Question 1.8

1.8 Wasn’t your departure for the minor seminary somewhat abrupt, separating you from the world of your family?

Due to an unfortunate set of circumstances, my first year went very badly. Until Christmas, my studies went well. Then I became ill. Anemic and weak, I was treated without anyone really knowing what I was suffering from. The superiors threatened to send me back to my family because I did not have a strong enough constitution. At the time, seminarians were required to have the “3 H’s”: holiness, head knowledge, and health, in order to continue formation for the priesthood. I must admit that I possessed not one of these 3 H’s!

Fearing dismissal from the seminary because of my shortcomings, I asked the nun who was my nurse to tell the Father Superior that I was doing better, but that was only a pious, well-meaning lie. I did not want to go back home and leave on a bad note. In fact, the doctors were treating me blindly. The Father Superior ended up asking specialists to perform several further tests. It was then discovered that I was infested with hookworms that were eating away at me little by little. The correct treatment freed me from those parasites, and I began to regain my strength. In June, the Father Superior, after consulting with my professors, authorized me to return for a second academic year after the holidays, on the express condition that I catch up on my first year and do well in my second year.

Soon it was time for summer vacation, and we took the boat back to Guinea. I was wary about admitting to my parents that I had been so ill because I was afraid they would tell me sternly, “Robert, it is out of the question that you return to Bingerville!” I dreaded hearing those terrible words. Now back home, my mother saw that I was weak and had lost weight. But I found a way to explain my physical state. “The demands of sports and daily physical labor and the rigors of seminary life have made me so thin,” I dared to say, and I went on brazenly, “but I am very happy there, and I have some very good friends among my classmates. And then, Mother, I must get used to this beautiful new life little by little, even if it takes enormous effort!”

I was very lucky, because my parents never opposed my vocation. However, some of their friends, worried about their old age, sought to persuade them that it was imprudent for them to let their only child become a priest. They even went so far as to provoke them to anxiety with troubling questions: Have you thought about your old age? Who then will take care of you when you are no longer able to work to meet your needs? Furthermore, you will never have grandchildren. … Have you thought about this?

With God’s help, sustained by daily prayer, Mother and Father never showed me their misgivings because they did not want to oppose my heart’s desire. My parents understood the depth of my joy and did nothing to frustrate God’s plan for me. As Christians, they reflected that if my path were really leading me to the seminary, the Lord would guide me to the end.

After summer vacation, I once again happily embarked for Bingerville for my second year of seminary. It was September 27, 1958, on board the Mermoz.

At that time, Guinea was agitating to gain its independence. Everywhere in the country people were shouting, “We prefer freedom in poverty to opulence in slavery.” My homeland, having chosen immediate independence, cut off all ties with France. Many of my fellow countrymen thought that the first glimmers of the dawn of liberty were now on the horizon. France, under General de Gaulle’s leadership, nervous and unhappy about this decision by the Guinean government, was, therefore, preparing to leave with its weapons and baggage. There was an atmosphere of joy and happiness, euphoria and troubling realism, all at once.

In the midst of this uncertainty, we once again took the boat for Abidjan and Bingerville. The 1958-1959 school year went as usual; my grades were very good, though not excellent. I had managed for the most part to fill in the gaps in my learning, and I was admitted to the third year to continue my formation as a future priest.

Then, once again, summer vacation in Guinea loomed on the horizon, as always preceded by four days of fasting and penance, because for most of us the journey by boat was a real ordeal. Seasickness was our loyal traveling companion. We hated it, but it was fond of us and would not let us go!

The 1959-1960 school year was the last year at Saint Augustine’s in Bingerville for the Guinean seminarians. Father Thépaut had been replaced by Father Messner as rector of the seminary. Three African priests, Jacques Nomel, Louis Grandouillet, and Pierre-Marie Coty, were then appointed professors at the seminary. We were happy and proud to see these African models among our instructors! These young priests were the pride and consolation of the white missionaries, who thus tasted the fruits of their sacrifices. The men whom they had educated were now participating in the formation of the African clergy. I remember that in Bingerville there was an excellent atmosphere of work and ecclesial communion. But we Guineans had to cut our school year short. Boats departed for Conakry less frequently due to the revolutionary policies of Sékou Touré, who was becoming more radical and closing Guinea off from the world. We had to leave Ivory Coast in early June aboard the Général Mangin from Libreville.