As long as I can remember, stories of Mennonites who migrated to Paraguay in 1948 captured my imagination. I did not know any of the migrants until 1992 when I was invited to Colonia Sommerfeld to help expand the existing preschool program to include children with intellectual disabilities. At that time, I had the opportunity to meet Anna Heinrichs Friesen Thiessen. She had a particular interest in this issue because her son David was a young man with Down syndrome. When I was invited back to Paraguay almost twenty years later to promote inclusion in the school system, I asked for an interview on her work as a midwife. Soon after her death in 2018, I interviewed Anna’s daughter Christina Klassen (Altona), and Anna’s sister, Barbara Penner (Winkler), who shared their memories of Anna. Letters that Anna wrote to Manitoban editors about the conditions in Paraguay are available in the archives of the Mennonitische Post in Steinbach and at the Mennonite Heritage Archives in Winnipeg. What follows is based on the stories I learned about Anna.

“Ever since my youth I had a desire to be a nurse,” wrote Anna Heinrichs Friesen Thiessen in her 1997 booklet entitled Pioneer Nursing in Paraguay.¹Born to Johan and Aganetha (nee Hildebrand) Heinrichs on September 8, 1923, Anna grew up in Straszburg, Manitoba, where her parents farmed.² Her parents objected to her becoming a nurse; as the eldest of fourteen children, they expected her to stay home on the farm to help with domestic chores, care for her younger siblings, and work on their mixed farm, including helping to build the family’s house.³

In the 1940s, Mennonites who had settled in Canada in the 1870s developed some of the same concerns as the group who had left Manitoba for Mexico and Paraguay in the 1920s. The 1920s group was prompted to leave Manitoba because of their opposition to the municipal form of government, compulsory school attendance, and mandatory registration for military service. In addition to the concerns of the 1920s group, some of the 1940s group felt that hydroelectricity was too modern; others were concerned about the threat to the Low German language and that it might be lost. There was also a growing concern among Manitoba Mennonites that there could be increased intermarriage between the Mennonite youth and those from the neighbouring French Catholic communities.⁴ Some immigrated for the adventure or sought the economic benefit they were told existed in the Paraguayan jungle. These were not Anna’s immediate concerns; however, she understood that if her family moved to Paraguay, she, as a single woman, would join them.

In 1944, a delegation from southern Manitoba flew to Paraguay to survey land where the Mennonites could settle and be free of the concerns they were experiencing in Canada. Once an agreement was made with the Paraguayan government about access to land, some Manitoba Mennonites began to plan yet another epic move. Minister Bernhard Neufeld recognized the need for medical professionals to accompany the migrating Mennonite population. If they could not have a doctor, they should at the very least have a trained nurse. To achieve this goal, Neufeld persuaded Anna’s father to allow his daughter to be trained as a nurse. Both men understood that a young girl moving to the city alone was worrying, but Anna could train to be a nurse, just as she had wished. According to some, Neufeld funded Anna’s medical education.

Twenty-two-year-old Anna began her nurse’s training in St. Joseph’s Catholic hospital in Winnipeg. After three months of theory, she was assigned to the Concordia hospital where she was taught bedside nursing, how to administer medications, and how to give injections. Anna also suggested that “[she] had some training in delivering babies and administering anesthesia. At that time only ether was used.” She continued to work at the Concordia hospital for a few more months after her graduation in January 1948. By June the young nurse was ready to move to Paraguay. Without knowledge of what she would need and what supplies she could buy in Paraguay, she packed a few hemostats, small clamps, and Wonder Oil, an alcohol-based medication that could be purchased over the counter for both internal and external use.

