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Mission Society missionary Michael Seward is an ophthalmologist in Papua New Guinea and works with CBM, a Christian development organization serving people with disabilities in poor countries. The following story is from an outreach supported by CBM, MedSend, Goroka Hospital, Catholic Health Services, Hagan Rotary Club, and Mission Aviation Fellowship.

Mr. Oro is the magistrate and a senior member of his community, a place called Ambulua. You may not find Ambulua on a Google search because it is really just a place where two paths cross in a highland jungle of Papua New Guinea. It is a full one-day walk on footpath from the nearest “road,” but then you would have to walk much further to find a place where that road is in good enough condition to accommodate vehicles.

There are no cars in Ambulua. It is a bit of a paradise in that way, but it also lacks electricity, mobile phone coverage, and shops. If you want to eat something, you must grow it. That is why Mr. Oro’s full-time job is not as a judge, but rather as a farmer. He has been farming the steep slopes of his community for about 80 years, assuming that he started at the age of three or four, like most children do. 

Things were going well for Mr. Oro until a few years ago when his vision became progressively smoky, and slowly all of his surroundings became obscured by the cloud.  No longer could he grow his own vegetables, but his family helped with that task. He also could not navigate the steep path to the grassy clearing where he had always held his court proceedings. Therefore, even though he still enjoyed the official title of magistrate, it had been five years since he heard his last case. With lack of exercise, his body slowly withered, and his muscles atrophied to the point that he became trapped in his house. 

One day, Mr. Oro’s son was relating to him the village gossip. An eye doctor was coming to Ambulua. Mr. Oro wasn’t sure whether that could possibly be true, because such a thing had never happened before. And then there were other rumors about how this eye doctor was going to remove peoples’ eyes. That didn’t sound too appealing to the villagers.

Mr. Oro wasn’t sure how he would—or even could—respond to the news, but his son said they would carry him to the health centre if he would only agree.

On November 4, 2011, that CBM eye doctor did indeed show up. Actually, a whole team of people from Goroka arrived in a Mission Aviation Fellowship twin otter plane, which landed on a short grass runway atop a nearby mountain crest. It was good that the entire village came out to greet the visitors, because they needed a lot of help to carry their heavy cargo down the steep and slippery mountain trail. 

Then they set up shop with their battery-powered microscope, and it became a question of who would dare to be the first to have their eyes washed.

Mr. Oro deliberated and then decided that this could be something good. He thought of all the amazing sights he had seen in his lifetime. He had travelled as far as to the Highlands Highway, a smooth tarmac road with heavy trucks that could zoom by faster than any human could run. He had seen the magic of electricity and telephones. Then there was that plane that could fly like a bird. 

Mr. Oro determined that having seen the world, it was his responsibility to be an example to his people, to dispel the rumours, and to try this treatment that might possibly restore his vision. He placed his fingerprint on the consent form and was carried to the makeshift operating theatre.

On the morning after his cataract surgery, when his eye patch was removed for the first time, Mr. Oro was stunned by his totally clear vision. He saw his own hands. He saw his son, whom he hadn’t seen in years. He saw the crowd waiting for his response. He was overwhelmed by his newfound sense of vision, and he began to weep.

He wept for a long time before finally composing himself for a speech. He looked at the eye team and said, “We don’t know who sent you here, but we think God sent you.”