By Fr Joseph Panabang SVD
Too Late, Baby!
In Rome the hotel manager directed me to the restaurant stated on my plane ticket. The waiter handed me the menu: soupe aux legumes; spaghetti au jus de viande; bistek aux tomates et all. Among the names of dishes, I recognized only one, the word “spaghetti”. So I ordered spaghetti. I ordered the same food for each meal. For my last meal, I was tired of ordering spaghetti. So I went through the menu again and to my surprise at the back of it was the English translation of all the dishes. Too late baby.
Be Careful!
Sr. Adelgund, OSB of Queen of Peace Priory, La Union was always extra circumspect when I was around. I wondered why. Then finally she said, “I have to be very careful because, Fr. Joe, you might mention my name in the Misyon magazine.” Don’t worry Sister, I would never do that.
Crossed Cultures
People here in Ghana normally carry things on their head. When we landed at Kotoko International Airport in Accra, a Ghanaian woman boarding the plane was attempting to carry her bag on her head when the stewardess tried to pull it down. The woman was shouting, “Gyae, gyae!” meaning ‘stop’. But the stewardess was still trying to pull the bag off the head of the woman while the Ghanaian was trying to keep the bag on her head. I told the stewardess that the woman wants the bag on her head. Seeing now how the woman carried her bag in her head with such quiet dignity, the stewardess realized she was wrong.
Misyon and Fr. Joe
When our plane on our way back to Ghana stopped at Lagos, Nigeria, new passengers boarded the plane. Among them was a Filipino who proudly introduced himself as Emmanuel. As soon as he heard my name, he replied back, “Oh Fr. Joe, are you the one writing in Misyon? I like reading it.” thanks Emmanuel for your encouragement and keep subscribing to Misyon and you will meet more missionaries around the world.
New Wine in an Old Cloth
At Tereringen, Holland, I stopped over at our SVD House on my way to the Philippines. Looking at the shivering, our rector sent me at once to the second hand clothes room where an elderly lady was in charge. After handling me a coat and jacket, she looked at my shoes and expectedly commanded, “Remove your shoes.” “No, they’re okay,” I objurately refused. But she insisted and so I removed them. there were two big holes in each sock. “Remove those socks, too.” She demanded. Ashamed like a child I removed them, too. “Old wine in a new wine skin.” I was muttering to myself but laughing inside. So I got new shoes, new socks, a coat and a jacket in return for a little embarrassment.