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The inspiring and unforgettable story of the slave who became a saint began around 1869, when she was born in a village in Darfur called Olgossa. It was located on the southern edge of the Sahara Desert, in an area of rolling countryside known as Daju (DAH-jshoo). Many streams flowed down from the mountains, creating beautiful, fertile lands on both sides of the streams, surrounding the area with lush greenery. The baby girl’s birth name is unknown, because not even she herself remembered it later. Her father, whose brother was the village chief, was a landowner who had a staff of numerous field laborers and herdsmen to run his large and prosperous farm. The family was economically comfortable, and also very close and loving. The little girl had three brothers and three sisters, including a twin sister. There also were four other siblings who died before she was born. Of her early life she recalled, “I was as happy as could be and didn’t know the meaning of sorrow.”

Although destined to become part of Sudan, Darfur at that time was still a small independent Sultanate, ruled by a tribe called the Fur. Although the Fur had long been Muslim, their subjects did not necessarily share the Muslim faith, and the inhabitants of Olgossa at that time were not Muslim. The little girl had no early structured religious upbringing, but later said, “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.”

In the 1800s, Mohammed Ali – no, not THAT one! — a Macedonian soldier in the Ottoman army, seized power in Egypt and forced the Sultan of Constantinople (now Istanbul), to recognize him as governor. He ruled from 1820 to 1849. Because he and his administrative and military leaders spoke Turkish, not Arabic, they were generally referred to as “Turks,” although for the most part they were European Muslims. Starting in 1820, Ali began carving out for himself a huge central African colony in Sudan. Unfortunately, the Turks indulged in heinous crimes in Sudan, unashamedly plundering for the personal enrichment of themselves and Ali. Their main form of profit was slave trading. Although the Muslim Sudanese could not legally be enslaved themselves, they were forced to hand over a large proportion of the slaves in their households and workforce. The only way to reimburse their losses was to abduct large numbers of fresh slaves from among the “un-believers” further south.

After Ali’s death, those who succeeded him, holding the title “Khedive,” wanted to adopt technology and education ideas from Europe, and the prevalence of slavery in the territories became an embarrassment to them. They began introducing anti-slavery measures, as was becoming increasingly common in the Western nations. But they were not effective, because the Sudan area was so large that raiders and traders could usually evade the police patrols. In 1873, the current Sultan of Darfur was defeated and killed in battle by a notorious slave trader named Zubayr. Darfur became part of the Sudanese province, leaving it open to raids by slavers from other parts of Sudan. Children between the ages of 10 to 15 fetched the highest prices on the slave market.

The little girl’s happy childhood began to unravel when she was around five years old. As she describes it: “One day, my mother decided to go 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 the tasks. She wanted all of us children to go with her. But my eldest sister, who wasn’t feeling well, asked if she could stay home with our little sister, and Mummy agreed. While we were out in the field, we heard a great commotion: lots of shouting, and people running to and fro. Everyone immediately guessed what it must be — slavers raiding the village.”

They ran back home to find her twin sister crying hysterically and shaking with terror. She had hidden behind a wall, eluding the raiders, but her older sister had been taken. They were never able to find her.

About two years later, when the little girl was 7, she and her friend, who was a few years older, set out to walk in the fields near their home. After playing for a while, they began to gather herbs, when suddenly they were startled by two armed men emerging from behind a hedge. Wishing to get the older girl out of the way, they told her to keep walking and that her friend would rejoin her in a couple of minutes. They then instructed the little girl to go into the woods and fetch a package for them. Innocent child that she was, and used to obeying adults, the little girl did not suspect anything and went to do as she was told. Once she was in the woods, the men came up behind her. One of them grabbed her roughly, pulled a big knife from his belt, and told her, “If you shout, you’re dead! Come with us!” The other man pushed her forward, holding a gun to her back. The trembling child was so petrified that she could not even scream or speak. They forced her to walk until evening. Exhausted, her feet and legs bleeding from the sharp stones and thorn bushes, she sobbed pitifully, but the cruel men were unmoved by her tears.

