A retired priest invites you to meet new people.
I would like to introduce you to . . .
St. Josephine Bakhita
"My family lived the the middle of Africa." Bakhita was born, it is thought, around the year 1869 in the village of Al-Qoz in Darfur, which is now in Sudan, but was then in the small, independent Sultanate of Darfur which had been founded in 1603 — in Arabic, dar fur means "the land of the Fur." The Fur were the ruling ethnic group in the sultanate, and had long been Muslim, but they did not require their subject people to be Muslim. Bakhita's village was not Muslim; she did not remember any structured religious observances. However, she showed a personal religious awareness: "Seeing the sun, the moon and the stars, the beauties of nature, I asked myself, 'Who is the owner of all these beautiful things?' and I felt a great desire to see him, to know him, and to pay him homage."
Bakhita's father was a landowner with a large staff of field laborers and herdsmen, and the village head man was her uncle. Her family "was made up of father, mother, three brothers and three sisters, plus four others whom I never knew because they died before I was born. I had a twin sister; I've no idea what became of her, or of any of them, after I was stolen. I was as happy as I could be, and didn't know the meaning of sorrow." She described her introduction to sorrow as follows: "One day my mother decided to to out into the country where we had many fields full of crops, and herds of cattle, to see if all the workmen were attending to their tasks. She wanted all us children to go with her. But the oldest girl, who wasn't feeling well, asked if she could stay at home with our little sister, and Mummy agreed. While we were out in the fields, we heard a great commotion: lots of shouting, and people running to and fro. Everyone immediately guessed what it must mean — slavers raiding the village."
The family rushed home and found Bakhita's twin traumatized. She had managed to hide, but the raiders took her older sister. "I still remember how Mummy cried, and how we all cried. That evening, my father came home from work and heard what had happened. He flew into a rage, and immediately set out with his men to search all around, but in vain: we never heard anything of our poor sister ever again. That was my first sorrow and oh, how many more lay in store for me after that."
"Hardly had I gone into the wood to look for the package, which I couldn't find, than I saw those two coming up behind me. One of them grabbed me roughly with one hand; with the other he drew a big knife out from his belt, pointed it at my side, and snapped: 'If you shout, you're dead! Move! Come with us.' The other man pushed me forward, digging the barrel of a gun into my back. I was petrified with fear, my eyes staring, trembling from head to foot. I tried to scream, but there was a lump in my throat: I couldn't speak or cry out. Brutally driven into the thick of the wood by hidden paths, across fields, they kept me going at a forced pace till evening. I was tired to death. My feet and my legs were bleeding because of the sharp stones and the pickles of the thorn bushes. I was sobbing my heart out, but their hard hearts felt no pity."
When they emerged from the woods, it was nightfall, but Bakhita's captors showed no sign of slowing down. At one point they did stop briefly, and one of her captors asked, "Black girl, what is your name." She was so traumatized that she couldn't answer. Then the other captor said: "Call her Bakhita, and don't waste your time with that little snot-nose." He said to Bakhita: "Do you understand? From now on your name is Bakhita. And don't forget it."
Bakhita, because of the trauma of her abduction, never remembered the name given to her by her parents, and she lost all knowledge of the tribal language she spoke as a child. She was forced to speak Arabic. "Bakhita" is Arabic for "lucky." Slave owners gave "marketable" names to their slaves, and in Arabic, "Bakhita" was a fairly common name for slaves. It was not a whole lot different in Roman times. One of the early virgin martyrs was Saint Felicity, a Carthaginian slave — her name means "happy" or "lucky."
After Bakhita received her new name, "the journey went on all night. At first light we entered their village. I couldn't possibly have gone any further. One of them grabbed me by the hand, dragged me into his house and thrust me into a poky storeroom, full of tools and broken bits and pieces. There weren't even any sacks to lie on, or anything I could use as a bed: nothing but the bare ground. He gave me a piece of black bread and said, 'Stay here.' Going out, he locked the door with a key.
"I was there for over a month. A small opening high up above was my window. The door was opened briefly from time to time to give me scraps of food. How I suffered in that place I can't put into words. One morning the door was opened earlier than ususal. The master presented me to a slave merchant who bought me and put me together with some other slaves of his. There were three men and three women and a girl not much older than me. At once we set off. The journey lasted eight days non-stop, always on foot.
"I'll describe how the caravan was organized. The men went in front and after them the women, linked together by great chains padlocked around their necks, either into pairs or into groups of three. If anyone turned or stopped, heaven help his poor neck and that of his companion! You could see around each person's neck, big, deep sores that made you feel sorry for them. As we went through village after village, the caravan kept getting bigger. We children weren't chained; we walked in the back, in the midst of the masters. The caravan stopped only a few hours to rest and eat, and at those times the chains were taken off the slaves' necks and put around their feet, a pace apart from each other, to prevent escape. They did that with us children too, but only at night."