On the morning of June 22, 1948, Anna, along with 415 people, boarded the Canadian National Railway train to leave Letellier, Manitoba, for Quebec. The Altona Echo reported that the “scene at Letellier on Tuesday was full of pathos…About 1,000 persons gathered in the early morning hours to bid farewell to their departing relatives and friends. Many were leaving brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, children and grandchildren behind.”⁵ In Quebec they would board the Dutch ship S.S. Volendam and head for South America. While the adults understood the loss of lifelong relationships, Anna’s younger sister, fifteen-year-old Barbara Heinrichs and her best friend Susie Neufeld, experienced the move as an adventure. It was their first train ride, their first time on an ocean liner, and they were moving to a new land without snow. Everything was new and exciting.⁶

Anna reported that they arrived in Buenos Aires, Argentina, after spending twenty days on the ship. From there, they travelled north by train for three days and arrived in Villarrica, Paraguay, where they stayed in unused buildings and granaries. Anna’s sister, Barbara, recalls how their family lived on a cement granary floor where families demarcated their space by making a border with suitcases. The toilet was a box, set over a hole in the ground, surrounded by four poles with burlap draped over the poles for a modicum of solitude. Only night could afford them privacy as they took soap and a towel to the nearby stream to bathe.⁷ They may have been friends, neighbours, and relatives, but in the absence of privacy and necessities, such as access to water, tensions mounted in the small transitional space.⁸ Before long, a large number of the migrants moved to Independencia, a German colony.

Anna’s medical career started early on the trip when measles broke out on the S.S. Volendam. Anna went into full gear, nursing patients on the ship. In Paraguay, Anna’s nursing talents would be stretched far beyond anything she had been taught in her licensed practical nursing courses. Shortly after their arrival, Anna wrote in her travel journal that “Dysentery and possible Cholera broke out in critical proportions. Small children dehydrated quickly… Many children died since medical intervention was of little use. Some died within five to six hours of being stricken. One day three died, two from dysentery and one from measles complications…. I don’t know how many died in all.”⁹ Within a short while, thirty Mennonite children were buried in the cemetery in Independencia.¹⁰

Anna realized that the supplies she had packed were not enough; she needed forceps, medications, and more. Her father gave her one hundred guaraníes, worth about twenty-five dollars at the time, to buy fever and pain pills, a few antiseptics, and sulfa drugs. Anna performed all the nursing functions required in the new colony, and in the absence of a qualified doctor, she often performed the role of a physician in the tradition of midwives. Until she had access to a generator, Anna performed surgeries by flashlight or a kerosene lamp.

According to Anna, the Colonia Independencia public health officer “wasn’t that much help.” She made this discovery when she “asked him to help with the delivery of a first-time mother.” From time to time, he would arrive in the colony, flaunting his baggy pants, gripping the ever-present cigar between his teeth, and admonishing Anna that “babies should be born under a blanket. What goes on under that blanket should not be seen.” She took his advice with a grain of salt, knowing he would not be around again for a while; Anna worried more about the mothers and children than about this official.

On August 29, 1948, one month after she arrived in Paraguay, Anna married John Friesen, a teacher whom she had met when he was a patient in the Concordia hospital. They were the first couple from the migration to be married in Paraguay. Anna’s sister Barbara recalled that the couple, their chosen minister, their parents, and a few other people had to walk three kilometres to their civil wedding necessary for their marriage to be legal. Anna remembered being “elbow deep in bread dough when I received word to go for our civil wedding. I was so nervous I don’t remember if I removed my apron or not!”¹¹ The service, interspersed with applause, ended with the Justice of the Peace telling the couple that they could now sleep together. Celebratory wine followed the legal ceremony. Later, the minister (Ältesta) Isbrand Friesen conducted a “proper” wedding followed by a meal of smoked ham, which Anna’s family had brought from Manitoba, Moos (a sweet soup made with local berries), and cabbage Borscht.

Only a few months after their wedding, Anna and John left Independencia on a three-day trek with all their possessions. They arrived at what would become Campo Tres, Colonia Sommerfeld, where no public health officer interfered with Anna and she had free reign to care for her patients as she saw fit. As Anna wrote: “In the first six years we were without a doctor and I was alone as the only trained nurse. I learned a lot during this time with many experiences and doing treatments even when I felt incapable. I sent patients out for medical help when possible and went along if necessary.”¹² Whenever she could, Anna’s mother helped her.