At one point, one of the men asked her name. She tried to answer him, but no words would come. In her great stress and terror, she could not even recall her name. Impatiently, the other man snapped at her, “From now on your name is Bakhita. Don’t forget it!” Bakhita, which means “lucky” or “fortunate,” was a common name for slaves. They were often given names with positive connotations, as exemplified by the early Christian martyr Felicity, whose slave name meant “happiness.” The name Bakhita initially seemed a cruel irony, given the immense suffering she would endure. However, in hindsight, this name proved remarkably fitting, as it foreshadowed the profound grace and spiritual fortune she would ultimately find through her faith.

When they arrived at their destination, one of the men dragged Bakhita into a storeroom full of tools and other broken bits of equipment. There was nothing for her to lie on except the bare ground. Giving her a piece of black bread, he ordered, “Stay here,” then went out and locked the door behind him. Bakhita remained in that room for over a month. The only light coming in was from a very small window high up near the ceiling. Every so often the door would open briefly and scraps of food would be thrown in for her. Bakhita’s suffering in that horrible place was indescribable. She would cry until she fainted from exhaustion, then dream that she was among her family once again or happily playing with her friends in the fields. When she woke up in that harsh and lonely place, the heartbreak and despair were almost more than she could bear.

One morning, Bakhita was taken from the room and sold to a slave merchant, who put her in a caravan with some other slaves. As they set out on the road, seeing the countryside, the sky and water, and breathing the fresh air, Bakhita felt a little better, although her future was frightening and uncertain. The journey lasted eight days on foot. Upon arriving at the slave market, Bakhita and another little girl about her age began to plot to escape. Their captor’s routine was to put them in a separate room and shut the door. One evening, he came back to the market leading a mule laden with corn. He removed the girls’ chains and told them to husk the corncobs and feed some of them to the mule. He went away in a hurry, forgetting to close the door. Alone and free from the chains, it was the moment they had been waiting for. They fled into the open countryside, running all night as fast as they could, terrified not only of being recaptured, but because in the darkness they could hear the roaring of wild animals. Whenever the sound was closer, they climbed up into the trees for safety. When they heard approaching caravans, they would hide behind the thorn bushes. In Bakhita’s words, “For a good two hours, one group after the other passed just in front of us, but nobody saw us. It was the good God who protected us, nobody else.”

One night, the two girls were lost in the pitch-dark forest, surrounded by danger from wild beasts, not knowing in which direction to continue. Suddenly, Bakhita saw a form of light appear in the night sky above her. It was smiling down at her and pointing out the way they should go. The girls walked as directed, and as dawn approached, the apparition vanished. It was only much later in life that Bakhita realized the vision had been her Guardian Angel, who had led her in the path chosen by God, which — though not right away — ultimately would lead to her greatest good.

At sunset, they saw a cabin. As they approached, a man came up to them and asked where they were going. They replied, “To our parents.” When he pressed them as to where their parents were, they couldn’t answer. Realizing they were runaways, he told them, “Come and rest a bit. Then I’ll take you to your parents.” Entering the cabin, he gave them some water and left them alone so they could sleep. A little while later, he woke them up, gave them food and water, and put them into a big sheepfold. He put down a string bed, and fastened the two girls together by the feet with a heavy chain, telling them to stay there until further notice. As Bakhita later described it, “That was that – we were slaves again.…We cried and cried. He left us there among the sheep and lambs for several days, until a slave merchant passed, and took us out of the sheepfold and sold us to him. We had to walk a long way before rejoining the caravan. Imagine our surprise when we saw, among the slaves, some who had belonged to the master we’d escaped from! They told us how furious he’d 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 threatening 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.”

Bakhita and her companion were taken to El Obeid, the provincial capital of Kordofan. By this point, Bakhita had traveled almost 600 miles from the day of her abduction. The girls were taken into the household of the Arab chief, a wealthy man who owned many slaves. There Bakhita quickly became fluent in Arabic and eventually forgot her original language. The girls were assigned as handmaids to the ladies of the household and the chief’s daughters, who liked them and treated them kindly, making sure they lacked nothing. However, one day Bakhita committed a fault in the eyes of the master’s son. The exact nature of the transgression isn’t detailed in historical records, but it is believed to have been a minor offense, such as breaking a vase. Seizing a whip, he flogged and kicked her so badly she was confined to her sleeping mat for more than a month.