"The master had put us in a separate room and always shut us in, especially when he had to leave the house. It was nearly suppertime when he came back from the market leading a mule laden with maize. He took our chain off, ordered us to husk the corn-cobs and feed some of them to the mule, and absent-mindedly went away without closing the door. We were alone without the chain. In the providence of God, this was our moment!
"We looked at each other, linked hands, looked around and saw nobody, then we were off into the open countryside, with no idea where we were going but with all the speed our poor little legs could give us. All night long we ran and ran, driven on by terror, in and out of the woods, and through the desert places. Gasping for breath, we could hear in the darkness the roaring of wild beasts. Whenever they came close, we climbed up into the trees for safety. One time, we had just got down from our refuge and carried on running, when we heard the typical hum of an approaching caravan. We hid behind some bushes bristling with thorns. For a good two hours, one group after another passed just in front of us, but nobody saw us. It was the good God who protected us, nobody else.
"I made myself believer that once I'd got through the dangers I would quickly find my dear ones. This hope made me willing to suffer everything, and kept up my spirits. Alas, far from drawing nearer to them, I was running I don't know how much further away. Towards dawn we stopped and took a breath. We had nothing to eat, but the longing to see our families again, and the fear of being caught, gave us strength to continue running, though not like before.
"Towards sunset we saw a cabin. Our hearts leaped and we strained our eyes to see if it was our house. It wasn't — imagine our bitter disappointment! As we stood there thinking what to do next, a man appeared in front of us. Frightened, we made to run, but blocking the path he asked us, in a nice way, 'Where are you going?' We remained silent. 'Come on,' he said, 'where are you going?' 'To our parents.' 'And where are your parents?' 'There.' we replied, pointing confusedly without knowing where. Then he realized that we were fugitives. 'OK', he said, 'come and rest a bit. Then I'll take you to your parents.'
"Believing what he said, we followed him into the cabin. As soon as we entered we collapsed on the ground, completely done in. He gave us some water to drink, but we were so far gone we could hardly swallow. Then he left us alone and in peace, and we slept for about an hour before he woke us up, took us to his house, gave us food and water, and the put us into a big sheepfold full of sheep and goats. He made space to put down an angareb (string bed) and then, fastening us together by the feet with a heavy chain, told us to stay there in the sheepfold until further notice. That was that — we were slaves again. So much for taking us to our parents. We cried and cried.
"He left us there among the sheep and lambs for several days until a slave merchant passed, then took us out of the sheepfold and sold us to him. We had to walk a long way before joining the caravan. Imagine our surprise when we saw among the slaves some who had belonged to the Master we had escaped from. They told us how furious he had been, and what a hue and cry there was when we weren't found. He was blaming and hitting out at everyone he met, and threating to cut us into pieces if he found us. Now I understand more and more the goodness of the Lord who saved me then so miraculously.
"We marched on for two and a half weeks. Arriving at last in the city, we were taken to the house of the Arab chief. He was a very rich man who owned a large number of slaves. My companion and I were assigned, for the time being, as handmaids to the ladies and his daughters, who took a liking to us. It was the master's intention to make a present of us to his son on the occasion of his marriage. In that house we were treated well and lacked for nothing."
The city in which Bakhita now found herself was El Obeid, which at that time had the highest population in Sudan — it was 600 miles from Bakhit's native village, all of which she had covered on foot. Bakhita was becoming fluent in Arabic, and gradually forgetting her native language.
"One day I committed some fault in the eyes of the master's son. He immediately siezed a whip to flog me. I fled into the other room to hide behind his sisters. I should have never done that. He flew into a rage, dragged me out of there, flung me on the ground, and with the whip and with his foot gave me so, so many blows. Finally, a kick to my left side made me lose consciousness. The slaves had to carry me to my sleeping mat, where I lay for over a month.
"When I had recoverd from the thrashing, I was put to other work. But my destiny was marked: I was to leave that house at the earliest opportunity. The opportunity came three months later, and I was sold to a new master, a General in the Turkish army. He had his old mother and his wife living with him. Both of them were dreadfully cruel toward the poor slaves, who were kept constantly hard at work in the kitchen, laundry and fields. I and another young girl were put at the service of the two ladies. We couldn't leave them even for a moment: what with dressing them, fanning them and perfuming them, we never got a break. And woe betide us if accidently, perhaps because we were so short of sleep, we hurt either of them the tiniest little bit: the lashes fell on our backs without mercy. In the whole three years I was in their service, I dont't recall having got through a single day without a beating: no sooner did my wounds heal than more lashes rained on my back — without my knowing even why.
"It was the custom for the slaves, for the honor of their masters, to wear tattoos: designs or patterns cut into their bodies. Up to then I didn't have any, while my companions had lots, even on their faces and arms. Well, our mistress took a whim to make a 'present' of this sort of decoration to those of us who weren't already tattooed. There were three of us.