In 1949 Anna and John built their first house and soon started their own family. Patients approached Anna and John’s yard clapping their hands, as was the custom, to get Anna’s attention. They sought treatment for tropical diseases previously unknown to Anna, intestinal parasites, malaria, tapeworms, hookworms, snake bites, polio, and more. People also needed help with cuts, fevers, farm accidents, and toothaches.

Mothers came to the house to have their babies, or Anna went to their homes to help with deliveries. Any time during the day or night, expectant fathers came to their yard on horse and buggy, tractor or oxcart, clapped their hands, and Anna vanished into the night to help their wives give birth. She did not have to battle with snow and sleet as she would have in her native Manitoba, but muddy roads challenged the most expert drivers as they carved their way through the deep and slippery ruts of red mud.

“Caesarean sections are very common now,” shared Anna from her room in the Colonia Sommerfeld senior facility in a 2010 interview, “but for the most part they are performed for the benefit of the medical staff. It is much faster than a natural birth.” Anna never performed a Caesarean section – she did not have the proper tools. Instead she patiently waited for the arrival of each new baby while attending to the expectant mother.

Births came with complications. Anna was confronted by babies who presented face first, babies with umbilical cords wrapped around their thin necks, babies who tried to enter the world shoulders first, and babies who would be faced with challenges all their lives. “Over the years of nursing and midwifery, I never lost a mother,” Anna proclaimed, “but sadly there were a few still births. Fortunately, only a few.” In the interview, Anna explained that “after attending over 600 births, I stopped counting, but I probably helped women give birth over 1,000 times.”¹³

Women commonly gave birth to ten or more children. Some families had a new baby annually. After delivering a ninth baby for one such family, Anna caught a ride home on a truck with an Amish gentleman. “What were you doing?” he asked Anna to strike up a conversation. “I was helping to deliver a baby,” she replied. “It was their ninth baby and their eldest child is eight years old,” Anna offered. “Impossible!” he exclaimed.

Most anticipated the arrival of another baby with joy, especially after the first trimester of pregnancy when morning sickness had passed. Some, however, were weary from their endless back-breaking gardening, laundering, cooking, and farm work without the benefit of electricity or running water. Their bodies were exhausted from the demands of pregnancy and the varicose veins in their legs ached. When women miscarried or their children died at a young age, they viewed it as God’s will and carried on. A few women had no place in their hearts to welcome yet another baby. Sometimes that was due to postpartum depression, a condition not understood by parents or professionals. In those cases, Anna could only prescribe happiness and gratitude for their babies.

Initially, Anna was only notified of a pending birth when the father came clapping his hands at their yard hours before the expected delivery. After two or three years in Paraguay, Anna insisted that all expectant mothers who wanted her assistance should visit her prior to the due date. She needed to assess the condition of the mother and the unborn child and she directed them “to have old sheets, old linens, or cotton rags washed, boiled and ironed to use at the delivery if no rubber sheet was available. If possible, I wanted them to make large pads from several thicknesses of newspapers with old sheets basted together.”¹⁴ While many families were fastidious in keeping their homes as antiseptic as the red, dusty earth allowed, there were exceptions. Sometimes Anna had to wash the family’s sheets or use sheets she had brought from home. In one case, she made the bed with clean linen, tidied the “birthing room,” helped with the delivery and because she was so tired and pregnant herself, laid down next to the new mother. The father had arranged to have Anna collected, but he had not made plans to return her home.

The pregnant women were usually also attended to by their own mothers and grandmothers. The older women tried to be helpful, offering advice, telling their own birthing stories, and innocently interfering with Anna’s work. “Heat a sack of oatmeal and place it on your stomach to strengthen your contractions,” a mother advised her daughter, forgetting that oatmeal was not available in Paraguay. “Straddle a dish of warmed up alcohol and let the vapours travel up your legs to your birthing area. That will strengthen contractions,” another woman advised a young mother-to-be. “Perhaps you should apply ‘Pushex’ salve to strengthen your contractions,” suggested yet another woman, even though no such ointment existed in Paraguay. “I’ve heard that drinking chamomile tea and applying it to the birthing area is very good for giving birth,” one misinformed woman exclaimed.

