A school of the Gospel: an appointment that takes place every two months and involves the entire village, including the parish priest and the Fon, the royal authority of the place. The subjects? Studies on phrases of the Gospel, from various perspectives mostly in relation to their application to daily life. A phrase is chosen as the motto for the week, up to the next meeting during which, in a spirit of communion, all will share their efforts to put it into practice, to encourage one another to continue the experiment. This experience which started in Fontem – the Focolare town of Cameroon – was an idea of the Fon and was also launched in Akum, another village in Cameroon. Initially, those who attended were mostly women. But as time passed, there was also an increased participation of men, struck (though they did not admit it publicly) by the changes they saw in their wives. Here are some of their stories.

“My name is Suh Nadia,” a girl said, “Some of my schoolmates and I agreed to meet for the world prayer of the youth of the Focolare called Time-out. At first, there were six of us, and then 12. At a certain point, the Headmaster found out about it and called me to his office. I thought that we were out for a punishment since we would interrupt our studies for a few minutes to pray. I tried to be brave and to explain the importance of this moment of prayer. In fact, even if Cameroon is a peaceful place, there are many countries around us beset by war, and we have to pray for them. After listening to me, the Headmaster thanked me and said that he would change the schedule of the lessons so that all the students could join us.”

Then Evangeline speaks up: “While on my way to my aunt’s house, I noticed that the neighbours were maltreating a girl who had gone to sleep in Church to escape. On accompanying her home the parish priest tried to convince her family to treat her well. But the moment the parish priest left, they started to scold her again. She cried so much. I approached her, tried to listen to her with love, and decided to go and speak with her family. Even if my aunt tried to dissuade me from doing so, remembering what the Gospel says, the next day I went just the same. The lady said that the girl was not their daughter, but one who worked for them as a nurse. “Precisely because she helps you,” I said, “you should treat her like a daughter.” The woman did not seem to be paying attention to my words, but her husband was listening: “Who are you?” he asked, “Who sent you?” When he found out that I had gone there on my own initiative, he thanked me and promised that they would not maltreat her any more. Seeing that the girl had almost nothing to wear, I brought her some of my clothes.”

Veronica usually also cooks for her mother-in-law. One day the woman told her that she had a problem with her eyes and could hardly see what she was eating, and that perhaps, it was best she stopped bringing her food. Veronica made an appointment at the hospital and on the evening prior to which, went to sleep in her house. Two sons of the woman live in that city, but they did not show any interest. The doctors decided to operate on her immediately, and so Veronica, despite her job commitments, remained with her in the hospital for a week. On returning home, not even her other sons cared for their mother, so Veronica continued to go to take care of her and bring her food, dismissing the fact that her children would go to visit only when she was there, to take advantage of the food she brought. “It is the fourth time I am participating in these ‘new evangelisation’ meetings,” Veronica concluded. “I am only trying to put into practice what I learn here.”

“Only 2000 Cameroon francs remained (circa 3,00 Euros) and I still had to buy some things,” Marie says, referring to the phrase of the Gospel ‘Give and you will be given’. “In order to save I went to the market which was six miles away, with the 700 frs. I still had. On my return I noticed that I had forgotten to buy oil, and decided to do so near the house: my 700 frs were just enough. I was about to cross the street when a girl patted my shoulder: help me to buy some spices, she asked. A voice inside me said: give! So I paid for her spices: 250 frs. With what remained I could only buy half a litre of oil. A man I knew, asked me to buy him some salt: it cost 100 frs. Lastly, a boy approached me and also asked if I could pay for some spices too: another 200 frs. With the money that remained I could no longer buy any oil. When I got home I asked the children to heat the tins to see if any oil still remained, but they were completely empty. So I sent them to the shop dealer to ask if we could have some oil on credit, but he didn’t have any. Not even my next-door neighbour had any. How would I manage to cook for my kids? At that instant, my close friend’s son arrived with a basket on his head. “I’m here,” he said, “because my mother couldn’t come for your mother’s death and now she wanted to send you this basket.” When I opened it, there were some coconuts, dried fish and… five litres of oil!”