"A woman expert in this cruel art arrived. She took us to the porch, while the mistress stood behind us, whip in hand. The woman had a dish of white flour fetched and another of salt, and a razor. She ordered the first one to lie down on the ground and two of the strongest slaves to hold her, one by the arms and one by the legs. Then she bent over the poor girl and, using the flour, began to trace on her belly about sixty fine marks. I stood there, watching everything, knowing that afterwards they were going to perform the same torture on me. Once the marks were completed, the woman took the razor, and swish, swich, sliced along each mark she'd traced, while the poor girl groaned, and blood welled up from each cut. When this operation was finished, she took the salt and rebbed it as hard as she could over each wound so that it would go in and enlarge the cut, and keep the edges open. The agony and torment! The victim was writhing in pain, and I was shaking in anticipation.
"When the first girl was taken away to her sleeping mat, it was my turn. . . . What it felt like, I cannot put into words. I kept thinking, 'This is it; I'm going to die,' especially when she rubbed the salt into me. Covered in blood, I was carried to my sleeping mat where I lay semi-conscious for hours on end." For over a month the three slaves lie there without any kind of treatment for their wounds. Bakhita carried the scars throughout her life. However, in retrospect, she said: "I can honestly say the only reason I didn't die was through a miracle of the Lord, who destined me for better things." When one of the Sisters in her convent, hearing this story, began commenting about "those wicked slave owners, " Bakhita said: "Sshh . . . Poor things, they weren't wicked. They didn't know God. Also, maybe they didn't realize how much they were hurting me. I pray for them a lot, that Our Lord, who has been so good and generous to me, will be the same with them, and bring them all to conversion and salvation."
When Bakhita was born, in 1869, Egypt was ruled by the Khedive of Egypt, and was an autonomous tributary state of the Ottoman Empire. Turkish and Egyptian troops had conquered Sudan in 1824, making Sudan subject to Egypt. From 1852, Britain kept an increased presence in northern Egypt to maintain the overland trade route to India and to oversee the construction of the Cairo-Alexandria railway. Shortly thereafter, French investors financed the construction of the Suez Canal — the canal was completed the year Bakhita was born. Thus, both Britain and France had "interests" in Egypt . . . and Sudan. In 1873 Major-General Charles Gordon, a British Army officer, entered the service of the Khedive of Egypt and later became the Governor-General of Sudan; one of his priorities was to suppress the local slave trade, and we have seen that he was not successful. In 1875, in the wake of a financial crisis, Egypt sold its shares of the Suez Canal Company to Britain.
In 1879, native Egyptians instigated a revolt against the government, dissatisfied with Ottoman control and increasing British influence — the revolt was quickly and ruthlessly suppressed. This prompted Major Gordon to resign his position as Governor-General, creating a power vacuum in Sudan. In some parts of the Islamic world, such a power vacuum can raise expectations for a mahdi, a divinely-appointed leader. A pious young sufi named Muhammad Ahmad became convinced that he was the longed-for mahdi. He proclaimed his answer to the "call" in 1881, and began building an Islamic state in Sudan. Successive armies were sent against him, but each in turn was defeated. Ultimately, Muhammad al-Mahdi created an Islamic state which extended from the Red Sea to Central Africa.
Bakhita's current master, the Turkish General, saw the handwriting on the wall and decided to get out of Africa and return to Turkey before it was too late. He began preparing for his departure, including selling off most of his slaves — he retained 10 of them, including Bakhita, to assist in his move. The first leg of the journey was to Khartoum, a distance of about 415 miles. Bakhita reports: "We left Kordofan, and after several days' journey on camelback, we put up at an inn in Khartoum. There he put the word around to anyone who wanted to buy slaves."
At this point, Muhammad al-Mahdi was successfully expanding his territory in western Sudan, but the residents of Khartoum felt themselves safe. Calisto Legnani continued his activities as normal. He spent several months in the second half of 1883 traveling: to Italy and visiting the port of Suakin on the Red Sea. Major Gordon returned to Khartoum in February 1884 in his military role; he would defend the city or evacuate it. The forces of Muhammad al-Mahdi began to besiege the city in September, but most inhabitants remained, confident that the British army was on its way and would prevail.
Calisto Legnani decided to return to Italy, together with Augusto Michieli, a friend and business associate. Bakhita decided to ask if she could accompany them: "I don't know why, but when I heard the name 'Italy', although I knew nothing about its beauty and charm, a keen desire sprang up in my heart to accompany my master. He liked me so much I dared to ask him to take me to Italy with him. He explained to me how long and expensive the journey was, but I insisted so much that he agreed, to please me. It was God who wished it, l realized later. I can still feel the joy I experienced at that moment. We set off. By 'we' I mean the consul and his friend, a young black boy, and myself, riding on camels all together in a caravan. After a few days' journey, we arrived in Suakin." Bakhita was then about sixteen years old.
On the night of January 25, 1885, the forces of Muhammad al-Mahdi crossed the white Nile on a sandbank exposed by a low river level, breaching Khartoum's defenses and storming the city the following day. Thousands of people — starting with Europeans and Christians who refused to adopt Islam — were put to the sword. The invading soldiers took possession of all slaves. Legnani and Michieli learned of Khartoum's fall while still in Suakin — whatever they had left behind was now lost.