Some women complied with Anna’s directions. Others chose to take the advice of their own mothers who counseled, “you don’t need to see that Nurse Anna before the baby. That is just a waste of time.” One woman who took her mother’s advice realized that she had made a poor decision. Her first baby, a healthy infant, had been born without incident and without the benefit of a pre-visit, so why should the second baby be any different? “Everything will be just fine,” she must have thought. When the second baby was ready to be born, it presented with his shoulder and got stuck in the birth canal. By the time Anna was summoned and arrived at the couple’s home, she could tell the baby was already “in the loving arms of God.” In this case, Anna had only a little ether on hand which she administered to the mother writhing on the kitchen table. Lovingly and with great care, Anna amputated the still shoulder. She gently pushed the baby back into the birth canal and pulled the infant from the ether-induced woman. She cut the umbilical cord but could not place a wriggling little one at its mother’s breast.

After Anna had helped deliver the village children, John educated them. Things were good for the Friesen family. But then in 1958 John succumbed to a “heart problem.” No medical knowledge could save him. He passed away, leaving Anna with six young children and baby Christina on the way. She had no choice but to carry on. A “trustworthy girl” who had been their domestic help before John died stayed with Anna, making it possible for her to continue her work. In addition, her sister Barbara helped care for the children. Anna balanced her life of raising her family, caring for the sick and injured, delivering babies, and being an active community and church member.

In later years, women were required to have their first babies in hospital. The first hospital in Colonia Sommerfeld was built in 1959. There was no electricity, except on Mondays, which was laundry day, when the hospital used power from Diedrich Hildebrand’s generator. When the laundry was done, hospital staff alerted Mr. Hildebrand to turn off the power by turning on a hospital yard light. In 1981, when there was hydroelectricity in the village, a new hospital was built.

Some resisted this change. In other cases, when the women were required to stay in hospital, their husbands often wanted to stay with them. Anna persuaded the expectant fathers that they could manage at home and their wives would be well taken care of. Furthermore, if they had children at home, she reminded the man he had the responsibility to care for his family in his wife’s absence – even if arrangements had been made for someone else to look after the children. Women reveled in an eleven-day rest in hospital. For just a little while, they could leave their responsibilities with someone else.

Anna administered preventative and responsive health care to the entire community. Even though equipment and medications were often in short supply, Anna administered smallpox vaccinations to children. In order to ensure that a maximum number of children were vaccinated, she transferred a scab of a smallpox vaccination from one child onto the scratched skin on the left arm of another.¹⁵For her family, twice a year she gave her children a square of chocolate Ex-Lax (a laxative) before bedtime, and the following morning, she gave them a de-wormer. The children felt sick but were rewarded with not having to do any work that day. By the afternoon they could eat oranges and by supper, they had chicken broth.¹⁶

Sanitation was a critical concern to Anna. Before she had rubber gloves when working with her patients, she washed her hands with soap and hot water, and then applied alcohol. When she finally got rubber gloves, she made sure they were washed and sterilized after each use. Until 1978, when supplies became more readily available, she washed and boiled glass syringes and needles to sterilize them. When menopausal women came to her for vitamin B12 shots, Anna visited with them while she took the time to boil each syringe and needle before administering the shot.

Christina Klassen, Anna’s daughter, recalled that her mother had always stressed the importance of taking the time to visit.¹⁷ When company came or when couples or individuals came to Anna for advice, she dropped whatever work she was doing and invited her “guests” to sit with her as she listened. While Anna adhered to a strict code of professional confidence, it is not clear if she ever noticed her curious young daughter eavesdropping on private conversations opposite the closed door or knew that the girl snooped in her cabinet of supplies that held a primitive stethoscope, clamps, scissors, and disinfectants. Her mother’s nursing had always intrigued Christina. It was no surprise that she chose to be a nurse like her mother.

