by Sr. Una Ni Riain MMM (1931-2022)                        Ireland        13.08.2024   

The road was bad, full of potholes, so the traffic was moving slowly. She was lying on the other side of the road, in the way of the on-coming traffic, and all the cars weaved their way delicately around her so as not to hit her, just as they had avoided the potholes.

Was she dead? An accident? No, as the people stop when there is an accident and bring the injured person to the hospital. Mad? A beggar? Yes, that was probably it. In the tropics the grass grows long and wet to the edges of the road. It is full of ants and insects and snakes, no one could sleep in it. And so, the destitute often sleep on the road. After all, the road is warm from the sun. We continued our journey, but with a certain uneasiness.

Three hours later, on our return journey she was still there, lying just as she had been. Cars and motorcycles were still passing her by, pedestrians scarcely glanced at her, but this time we stopped to investigate. It was now midday, and the tropical sun was beating down with full intensity on the tarmacadam road.

We lifted the unconscious figure of a woman off the road and put her lying in the back of the car. We did not feel like good Samaritans. We were very much ashamed. Her dress was wet as we lifted her. Perhaps she was an epileptic? I noticed a group of young men standing at the other side of the road, laughing as they watched us. Fools for Christ? We took her to the hospital where the nurses received us with kindness and attended to her.

I was pleased to find she was admitted to the ward where I myself was on duty. I looked at her chart:
Name: ?
Address: unknown
Nearest Relative: Sr. Una!   I was strangely delighted to be named the nearest relative to this destitute person.

She had a fracture of her thigh bone, blistered legs from the heat of the sun, pressure sores and an abscess on her buttock. I soon learnt that she had been lying on the road for four days!

Slowly she regained consciousness, and she told me her story. Julia was a leper and had been treated in the Leprosy Settlement twenty miles away, but was no longer infectious. She was old, and she wanted to die at home. She set off for home. But they would not receive her, and she took to begging. One evening she took courage, and instead of sleeping on the road, she went back to her compound. Perhaps they would let her sleep there at least.

But they were afraid. Afraid that she would bring the sickness to themselves or to their children. And they beat her and drover her away. It was during this beating that her leg was broken. She dragged herself along the streets, still begging, until she finally collapsed two days later. She told me all this without anger, bitterness or blame. Well, a ‘nearest relative’ has obligations, and so I brought her some simple requirements, soap, a sponge, towels and a spoon to eat her food. Her gratitude filled me with confusion and shame. So much gratitude for so very little, and no blame for anyone.

Within a few days I had to go on a journey. Who would care for her? We arranged for her to return to the Leprosy Settlement, where everyone was equal. Those who care for the patients are not afraid of the dread disease. On my return a week later, a letter awaited me. The nurse in the Settlement wrote telling me Julia had died two days after her arrival.

The Qua-lboe (Presbyterian) Leprosy Settlement where Julia is buried had welcomed her back. They prayed with her, and she died with dignity and comfort. I was grateful to be involved with another Church in the care of the most abandoned of human beings.

Julia, I am grateful you will be there when mu own hour comes. Don’t forget a word for the ‘not-so-good’ Samaritans who delayed their help until the return journey.

First Published by MMM in 1983 when Sr. Una was in Nigeria.