They were in Suakin for a month before boarding a ship sailing for Genoa, arriving in Genoa in April 1885. There they stayed in an inn whose proprietor was well-known to Augusto Michieli; in fact, he had asked Michieli to purchase a black boy for him, so the young black boy who had accompanied Bakhita was made over to the innkeeper. Lady Turina, Augusto Michieli's wife, had traveled to Genoa to meet him. When she saw the young blacks, she asked Augusto why he had not brought one for her. Calisto, to please his friend and her, gifted Bakhita to them.
Bakhita, her new master and his wife left the port city of Genoa and made their way north and across the Italian peninsula to Zianigo; Calisto Legiani made his way to Padua, and that was the last time she heard of him. In Zianigo, initially Bakhita's main task was housekeeping. Then, in February 1886, the Michielis welcomed a daughter into their household, Alice Alessandrina Augusta, "Mimmina", and Bakhita became her nanny: "The baby came to love me dearly, and I naturally came to feel a similar affection for her."
Not long after Mimmina's birth, Augusto returned to Suakin to open a hotel — the Red Sea port remained in Egyptian hands and was under the protection of the British, and never fell into the hands of Muhammad al-Mahdi. Bakhita and the other members of the household remained in Zianigo until the end of 1866 when Augusto sent notice that they should all join him in Africa. While with the family in Suakin, Bakhita was assigned to work in the hotel bar and canteen shop. During the family's absence, the Michieli's house and farm was left in the hands of their business agent, Illuminato Checchini.
The son of a craftsman who made wagons and carriages, Illuminato Checchini ended his formal education after second grade to help his father in the shop. However, he was gifted with native intelligence and had a mind of his own — he learned to read and write when many in his world were illiterate. He was deeply religious: he learned to play the organ and became the parish's regular organist, and he was close to his parish priest, Father Giuseppe Sarto. After his marriage, he had moved to Zianigo to make a career as a middleman and business agent for the local farmers and small landlords. He was well-known locally as a source of excellent advice, which was free for those in trouble, and he was very active in promoting self-help projects, such as savings banks and mutual assurance societies. Later he became somewhat of a local celebrity, writing and publishing yearly almanacs, written in the local dialect with engaging dialogue and stories, as well as satirical pieces on social and political topics.
From the first time Checchini met Bakhita, he became interested in her welfare, especially her spiritual welfare. He became aware the Bakhita had never been offered any religious instruction. He also know that Augusto Michieli was essentially irreligious, and his wife, Lady Turina, was more so — she described herself as an atheist, and did not want religion upsetting the children and servants. Early on, Checchini, against the wishes of Lady Turina, invited one of the servants who was Catholic, to recite daily prayers with Bakhita as a beginning of her awareness of religion.
Meanwhile, in Suakin, the Michieli family had decided to move permanently to Africa, and the hotel. Toward that end, Lady Turina returned to Italy in June 1887 to sell their land and property in Zianigo and pack up the furniture — she did not want to travel alone, so both Mimmina and Bakhita accompanied her.
It took a year to sell the property, and even then, some aspects of the transaction were incomplete. Lady Turina, missing her husband, decided to take a break and visit him in Suakin; since she did not anticipate to stay long before returning to wrap up the final details, it was decided that Mimmina and Bakhita would remain in Italy until her return. Among those she turned to for advice was Checchini: could he suggest a suitable place for Mimmina and Bakhita to stay during her absence, preferably a boarding school where Bakhita could receive some education? Bakhita was now close to twenty years old, and had never had any formal education. Mimmina was not yet three years old.
Checchini suggested immediately that Mimmina and Bakhita take up residence at the Catechumenate in Venice, which was run by the Canossian Sisters. They had facilities for boarders, and the Sisters would ensure that the two girls would be properly cared for. The institution had been set up in 1557 to house adult non-Christians wishing to receive instruction in the faith, with separate facilities for men and women. However, time took its toll on the buildings, and there were far fewer catechumens. The Canossian Sisters took over the women's section in 1848.
Apparently, this was not the only suggestion that Lady Turina received, and more than a month passed without arriving at a decision. Checchini continue to lobby for his proposal, and he actively became involved in the negotiations. The Sisters were required to comply with the original purpose of the institute; they could accept Bakhita as a candidate for instruction — which was actually on Checchini's agenda — but Mimmina had been baptized, although her parents were non-practicing. Lady Turina insisted that the girls not be separated, and was willing to pay for their board and lodging, but was about to leave the country. Checchini certified that, in the unlikely event that Lady Turina defaulted in this obligation, he would pay all the fees. Thus it was arranged.