For years Anna wrote letters to the Mennonitische Post about the progress made on the farms, the livestock, her age (“on my next birthday I will be ninety,”) the crops, her own health, and her many opportunities to give thanks.¹⁸ She provided news of Colonia Sommerfeld but little about her nursing career, except on October 24, 2012, when she wrote: “…after nursing for 30–35 years. Only the memories now remain.” Several times she mentioned how her son David, who had Down syndrome, attended a day program and spent weekends with his siblings. Anna’s biggest disappointment was that David could not have access to a formal education. She was confident that, with appropriate education, David would have learned to read and write.¹⁹ Anna also let the readers know of her daughter Christina who was studying to be a nurse in the Chaco, about six hundred kilometres from her village.

In addition to writing in the Mennonitische Post, Anna wrote to acquaintances in Germany and the Chaco region, as well as to friends and family in Altona, Halbstadt, and Sommerfeld. Her letters were filled with news and information.²⁰ She wrote on both sides of the paper, filling every possible space, including notations in the corners of the pages. Christina Klassen remembers how Anna would prepare supper for her family and then tell them since she cooked, the children could eat and clean up. Anna skipped supper to lose weight and retired to the living room to write, read, or crochet, often late into the night.

Klassen said their family was not rich, but they always had enough to eat. Between 1956 and 1990, Anna’s cash earnings were primarily made by pulling teeth. Payment for helping deliver babies came in several forms. One poor couple had little, but the diligent mother raised animals and paid Anna with a piglet. Some couples paid in cash while others could only say “Danke Schön” [thank you very much].

Anna retired to the senior facility in Colonia Sommerfeld where she received visits from friends and family in large numbers. She kept busy writing letters, making dolls and teddy bears for her grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and other important people in her life. She passed away at the age of ninety-four years in Colonia Sommerfeld, Paraguay, on Wednesday, August 22, 2018. Anna left a legacy with deep footprints in the Mennonite communities and beyond during her life of service in Paraguay.

1. Anna Heinrichs Friesen Thiessen, Pioneer Nursing in Paraguay (Winkler, MB: Pembina Printing,1997), 2. ↩︎
2. For more genealogical information, see Karl and Anna Hildebrand 1859-1997. Available at the Mennonite Heritage Archives. ↩︎
3. Interview with Barbara Heinrichs Penner, January 30, 2019. ↩︎
4. Patricia Harms, “Gott es hiea uck: Gender and Identity in an Immigrant Family from Paraguay,” Journal of Mennonite Studies 22 (2004): 39–57. ↩︎
5. “1700 Mennonites Leave for Paraguay,” The Altona Echo, June 23, 1948. ↩︎
6. Interview with Barbara Heinrichs Penner, January 30, 2019. ↩︎
7. Ibid. ↩︎
8. Ibid. ↩︎
9. Heinrichs Friesen Thiessen, Pioneer Nursing in Paraguay, 4. ↩︎
10. Harms, “Gott es hiea uck,” 44. ↩︎
11. Heinrichs Friesen Thiessen, Pioneer Nursing in Paraguay, 5 ↩︎
12. Heinrichs Friesen Thiessen, Pioneer Nursing in Paraguay, 13. ↩︎
13. Interview with Anna Heinrichs Friesen Thiessen, 2010. ↩︎
14. Harms, “Gott es hiea uck,” 44. ↩︎
15. Interview with Christina Klassen and Barbara Heinrichs Penner, January 30, 2019. ↩︎
16. Ibid. ↩︎
17. Interview with Christina Klassen, 2018. ↩︎
18. Letter from “Witwe Anna Thiessen, Kol. Sommerfeld#4, Box 69, Asunción, PY to Die Mennonitische Post (Steinbach, MB), 24. Oktober, 2012 ↩︎
19. Interview with Barbara Heinrichs Penner, January 30, 2019. ↩︎
20. Interview with Christina Klassen, January 30, 2019. ↩︎