Question 1.14

1.14 Baccalaureate in hand, did you leave very quickly for France?

Indeed, Archbishop Tchidimbo had decided that I must continue discerning my vocation in France. In September 1964, I left Conakry after earning my baccalaureate to begin my studies in philosophy and theology at the seminary in Nancy. Bishop Pirolet of Lorraine agreed to accept seminarians from other countries: there were three of us Guineans, but there was also a boy from Laos, Antoine Biengta, and another from Korea, Joseph Ho.

There were around one hundred of us seminarians, and there was a very friendly atmosphere. Even though I had been introduced to French culture to a great extent, I still had to make another physical and cultural adjustment. … There was a big difference between France and Africa. It was very cold, and for the first time, wide-eyed with amazement, I saw snow fall.

I noticed that relationships were different, lacking the warmth of my country. Yet those years of studying Scholastic philosophy were a wonderful experience, in an enriching intercultural atmosphere. The professors worked diligently for our formation.

When I arrived in Nancy, the first signs of the May 1968 protests were looming on the horizon. … The Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, Sacrosanctum concilium, had been published the previous year, on December 4, 1963. This document was already thought to hold the keys to a modern adaptation of the liturgy. The tradition of wearing clerical garb was no longer necessarily observed -the Roman collar was replaced by a turtleneck sweater-and eventually priestly identity itself began to lose its visibility and disappear into anonymity; the cassock was slowly transformed into a liturgical vestment that was taken off as soon as ceremonies were over. Yet I did not always realize the seriousness of these first signs of upheaval, because there was a fine generosity in our relations, a deep desire to pray. For us foreigners, the welcome was truly touching. We felt completely integrated into God’s family.

During the holidays we stayed as guests on farms or at the homes of our classmates’ families-to work there, to earn a bit of money, and to cover our personal expenses for the school year, as Archbishop Tchi-dimbo wished.

During all those years, I never encountered any racism. Once, in Compiègne, where I was staying with the parents of a classmate, Gilles Silvy-Leligois, someone in the street called me a dirty Negro. My friend was furious and wanted his father to intervene. I had to calm his anger, pleading with him to ignore this irrational, unjust act of aggression. And to set him at ease, I added, “I am unquestionably a Negro; however, I am not dirty!” I realized that it must have been a Frenchman who had had to leave Africa with a lot of bitterness and some personal injuries. To tell the truth, it was my one and only personal experience of a racist attack in France.