One day, during his frequent visits to the Michieli household while these negotiations were going on, Checchini gave Bakhita a small silver crucifix. In Bakhita's words: "Giving me the crucifix, he kissed it with devotion, then explained to me that Jesus Christ, Son of God, died for us. I didn't know what it was, but impelled by a mysterious force, I hid it in case my mistress took it off me. Before then I had never hidden anything, because I was never attached to anything. I remember how I used to look at it in secret, and feel inside myself something I couldn't explain."
llluminato Checchini, together with his wife, his five children, and Lady Turina, accompanied Mimmina and Bakhita to Venice. Bakhita remembered: "When the lady brought me to the boarding school, on the doorstep, as she turned to say goodbye, she said, 'Here you are; this is your home.' She said it just like that, without understanding the deeper meaning of these words. Oh, if she could have imagined how much would happen to me, she would never have brought me there."
Bakhita was led into the large building and up a spiral staircase, above which on the ceiling was a painting depicting the Baptism of Christ. "In this way we were both received at the house of catechumens. The little girl and I were entrusted to the care of a nun, Maria Febbretti, who was in charge of catechetical instruction.
"I am unable to remember without tears how well she took care of me. She wanted to know if I desired to become a Christian, and, sensing that I did and that I had come there with that intention, she was overjoyed. So those holy mothers instructed me with heroic patience and introduced me to that God who from childhood I felt in my heart without knowing who he was. I remembered looking at the moon and stars and the beautiful things in nature and saying to myself, 'Who is the master of these beautiful things?' And I experienced a great desire to see him and know him and honor him. And now I do know him. Thank you, thank you, my God!"
Meanwhile, Sister Maria Fabbretti was instructing Bakhita in the faith. Communication was difficult since Bakhita could neither read nor write and expressed herself simply in half Venetian dialect and half Italian; however, Sister Maria was extremely patient and Bakhita was eager to learn the faith. She especially appreciated learning the meaning of the words that Checchini had spoken when he gave her the crucifix. She began to truly desire to be baptized. She grew in love with Jesus, and wanted him to be her "master."
Nine months passed as Bakhita lived this "idyllic" existence when Lady Turina returned to take Mimmina and Bakhita back to Suakin — she had come back to Zianigo, tied up the loose ends in the sale of their property, and would now move permanently to Africa.
Bakhita said, "No!" As she described the scene:
"Nearly nine months later, Lady Turina came to lay claim to her rights on me. I refused to go back to Africa with her because I was not yet well instructed for baptism. I also thought that, even if I had been baptized already, it would not have been equally possible to profess my new religion, and therefore it was better for me to stay with the Sisters.
"The lady flew into a rage, accusing me of being ungrateful in making her go back alone, after she had done so much for me. But I remained firm in my thinking. She gave me one reason after another, but I would not bend to any of them. And yet, it hurt to see her so disgusted with me, for I truly loved her. It was the Lord who filled me with such firmness, because he wanted to make me all his. O goodness!"
"The next day, she returned in the company of another lady, and she tried to change my mind again with the harshest threats. But to no avail. They went away greatly vexed.
"The reverend superior of the institute, Father Jacopo de'Conti Avogadro di Soranzo, wrote to His Eminence the Patriarch, Domenico Agontini, about this situation. The latter turned to the king's attorney general who replied by saying that, since I was in Italy, where the slave trade is not allowed, I was in fact quite free.
"Lady Turina also went to the attorney general of the king, thinking that she could prevail upon him to agree with her, but she received the same response.
"On the third day, she returned to the institute again, accompanied by the same lady and by her brother-in-law, a military officer. Others were present as well, even His Eminence the Patriarch, the President of the Congregation of Charity, the superior of the institute, and some of the Sisters of the catechumenate. The patriarch spoke first. A long discussion followed, which ended in my favor.
"Weeping with rage and sorrow, Lady Turina took her little girl, who could not bear to be separated from me and who tried to make me go with her. I was so upset that I was unable to speak a word. I left crying, and withdrew, happy that I had not given in."
This took place on November 29, 1889. Bakhita was 20 years old. Although this process had a successful outcome, it had been very difficult for Bakhita. The Sisters had been inclined to recommend that Bakhita go with Lady Turina, believing that, long term, it would be in her best interest — the Michieli family obviously loved her and cared for her, and she would have a secure position with them, while it was uncertain how she would make it on her own in Italy. Also, Bakhita had a strong affection for the Michieli family, especially Mimmina — she cried for several days because she would never see Mimmina again. But, in the midst of the discussions which led to her freedom she had said: "No. I won't leave the house of Our Lord. It would be the ruin of me." She saw her decision as choosing God, and that gave her the strength to remain firm in her decision.
Bakhita then completed her instructions with Sister Maria Fabbretti, and her baptism was scheduled for January 9, 1890 — she took the name Giuseppina Margherita Fortunata (Fortunata is the Italian equivalent of "Bakhita.") His Eminence the Patriarch, Domenico Agontini administered the Sacrament. Illuminato Checchini and his family were present, as well as some of the old Venetian nobility. She received the sacraments of Confirmation and First Eucharist from the Cardinal Patriarch at the same ceremony. Bakhita experienced that peace which the world does not give; from then on she reverenced the Baptismal font every time she passed it as the place where she became God's daughter.