Three months later, she was sold to a Turkish Army General. She and another young girl were put to work as handmaids to his wife and his elderly mother, both of them heartless women who insisted that the girls never leave them even for a moment. If, because of lack of rest, they made any little mistake, they were whipped unmercifully. Years later, Bakhita recalled, “The whole three years I was in their service, I don’t recall having got through a single day without a beating. No sooner did my wounds heal than more lashes rained down on my back – without my even knowing why.” Once, overhearing Bakhita telling her companion about her escape from her first captor, the General’s daughter made Bakhita wear a big chain on her foot for over a month

One of the worst cruelties Bakhita ever had to endure had to do with the custom of slaves wearing designs or patterns cut into their bodies, a crude form of tatooing. Bakhita’s mistress decided to make “a gift” of these tatoos to those of her slaves who didn’t already have them – Bakhita and two others.

One of the most horrific experiences Bakhita endured was a brutal form of scarification, a practice common among slave owners in Sudan at the time. Her mistress decided to inflict this “gift” upon Bakhita and two other slaves who had not yet been marked in this way. A woman who was an expert in this hideous practice arrived. She took them to the porch, while the mistress stood behind them, holding a whip. The woman had a dish of white flour, a dish of salt, and a razor. Bakhita was made to lie down on the mat. The woman, who was ordered to spare her face, started off by using the flour to mark six designs on Bakhita’s chest, 60 on her belly and 48 on her right arm. Then, the woman cut into the designs with the razor. Once the cuts were made, salt was rubbed into them to produce scarring. Needless to say, the ritual was excruciating. Bakhita was left in a state of semi-consciousness for hours after the procedure, barely able to move due to the intense pain. No one tended to her wounds or provided any form of medical care. For weeks, she remained confined to her sleeping mat, enduring constant pain and discomfort. The scars remained with Bakhita for the rest of her life, and the experience remained one of the most terrifying memories from her time in captivity.

Eventually, the General decided to move back to Turkey. He selected 10 slaves, including Bakhita, and sold off the rest. They left Kordofan and traveled by camel to Khartoum, where they were put up at an inn. The General spread the word that he had slaves for sale. The Italian consular agent, named Calisto Legnani came over one day, and Bakhita was told to bring him coffee. The next day, Bakhita went to live in the Legnani household. Calisto Legnani was a kind man and took a great liking to Bakhita. Her duties were to help the housekeeper with domestic work. She always claimed that she was very happy in his service. Even though there was a Catholic mission in Khartoum, which Calisto frequently visited, Bakhita never knew of it and had never heard about Christianity.

In 1884, with civil unrest brewing in the area, Legnani was planning another trip to Italy. In Bakhita’s own words: “I don’t know why, but when I heard the name ‘Italy,’ although I knew nothing of its beauty and charm, a keen desire sprang up in my heart to accompany him. He liked me so much, I dared to ask him to take me to Italy with him.…He agreed, to please me. It was God who wished it, I realized later. I can still feel the joy I experienced at that moment.” Calisto, his friend Augusto Michieli, Bakhita, and a young black boy, all rode on camels in a caravan. After a few days journey, they reached Suakin, where they stayed for several weeks before boarding a ship for Genoa. While in Suakin, the news reached them that a gang of rebels had invaded Khartoum, wreaking havoc by vandalizing property, pillaging, looting, and stealing all the slaves. Bakhita realized that if she had stayed there, she, too, would have been stolen, and who knows what her fate would have been? She remained forever thankful to the Lord for having saved her yet again.

In Genoa, Augusto Michieli’s wife, Maria Turina, came to see her husband at the guesthouse where they were staying. After meeting Bakhita, Maria expressed a wish to have someone like her in her own household. Subsequently, before he left for Padua, Legnani entrusted Bakhita to the Michielis. Bakhita never saw him again. She and the Michielis made their way to the family home in a village called Zianigo, a short distance from Venice. There Bakhita was nurse to their little daughter, Alice Alessandrina Augusta, nicknamed “Mimmina.” As Bakhita later wrote: “The baby came to love me dearly, and I naturally came to feel a similar affection for her.”

Augosto Michieli returned to Suakin to open a hotel. Bakhita and the rest of the family remained in Italy for three years, until at the end of 1886, Augusto sent for them all to join him. The empty house in Italy was left in the hands of the local agent, Illuminato Checchini. Maria, Bakhita and Mimmina remained in Suakin for 9 months. When the decision was made to make it their permanent residence, Maria needed to return to Italy to sell the property there and pack up the furniture. She took Bakhita and Mimmina with her. As Bakhita later wrote: “Then I bade in my heart an eternal farewell to Africa. An inner voice told me I would never see it again.”

