Throughout the parish, Father Jerome is lovingly referred to as Father Jjajja; in English, Father Grandfather. As per his ordination vows, Father Jjajja has never borne children of his own. Yet, with their full blessing, he relates in a grandfatherly way to every adult and child in the community.
Father Jjajja is the keeper of the parish visitor's book, and he enthusiastically welcomes any and all guests. I love visiting Father Jjajja at the parish. Last year, he was often the only priest I'd find around if I walked up to the parish during the day: the younger two tend to move around a bit more and celebrate various functions.
He speaks with a bit of an elderly mumble, but his English is impeccably British, and he still periodically teaches me new words in Luganda. More than a year ago, as I was first attempting to learn this (then) new language, it was Father Jjajja who taught me to say that I was learning “empola empola” – slowly by slowly – using his own unhurried walk to demonstrate the meaning of this new phrase. Father Jjajja does many things slowly by slowly, as he is certainly entitled to as his advanced age.
If you ask him why he wanted to become a priest, as a dear friend of mine did last week, he will grin softly and tell you of the British Fathers who used to visit his village when he was a small boy. He remembers liking the grand clothes they put on and the sweets they would hand out: he noticed that the Fathers were always well-fed and well-groomed. This is not to suggest that Father Jjajja (or others who would make the same admission) does not have a deep and meaningful calling to the priestly vocation. From his gentle manner and humble demeanour to his faithful practice of the daily order of prayers, Father Jjajja is the type of priest – and grandfather – that the world could surely use a great deal more of.
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