It was traditional for new converts to remain in the Catechumenate, continuing their instruction, for an entire year. During this time Checchini kept in touch and assured her that when she was ready to leave the Catechumenate, there was a place for her in his home as his "honorary daughter," and, should she desire to marry, he would provide a dowry. However, at the end of the year, Bakhita begged the Sisters to allow her to remain. They agreed, and she continued to live in the Catechumenate until the summer of 1893.
Bakhita described this period: "I stayed in the Catechumenate for four years, during which time I was hearing more and more clearly in the depths of my soul a gentle voice drawing me to want to become a Sister myself. In the end, I spoke about it to my confessor. He suggested that I should speak to the Superior, Sister Luigia Botesella, who wrote to the Superior of the Mother House in Verona, Mother Anna Previtali. That good Mother not only agreed to my request, but added that she herself wished to have the satisfaction of clothing me in the holy habit, and, in due course, to receive my profession."
The novitiate lasted for a year and a half, and then she traveled to the Motherhouse in Verona to receive her habit from Mother Anna Previtali, after which she returned to Venice. It would be another year and a half before Bakhita would take her vows, and there was a requirement at the time that, before taking vows, the candidate would be examined by someone in the hierarchy to ensure that she had the personal maturity to make a free choice, and that she had not been pressured in making her decision. In Bakhita's case, the Patriarch of Venice conducted the examination personally — not Cardinal Domenico Agostini, who had played a significant role in certifying Bakhita's freedom, and who had died in December, 1891, but the new Patriarch of Venice, Cardinal Giuseppe Sarto, who had been Illuminato Checchini's pastor. Following his examination, he told Bakhita: "Don't have any fears about taking your holy vows. Jesus wants you. Jesus loves you. And you are to love him and serve him always in the same way."
Bakhita describes her taking vows as follows: "I returned to Verona to pronounce my sacred vows on 8th December 1896. God allowed the ceremony to take place in time for Mother Previtali to see it, as she had so much wished to, since a month later, 11th January 1897, she went to the next life. Having received the medal of Our Sorrowful Mother from Reverend Mother Superior, I entered the community." [This quotation concluded the autobiography that Bakhita dictated later in her religious life in obedience to her superior.]
The Church's Liturgical Calendar features the Advent and Christmas seasons, in which we prepare for and then celebrate the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and the Lent and Easter seasons, in which we prepare for and then celebrate the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of the Lord. In between those seasons we celebrate "Ordinary Time". I often say that it is in Ordinary Time that we work out our salvation; the great Liturgical seasons of the Church's year give us direction and inspiration, and then in ordinary, everyday ways we strive to live out what it means to be a disciple of the Lord. We have followed a number of extraordinary events in Bakhita's life — her enslavement, her move to Italy, her meeting the Lord, and her discovering her vocation. Most of the rest of her life is "ordinary" — 51 years as a Connossian Sister — but, then again, Mother Teresa reminds us that sanctity is doing ordinary things extraordinarily well.
Following the celebration of her making her vows, Bakhita returned to Venice. She did not have any particular area of responsibility assigned to her. Sister Maria Fabbretti continued to give her instruction, both in the faith and in the spirituality of their community. She handcrafted articles for sale on behalf of the community's overseas missions — embroidery, weaving and beadwork using the colored glass produced in nearby Murano. She particularly enjoyed the beadwork, and continued it as a hobby throughout her life.
In 1902, she was moved to the Conossian house in Schio, about 63 miles from Venice. When told about the transfer, she simply smiled and said: "We are always in the house of Our Lord." Except for some temporary transfers, this was to be Bakhita's home for the rest of her life. She was appointed assistant cook; and assigned as head cook in 1907. The Sisters ran a school at Schio, so the cook provided meals both for the Sisters and the school children. She enjoyed the ministry this provided her, and was able to interact with the children. Over the years she resumed some of her sewing and embroidery, and added the role of greeting visitors.
As already noted, Bakhita was now doing the "ordinary" work of a Conossian Sister. But, there was more to it than that, as testified by a number of people while documentation was accumulated in the canonization process. Sister Giulia Campolongo, when she was a school girl in Schio, came to know Bakhita. She wrote:
"We schoolgirls truly loved her. And we really liked her cooking. She prepared simple food, but it was full of flavor. Her fare was so well arranged on the plate and so clean that even the most finicky eaters were won over. In our simple, little-girl way, on feast days we would send our empty plates back to the kitchen with a little holy card for the Little Brown Mother as a sign of our affection and gratitude. From time to time we would ask her to join us and tell us a story. And I remember that when she told us the most tragic parts, the calm and serene expression for which she was known always remained. She did not have enemies. Every suffering in her life was always a gift of the good Lord."
Sister Anna Dalla Coste worked in the kitchen with Bakhita in 1911; she spoke of . . ."the tender care she offered so that sisters, orphans, and schoolgirls would feel happy; so that the sisters who ate their meals as the second sitting would find their food well prepared and arranged. In winter she would place bowls of soup in the oven so that they would be warm for the sisters when they arrived. Other times, she would cover the bowls with a plate. When she would bring food to the nursery school, as soon as the children caught sight of her, they would cling to her habit and would not let go. There were five or six who absolutely refused to eat unless Mother Bakhita spoon-fed them. Oh, how they loved her!"