The agent Checchini often visited the house to assist and advise Maria in the selling of the property. He was shocked to learn that Bakhita had never been given any religious instruction, and asked the housekeeper to say prayers with Bakhita every morning. The prayers, said either in Italian or Latin, would have meant nothing to Bakhita, but Maria still was annoyed by it. She didn’t want Illuminato “upsetting the servants.” Neither she nor Augusto were religious; furthermore, she wasn’t Italian, but Russian, and claimed to be an atheist, like many upper-class Russians of that era. Illuminato, on the other hand, was the son of a village cart maker and not of the upper class. Renowned for his excellent guidance, he was instrumental in counseling the affluent and advocating for savings banks and mutual insurance societies. He was a deeply religious man and used to play the organ in his home parish of Salzano. He was great friends with the parish priest there, Father Guiseppe Sarto, and they kept in touch even after Illuminato moved away from Salzano.

One day, while visiting the Michieli house, Illuminato gave Bakhita a little silver crucifix. “Giving me the crucifix, he kissed it with devotion,” Bakhita later wrote, “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.”

Within a year, Maria Turina had sold off the property, but there was still some unfinished business remaining. She missed her husband, however, so she decided to travel out to Africa to spend some time with him. Since she didn’t plan to stay long, she decided it would be best to leave Bakhita and Mimmina in Italy during her absence. She asked Illuminato for advice as to where they could stay while she was gone, perhaps a boarding school where Bakhita could receive some education. By this time, Bakhita was 20 years old and had never had any schooling. Illuminato suggested the Catechumenate in Venice, run by the Canossian Sisters, who also had a convent in a nearby village. Maria, knowing how respectable these nuns were, felt reassured that the two girls would be properly looked after, and insisted that they not be separated. Illuminato offered to negotiate all the arrangements, and also personally guaranteed to cover all expenses in the event that there was any difficulty once Maria Turina left the country.

In Bakhita’s words: “When my mistress accompanied me to the Institute, she turned around on the doorstep to bid me goodbye and said: ‘There, that is your home now.’ She said this without having any idea what she was really saying. Oh, if she had realized what was going to happen, she’d never have brought me there! I was entrusted, together with the baby, to a Sister who was well experienced in instructing catechumens, Maria Fabbretti. Tears come to my eyes whenever I think of all the care she took of me. She asked if it was my desire to become a Christian and, hearing that I did desire it and had come with that intention, she was filled with joy. Then those holy Mothers instructed me with heroic patience, and brought me into a relationship with that God whom, ever since I was a child, I had felt in my heart without knowing who He was.”

The nuns faced challenges with Bakhita. Though she was obedient, cooperative, and eager to learn, she communicated only in a fractured blend of standard Italian and the local dialect. She struggled to understand anything beyond practical matters. All instructions had to be delivered verbally or illustrated through pictures, as she could not read books.

It wasn’t long before a little girl who lived across the street, 6-year-old Giulia Della Fonte, began coming over to play with Mimmina. She was fascinated by the kind Black nursemaid, who always smiled but didn’t look truly happy. Actually, at the time, Bakhita would have said she had been happy ever since arriving at the Legnani’s house in Khartoum. But despite her present fortunate circumstances, the horrific experiences she had endured had left her spirit crushed, and it wasn’t so easy to just dismiss the memories. But now she was hopeful that her spirit could be healed. She knew that with God there were no language barriers, and she could talk openly to Him about whatever was in her heart. She spent a lot of her free time in prayer, either in front of the large crucifix in the downstairs parlor, or in the domestic chapel where a statue of Our Lady of La Salette had been installed. She also would go with Mimmina to the nearby church of Our Lady of Health, where there was an old icon of the Madonna and Child. As is the case with so many of Europe’s venerated Marian icons, the figures depicted in it were black, making them even easier for Bakhita to relate to. She had a great devotion to Mary. “The Blessed Virgin protected me, even when I did not know her,” she later recalled. “Even in the depths of discouragement and sadness, when I was a slave, I never despaired, because I felt in me a mysterious force that supported me. ”

