The Joy of Being Among the People—Even Against All Odds
A couple of days ago, on Easter Tuesday, I found myself on a journey that deeply moved me; visiting our dedicated team in the Ibal/Jikejem pastoral zone. These two humble zones, quietly tucked away in the hills, hold the potential to one day become vibrant parishes. But beyond the potential, what I witnessed was already something sacred: a team of three hearts, beating as one for a people they now call family.
It was a time of deep joy, listening to them, laughing with them, and sharing in their struggles. Each one carries his own story, his own way of walking with the people, but they are united by one powerful mission: to love, to serve, and to bring God’s presence into every corner of this land.
Fr. Cyprian Taah MHM touched me profoundly. A teacher at heart and a servant in soul. He knows every path, every person, and every nuance of village life. He speaks the local language not as an outsider who learned it, but as one who breathes it. Watching him interact with the people, you’d think he had been born there. His vision is pure: to help the people know God, love Him, and serve Him in one another. What moved me most was the quiet pain he carries, the many sacrifices he makes, often unnoticed, always with a smile. He juggles countless projects, yet never complains. His ability to inspire the people, to walk with them in their daily suffering, reminded me of Christ—the suffering servant.
Then there is Jean-Louis Lekandome MHM. A Congolese by birth, yet to the people here, he is their own. Their son. Their brother. Their friend. Their confidant. His ministry is a bridge between faiths, between fears, between hearts. Catholics and non-Catholics alike come to him in times of need; even when danger looms from the military or the armed Amba boys (militants). And he receives them all, with courage and compassion. That’s when I realized: to truly be a missionary is to become one with the people. To carry their joys, their wounds, and their dreams as your own.
Fr. Joseph Kindong Yong MHM is still young in his journey here less than two years in the parish but his heart is wide open. He learns each day from his elder brothers, absorbing their wisdom and walking their path. Growth can be painful, but in him I saw a spark. A hope. The energy of someone who has said “yes” to the unknown and is giving his all, one day at a time.
The people of Oku are extraordinary. As I traveled through the steep hills and rolling plateaus, I saw field after field; painstakingly cultivated by hand. No machines. No shortcuts. Just hands, hearts, and unwavering resolve. They are a people who toil in silence, with dignity.
And they are served by priests who are just as hardworking, just as selfless. In this time of crisis, our team has become everything: teachers, healers, builders, pastors. Like the early missionaries, they carry the weight of entire communities on their shoulders.
And then, there is the land itself. A sacred canvas painted by God. The pastoral centers lie cradled between the mystical Lake Oku and the Kilum-Ijim forest. This is no ordinary place, it breathes with life, with wonder. The forest is home to rare and endangered species, and the lake… oh, the lake. Still and sacred, nestled high in the clouds, it feels like a window to the heavens.
Lake Oku, sitting at 7,306 feet on Mount Oku, is wrapped in myth and reverence. The people believe it is divine. It is not just water; it is a guardian, a giver, a teacher. They tell stories of the lake; stories that speak of generosity, of love, of loss and redemption. Stories that shape their way of life. And in the next edition, I hope to share one of those sacred tales with you.
As I left, my heart was full. Full of gratitude, of awe, of humility. In these forgotten corners of the world, grace lives boldly, in the soil, in the smiles, in the quiet sacrifices of those who serve without applause.
Yes, against all odds, there is joy. And it is deep.
Fr. Innocent Akum Wefon MHM