When the First World War broke out, Italy declared itself neutral, but in May 1915 joined the Allies, having been promised an Italian-speaking part of Austria at the end of the war. However, Italy was not prepared for war and fared poorly on the battlefield. The front lines were not far from Schio.
In May 1916 a column of wounded soldiers reached Schio from the front, and asked if some space could be found for them. This resulted in the house's being converted into a field hospital — all of the children were moved to another Conossian house in Mirano Veneto, as well as a large number of the sisters. A few of the sisters remailed in Schio, including Bakhita who continued to serve as a sacristan and cook. When she had completed those tasks, she would go to the hospital rooms to be of help. Mother Genoveffa DeBattisti remembered:
"It was not a rare sight to have officers and soldiers standing around the Little Brown Mother all wanting to hear her story. Bakhita, equipped with Mother Superior's permission, and with a simplicity that was all her own, narrated in her ungrammatical language the adventures and facts that she always attributed to the good God, who guided her with a special love to become his spouse. Who paid attention to her grammatical mistakes? Who laughed? Nobody.
"All of them were filled with admiration and compassion for that innocent one who had suffered so much and who appeared in their eyes to be an extraordinary being. And her lectures about eternal truths? More than one of her listeners would have taken them to heart, treasuring them later during the dangerous trials of war. And the reprimands she would give if she heard someone cursing? It did not matter if it came out of the mouth of a simple foot soldier or an officer — she would give them a warning and then made a point of exhorting and enlightening them about eternal truths until the guilty party promised to make amends and wanted to regain God's grace."
Bakhita fell ill in 1922; she was diagnosed with pneumonia and the doctor advised the sisters to call a priest. However, a few days after she received the Sacrament of the Sick, she began to recover. Her response: "What a pity! When I was already so well on the way out, it would have been better to keep going. Now I'll have to do it all again." Still, following her illness, the community relieved her from kitchen duty, giving her lighter work. For a number of years, she served as portress, answering the door — for mothers bringing their children to school, for contractors and deliverymen, and for general callers. This exposed her to a greater number of people, and led to people coming to the door just to spend a few moments with her.
In August 1927, Bakhita took her perpetual vows in the Conossian house in Mirano Veneto.
This celebrity was a true cross for Bakhita. She was uncomfortable with all the attention and froze completely when asked to address groups of people, all the while conscious of her inability to communicate in proper Italian. One-on-one she could almost always establish a rapport and make herself understood.
However, toward the end of 1932, when Bakhita was 63 years old, her superiors decided to take advantage of her celebrity in support of the community's foreign missions. Aware of some of her concerns, they paired her with Mother Leopoldina Benetti, who was about the same age as Bakhita, and had spent thirty-five years in the congregation's China missions. At each gathering, Mother Benetti would make a presentation on the missions, and then give an account of the Storia Meravigliosa while Bakhita sat beside her. At the end the talk, when Bakhita was asked to say a few words, she thanked everyone for coming, and said: "Be good. Love Our Lord." She sometimes added: "Pray for those who don't yet know him. It's such a great grace to know God."
Mother Santina Baratto, a young sister who shared a room with Bakhita during this period, sheds some light of how much of a cross all this was for Bakhita. She often found Bakhita on her knees sighing and weeping and asked whether Bakhita felt ill and needed to see a doctor. She responded: "No physical suffering, no. But everyone looks at me like a nice beast. I want to work, to pray for everybody, and not to look at people. And they also say, 'Poor little thing, poor little thing.' But I am not a poor little thing, because I belong to the Master and I am in his house. Anyone who is not with the Lord, they are the poor ones."
Mother Benetti, the companion and spokes-person at these visits to various Conossian convents from Venice to Rome over a three year period, describes a typical gathering:
"I gave support to Sister Josephine, for she was unable to express herself with her simple dialect in front of the crowds that surrounded her and hemmed her in from all sides . . . I kept her close to me at all times, and at the end of these meetings I would invite her to speak from the heart. Immediately she would stand up, and with her special gestures she would thank everyone and say goodbye to everyone, with assurances that she would remember them before God so that one day they might all meet again in heaven.
"When she then stepped down from the stage, it was always a madhouse. Everyone would want to kiss her medal, hear her accent, have her sign a copy of Storia Meravigliosa, find out some unique little fact . . . One nun was moved to write to me because she retained a strong impression of Bakhita's great humility. She said that she had encountered her at a number of Conossian houses, always surrounded by the people touching her and crossing themselves out of devotion and asking her to bless their babies and sick ones, and Bakhita did all of this with the greatest simplicity, as if it were the most natural thing in the world."