The year passed happily for Bakhita. Then, on Nov. 27, 1889, Maria Turina came back to Italy, announcing that Mimmina and Bakhita would travel back with her to Africa to live permanently, where Bakhita would have a new job tending the family’s hotel bar in Suakin. But Bakhita refused, much to everyone’s surprise, including her own, because she had never before refused to obey an order. “I refused to go with her to Africa because I was not yet well enough instructed to be baptized,” she wrote. “I also thought that, even if I had been baptized, it wouldn’t be easy to practice my new religion there, and therefore it was better for me to stay with the Sisters.” Needless to say, Maria was not pleased. She angrily reminded Bakhita of everything the Michieli’s had done for her. In those days, young women were not allowed to make their own decisions about their lives. They either had to defer to their parents, or in the case of a servant with no family of her own, her employers. Bakhita didn’t blame Maria Turina for her attitude. She knew it was justified, because they really had treated her kindly and had tried very hard to do what they thought was best for her. Also, she loved the family, especially little Mimmina. Feeling emotionally torn, she was tempted to give in, but in her heart she felt that it wasn’t so much about doing what she wanted with her life, but about her loyalty to God, who had protected and guided her so well thus far.

After Maria Turina stormed out, Bakhita spent a long time praying in front of the crucifix in the parlor. “It made me suffer to see her so disgusted with me, because I really liked her,” she later said. “It was our Lord who gave me strength to be so firm about it, because he wanted to make me his. How good he is!”

Even the nuns tried to persuade her at first to do what Maria wanted, even though they would have liked Bakhita to stay with them. But Bakhita insisted, “No. I won’t leave the house of Our Lord. It would be the ruin of me.” They didn’t quite understand this, because there was a Catholic mission in Suakin, and she would have access to all the Sacraments. But Bakhita knew that she would not be able to live her Christian beliefs to their fullest in an irreligious household in a non-Christian country. Father Jacopo, Rector of the Catechumenate, didn’t know what to do, so he wrote to the Patriarch of Venice, Domenico Agostini. He in turn sought advice from the Royal Procurator, who said that slavery did not exist in Italy, and therefore, Bakhita was not a slave but a free woman.

A meeting was held in the parlor of the Catechumenate on Nov. 29. Bakhita related the events this way: “The Patriarch spoke first. There followed a long discussion, which concluded in my favor. Mrs. Turina, weeping with rage and disappointment, seized the child, who didn’t want to be separated from me and was clinging to me to try to make me come. I was so upset, I couldn’t say a word. I left them weeping and went out, satisfied that I hadn’t given in.” The next day, Bakhita sat alone in her room, crying profusely. Mimmina had gone away to Africa, and she would never see her again.

On January 9, 1890, in the church of St. John the Baptist, Bakhita was baptized. Illuminato Checchini and his family were there, along with little Giulia, her mother and aunt. Some members of the old Venetian nobility were also present. Her godparents were Count Marco Avogrado di Soranzo and Lady Margherita Donati. It was decided that her baptismal name would be Guiseppina Margherita Fortunato. She was named Guissepina (Italian for Josephine) for the Countess, her godfather’s wife; Margherita for her godmother; and Fortunato as the Latin translation of her Arabic name, Bakhita. She was also confirmed and given her First Communion by the Patriarch on that same day. Bakhita stayed close to little Giulia during the reception afterwards, both of them feeling shy and overawed. When everyone else had gone home, Father Jacopo invited the girls to join him for lunch in his quarters. Bakhita was now transfigured with joy, her face radiant. Giulia thought, “This must be what a saint looks like,” and kissed Bakhita’s hands repeatedly. Knowing that she was loved by the Lord and belonged to Him made all the pain and sorrow of Bakhita’s past shrink into insignificance. She understood that the Lord had always been there, watching over her and guiding her. She knew that the suffering had had a Divine purpose. Even if she couldn’t understand it, she trusted God in his wisdom.

Bakhita remained at the Catechumenate for a whole year following baptism, as was traditional for newcomers. Giulia continued to visit her, and Illuminato also kept in touch. He assured her that as soon as she was ready to resume normal life, he would welcome her into his family as an honorary daughter. She would have a dowry settled on her and could look forward to favorable marriage opportunities. But when the end of the year came, Bakhita wanted to remain with the Sisters. They agreed, and she lived there until the summer of 1893. As she later wrote: “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 Bottesella, who wrote to the Superior of the Motherhouse 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.”

