Frankfurt: When I started my journey from Kerala, my native place in southern India, my mind was full of hopes of a bright future. I had somehow collected enough money for a post-graduate course abroad. After my studies I should find a job to pay off the debts and support my parents.
I landed at Frankfurt airport, the fifth largest city in Germany. One of my friends had arranged for his acquaintance to pick me up from the airport. I had two big suitcases, a cabin luggage and a hand luggage. I was also wearing three shirts to reduce the weight of the suitcases.
I looked around for a trolley to keep my luggage when i noticed a board written “50 cents for trolley hire.” So i kept my hand luggage on top of my cabin bag and turned around to get the coins. As I moved forward to get the trolley I turned back and was shocked to see that both my cabin bag and hand luggage had disappeared. My hands froze and I ran around with my other two suitcases, asking the people around me .
I managed to reach the police counter. Their first response was that it was my duty to look after my belongings. They asked me to fill in a complaint about the loss of property. I then realized i did not have my friend’s mobile number or address to submit to the police.
In my panic, I even struggled to speak properly with the little English that I knew. I could see the police officers make fun of my decision to keep both my mobile and passport in the hand luggage as they checked some details on their computers.
Suddenly, I heard a heard a female voice behind me. I looked around and saw a nun. She had a walking stick and looked a bit frail. It looked like she was waiting for a wheelchair to take her to the car parks. At first glance she looked like a Malayali (native of Kerala), but I could not be sure as she spoke fluent German.
“What is your name dear? Where are you from?” she asked me in Malayalam. “Vivek, from Thrippunithura in Ernakulam,” I replied. She asked me what had happened and I explained everything in detail. The nun answered all questions from the police thereafter. With her shaking hands, she wrote and signed some details for the police.
“I have given the address and phone number of our convent. The police will contact us if they get any more information. You can come with me. Once we reach home you can call your family and get the address and details,” she said. But I was not sure if I should accept her offer. After all I am not a Christian.
Several times at home I have seen my father listening to the news and mumbling, “These priests and nuns are just frauds!” I remembered going to Vanchi Square in Ernakulam with friends during the nuns’ protest (September 8-22, 2018) and saying to myself “These nuns are just useless, wasting their lives for nothing!”
As a student of a government school, I always hated nuns, right from my childhood. The children from convent schools always won prizes in all competitions. My friends, who studied in Christian schools, also told me of how they had to stand outside the classes for being late to school or not wearing the proper uniform.
The wheel chair arrived. “Come on dear, let’s go,” she called. I did not feel like replying but just went with her. Two German nuns were waiting with their car to pick her up from airport. I was surprised that there were nuns in other countries too. The elderly nun explained my situation to them. They looked sympathetically at me while they talked. The two German nuns loaded my heavy suitcases into their car.
We drove out of the airport. “I am Sister Isidore,” the elderly Indian nun introduced herself. Seeing the perplexed look on my face she said, “You can also call me Sister Thresiamma. I took the name of Isidore when I became a nun. It is 60 years today since I came to Germany.” Even if I double my age it still be a few more years for me reach there, I thought to myself.
After sometime the car arrived in a compound surrounded my high brick walls. Several nuns were waiting at the entrance to welcome Sister Isidore. Some of them had bouquets. One of the German nuns gave me a flower. “This is Sister Flavia, our superior,” said Sister Isidore as she introduced me to the other nuns. The superior welcomed me in German. There were other nuns from Kerala in the group. Their names reminded me of some English movie names.
Sister Isidore said to the other nuns, “The boy may be hungry. Give him some dinner.” She turned to me and said, “Here’s the phone. Call your parents and just tell them that you reached safely. Otherwise they may worry.” I called home and spoke to my parents. I got hold of my passport number and details of my friend from my sister.
“Don’t worry; you will get your belongings. God will only bring you good,” all the nuns comforted me. They took me to a spacious dining hall. The table was set with cutlery. The nuns said some prayers. One of the senior nuns took a heavy book and read from it. After that we all sat down for dinner.
When I saw the news on nuns in Kerala I wanted to see what it would be like inside a convent. But I never dreamt in my wildest dreams that I would be sitting inside a convent one day. I sat at the table praying to all my gods!
With motherly affection one by one the nuns started serving me food. “German food may be little bland for you. But you will get used to it soon,” Sr Isidore smiled and said as she served me some hot mango pickle. I felt that I was at my own home. Surrounded by a lot of mothers like my own!
After dinner, Sister Isidore was invited to cut a cake, commemorating 60th anniversary of her arrival in Germany. There were other nuns from India. All of them have completed between 30 to 50 years in Germany. Sr Isidore spoke about her first voyage on ship from India 60 years ago. My eyes filled with tears to hear that it took 11 long years to go back to India to visit her family.
“Have you not felt like returning back to India? Don’t you feel bored with this life? ” I asked Sister Isidore after dinner. “It was my decision to come here. My parents initially were opposed to this idea, but eventually agreed. At the end, we won – Jesus and myself. Face your hardships with love and win over it,” she smiled.
We talked a lot after dinner. Sister Isidore gave me clear answers to many of my curious and cunning questions. I understood that their life is quite different from what is dished out in movies or social media. Why blame all these holy lives for the wrong doings of a minority!
After several tries, I was able to get hold of Sunil -my acquaintance in Germany. He was four hours’ drive from the convent. The nuns showed me a guest room to rest for the night. “If you need anything dial 143 from the telephone in the room. We will all be praying for you tonight,” she said and wished me goodnight in German.
The room was spacious. The nuns had kept everything from toothpaste to fruits in the room. I could not believe the generosity of the nuns whom I despised so much. As I went to bed chanting prayers taught by my grandmother, a picture of Jesus hung near my bed.
In the morning I woke up hearing a knock on the door. It was nearly 9:30 am. I jumped up and opened the door. Sr Isidore was at the door with a beaming smile. “We have good news, son! The police called. They have got hold of the passport and documents.”
Tears of joy filled my eyes. All the nuns were praying for me last night. They must be really special for God to answer their prayers so quickly. Within an hour, Sunil arrived to pick me up. After breakfast, all the nuns came to the veranda to see me off.
Sister Isidore handed me an envelope. “You will have enough money in this to buy a phone. You need it.” Although I tried to refuse it many times I finally agreed to take the money.
“You can come and visit us any time,” Sr Isidore translated a German nun’s words. The nuns put my luggage into the car along with some sandwich and fruit juice for the journey. As I bid goodbye to the loving mothers, my heart was overcome with the affection showered on this stranger.
As I started my journey in Germany, Sister Isidore words ring in my mind, “Face your hardships with love and win over it.”
(This was translated from Malayalam by Smitha George, an editor of Matters India.)