When a group of South Africans met Mother Teresa

 

COLUMN: TUNNEL OF TIME

By Shevlin Sebastian

Mother Teresa walked in, her arms held akimbo, onto the veranda of the first floor of the Missionaries of Charity in Calcutta. It was in November, 1991. The group of people who had been sitting on two wooden benches instinctively got up.

Awe, respect, fear and affection seemed to suddenly rise up. She came and stood in the middle of the group, a short, stooping figure, with a wonderful and innocent smile and said, ‘Thank you very much for coming. If I remember right, a group of South Africans had come this morning.’

It was 4 p.m.

‘Yes Mother,’ said Geoff Dakin, the President of the United Cricket Board of South Africa (UCBSA). ‘But we have come to give you a donation.’

(This tour marked South Africa’s return to international cricket after decades of isolation due to apartheid. The first one-day match was at the Eden Gardens, just days earlier. As for the Missionaries of Charity Mother Teresa founded it in 1950. Today, there are branches in 139 countries.)  

‘Oh, thank you very much for your concern for God’s work,’ she replied.

She was speaking so softly that all present had to bend, especially the 6’2” Geoff, to hear what she was saying. And then the magic and the power of her personality took over.

There was something peaceful and calm about her that washed over all of us. Ambition; greed; anger; frustration -- all this was swept away. In its place was this tranquil feeling. It was clear all of us were in the presence of somebody holy, powerful and full of integrity.

‘My, what a big packet you have given me,’ she exclaimed.

‘Yes,’ said Krish Mackerdhuj, Vice-President of UCBSA. ‘There’s a hundred thousand rupees.’

‘A hundred thousand,’ said Mother Teresa. ‘Thank you very much. We need the money. We could open a Children’s Home in Cape Town.’

The normally loquacious and magnetic Krish was at a loss of words.

The two South African journalists, Carl Bongj and Gerald Dekock -- one black, one white, of the South African Broadcasting Corporation, stood silently.

Earlier, while waiting for the Nobel Laureate, Krish, brown-skinned and of Indian origin, said, ‘We hadn’t planned a donation. But when we saw the work that she was doing, we felt compelled to help in some way. And the Board decided to give this money. A hundred thousand rupees is equivalent to 10,000 South African rand.’

Then he turned to Bongj, and said, ‘Hey, tell me, Bongj, do you want to buy a baby tiger, to take back home.’

‘A baby tiger to take home?’ said Bongj. ‘Where can you get them?’

‘You can get them at any street corner of Calcutta,’ said Krish. ‘It’s not very expensive. It will be a good gift.’

Bongj rubbed his hair with his right hand, his eyes wide open and astonished, and then he saw the smile slowly breaking out on Krish’s face.

‘Hey man,’ he said, as realisation dawned on him. ‘You’re pulling my leg!’

And then Gerald asked Bongj: ‘Where do you live?’

Bongj replied, ‘I live in Soweto, but I’m planning to move out. There’s too much violence in Soweto.’

It was remarkable that these two men, both in their thirties and working for the same broadcaster, did not know where the other lived.

They seemed to be bridging the colour barrier for the first time.

Was this the effect of Mother Teresa?

Two people, in a building of love, thousands of kilometres away from home, making the first tentative steps across the racial divide.

(Published in Sportsworld, November 20, 1991)