Bakhita suffered through this three-year period, saying: "Let us hope that it is good for the missions, and especially for my family and my people. It does not matter if I see them here on earth, because I'll see them in heaven." Through it all, she kept her sense of humor. At one occasion at Mass, all the sisters were kneeling at the altar rail to receive Communion. As the priest made his way down the line of nuns, he asked Bakhita to remove her veil so that he could give her the Eucharist. Not receiving a reply, he repeated the request. At that point Bakhita understood. Raising her eyes to the priest, and with a brilliant smile, she said with perfect serenity: "I am black, Father."
Toward the end of 1938, Bakhita, now near 70, returned permanently to Schio. Age and arthritis, together with the long-term effects of the injuries she had endured as a slave, had taken their toll. She helped out in the convent when she could, but was not assigned any specific tasks. Following a fall in 1942, she needed a cane to get around, and by December, 1943 when she celebrated her Golden Jubilee as a Conossian Sister, she was confined to a wheelchair.
As World War II progressed, and as Italy began to be subjected to bombing raids, Bakhita said: "Don't worry. Schio will be spared." She insisted that no bombs would fall on any of the houses. When the sirens sounded, she refused to allow the sisters to take her to the air-raid shelter, but said: "No, no. Our Lord saved me from the lions and the panthers; do you think he can't save me from the bombs." In February 1945, sixteen bombs fell on one wing of the Rossi textile mills, killing fourteen workers. People came to Bakhita saying: "Mother, they've dropped bombs on Schio after all!" She responded: "And they will drop again, but not on the houses. No private homes will be touched." . . . and so it was.
By mid-1945 Bakhita was for the most part confined to bed. Being too ill to attend Mass did not worry her — she said that her guardian angel would be present on her behalf. It was clear that she was in pain, but when asked how she was, she answered: "As Our Lord wishes — it's up to him to decide." During her illness, her main concern was not to disturb others. At night, when she could no longer move her body without assistance, she never called the nurse, but rather remained in the position in which she was left, suffering in silence so as not to inconvenience anyone. When asked why she did not ask for help, she answered: "Why should I make someone who is sleeping lose sleep? I have plenty of time to rest later, while the day nurse has to work. Even if I suffer a little, what does it matter? I owe so much to the Lord that what I have to offer is nothing."
Toward the end of 1946 she took a turn for the worst and agreed to receive the Last Rites, but said that she was not dying yet. On February 8, 1947, a priest came to her room and asked: "Would you like to receive Communion now?" She answered: "I'd better, because afterwards there will be no point . . . I'm going to heaven." Towards evening, she said: "The chains on my feet are so heavy." One of the sisters lifted up the bed covers, thinking they were weighing on her. Bakhita said: "That's fine. Now I must go over there to St. Peter." Asked, "St. Peter's Church?" she responded: "No, not that St. Peter's there, but St. Peter in heaven. I'll introduce myself to him and ask him to call the Madonna to me . . ." Then her face was transformed with a radiant smile, as if she was actually seeing the Madonna: "Look, look! You're here? Come, come let's go to the foundress . . . So, when I'm there I will never have to go away again, and I'll be there for ever." Those were her last words.
Testimony of the power of prayer through Bakhita's intercession began to be received immediately after her death. The formal information-gathering process toward her canonization took place in the province of Vicenza from 1953 to 1955. The process at the Vatican took place from 1968 to 1969, and on December 1, 1978, Pope John Paul II signed the decree confirming the heroic virtue of the Servant of God, Mother Josephine Bakhita. She was beatified by Pope John Paul II on May 17, 1992, and canonized by him on October 1, 2000.
Illuminato Checchini is, as I see it, Bakhita's "saint behind the saint." It seems to me that without him she would never have come to know and love the Lord, and would never have come in contact with the Conossian Sisters. He and his family participated in all the significant moments in Bakhita's life as a Conossian Sister. Following Illuminato Checchini's death in 1906, Bakhita continued to be in contact with his children and grandchildren.
In Romans 8:28 St. Paul says: "We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose." I refer to that verse frequently. Note that all things work for good if you love God — even the bad things. Bakhita understood this; she said: "If I were to meet those who kidnapped me, or even those who tortured me, I would kneel down and kiss their hands. Because if those things had not happened, I would not have become a Christian and would not be a Sister today." As she looked back on her life, Bakhita saw how the Father, who was calling her to be his spouse, protected her — for example, despite all the physical abuse she experienced as a slave, she was never sexually abused.
Let us pray that we can come to believe that all things work for good as deeply as she did — when bad things are happening, let's ask God to deepen our faith that he is preparing a pleasant surprise for us, coming out of the dark time we are experiencing.
Saint Josephine Bakhita's feast day is February 8th, and the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace and the International Union of Superiors General have designated February 8th as an annual day of prayer and awareness against human trafficking. Through force, fraud and coercion, human traffickers push their victims into demeaning forms of abuse, including sexual exploitation, domestic servitude, forced marriage and organ removal. Youth are being sold and forced to act as child soldiers. And it is not simply a problem in other parts of the world; it is also a local problem: currently, Pennsylvania is ranked in the top ten human trafficking states nationally.