and demanding their rights. The demonstrations were put down with violence and without giving it a second thought by the security forces, the terrifying GUS (Urban Security Groups), reinforced by the army, in an impressive show of force throughout the whole city, but especially in the most crowded neighborhoods where the great majority of Saharan families live. These had to endure damage and even destruction of their homes for having left their doors open so that those who were fleeing in panic from the security forces could hide. The forces followed them all the way in and physically abused them, even throwing some out the window, according to the stories one hears. One woman even gave birth in the street (to put it delicately). There were deaths and many serious injuries that were not treated in the hospitals, some because they could not go, and others, because they did not want to go for fear of being detained and taken to jail, the terrifying “Black Jail,” or the jails up North. Therefore, some of them had to be taken care of secretly, in private homes or in the desert, so as not to be found and arrested.
All of that unleashed an impressive unity and solidarity movement among the Saharans who have gone out of their way to help the sick and injured and needy families.
To all those problems, we should add that of the sub-Saharan emigrants, or those from other continents, hidden in the peripheral or remote neighborhoods, among the dunes and the ponds, or among the cliffs and the hidden beaches, waiting for the moment to be able to jump in their little boat that will take them to that “world of light” which they think is in front of them, “leaving behind hunger and suffering,” even though down there in the sea, with boats and lights to the left and right, death is also waiting for them, as that young man told us. They are detained in police stations in hazardous conditions, at the mercy of the charity and the aid of this good people, until they are “sent away,” one would say.
In this atmosphere, one notices a spirit of unity and solidarity and a warm understanding, even unspoken. This spirit is overshadowed only by the empty stare, the cold shoulder, and the rudeness of the informants and the spies that are there, unfortunately, sowing fear and mistrust even within families, even though people generally know who they are.
But over all, there is the sure hope that they will achieve victory. For that, they fight and it keeps them going.
They are in no hurry. They are counting on the time factor. They know how to wait. They have it in their blood and who knows? Perhaps it is genetic, because that is what they have done for centuries as nomads, with no other clock than waiting. They know that the clouds that guide their steps, their movements, will finally release the long awaited water, the gift of God, which is a remedy for its own deficiency, and which gives new birth to that remarkable life which during years of drought pulsates and blooms in the desert.
That is the world where we find ourselves, seemingly standing alone. Just as the lonely tree or the hidden spring are there in case someone needs shade or a bit of water, there is someone trying quietly to bear a grain of sand in this dune of hardships, poverty and punishment, even though unfortunately, it is not as much as would be needed or as much as we would want.
Therefore, we continue being totally convinced that, as in the title, at the beginning of these few thoughts: IT IS WORTH THE EFFORT! (NOSOTROS OMI, Newsletter of the Province of Spain, January 2006)
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