It was traditional for women wishing to join the Order to confirm their vocation by returning to the world for a brief period. Bakhita spent three months with the Checchini family in Zianigo. Although she enjoyed it very much, she had no doubts about her future life path. She entered the novitiate in the House of Catechumens in Venice on December 7, 1893. A year later, she was called to Verona to be clothed in the habit of the Canossians. As was customary before taking religious vows, the candidate would be interviewed to confirm that they had the maturity to make a free choice and had not been pressured in any way. Bakhita’s examination was conducted by the Patriarch of Venice, who was now Illuminato’s former parish priest, Guiseppe Sarto. He told her, “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.”

Taking the name Sister Josephine Margaret Fortunata, Bakhita professed her sacred vows in Verona on December 8, 1896, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. This turned out to be perfect timing, allowing Mother Previtali to witness the ceremony as she had hoped, because she passed away just a month later, on Jan. 11. Bakhita was given the medallion of Our Lady of Sorrows by the Reverend Mother Superior, and received into the community. The Checchinis attended the ceremony. Bakhita considered them family, and even after Illuminato’s death, she never lost touch with his children and grandchildren. After the ceremony, she was given a tour of the ancestral mansion of the Canossa family, the foundress’ childhood home, and met her nephew, 87-year-old Bishop Luigi di Canossa, who was eager to meet this new member of his aunt’s congregation.

For the next six years, Sister Josephine continued to live quietly at the Catechumenate in Venice. She helped out with the cooking and cleaning, and sometimes supervised the little schoolgirls. But her most frequent activity was handcrafting articles for sale to help fund the overseas missions. This consisted of simple embroidery, handloom-weaving, and beadwork using locally-made colored glass beads. She loved the beadwork, and it became a hobby that she continued throughout her life. She made little items as gifts for friends, who cherished them because they knew all the love that went into making them. She also helped embroider vestments and altar cloths. By now she had learned some basic reading and writing, although she only read her prayer book, the Canossian rule, and probably also the Gospels, because she came to know them so well.

In accordance with the wishes of Patriarch Sarto, she was moved in 1902 to the Canossian House in Schio, about 60 miles from Venice. When told of this transfer she smiled and said “We’re always in the house of Our Lord.” The following year, Giuseppe Sarto was elected Pope, taking the name Pius X. Schio was Sister Josephine’s home for the rest of her life, except for temporary transfers. She was appointed assistant cook, and in 1907 she was promoted to head cook. She saw it as a service of charity and did her best to produce delicious meals. She cheerfully put in the extra work to make special menus for invalids, and she always kept meals hot for the Sisters whose work prevented them from eating at the regular meal times. In 1910, her Superior requested that she dictate an account of her life to be written down by one of the other Sisters.

In May 1915, Italy came into the First World War on the Allied side. One night in May 1916, some wounded soldiers from the front reached Schio. An officer knocked on the door of the convent to ask if room could be made for them. The house was soon turned into a field hospital. Most of the nuns were transferred to Mirano, but Sister Josephine stayed on as head cook, with soldier-orderlies now working under her direction in the kitchen. She also sometimes helped with the nursing. Once, when a man was brought in with a fractured skull, there was not enough bedding, so she ran to get her own pillow for him to lie on.

The patients loved talking to her and hearing her fascinating life story. She spoke to them about God, would not tolerate bad language, and always reminded them to go to confession. Not all of the soldiers appreciated this, and one day some of the orderlies decided to play a prank on her. As she walked past, they suddenly set off an ear-piercing alarm, but she did not react. They asked in astonishment, “Aren’t you afraid of death?” She replied “Anyone whose soul is in the right place doesn’t have to be afraid.” As the war continued, everyone was on edge. Sister Josephine was almost arrested one day while out walking with Mother Superior, because the military policeman assumed that anyone who was not a native Italian was automatically a spy. On November 3, 1918, hostilities formally came to an end.

Sister Josephine fell seriously ill with pneumonia in 1922. She was so sick that the doctor advised the Sisters to call the priest, and she was given Last Rites. But a few days later she rallied and began to recover. When the doctor told her she was out of danger, she replied, “What a pity! When I was already so well on the way out, it would’ve been better to keep going. Now I’ll have to do it all again!” She was relieved of her post as head cook and giving lighter work as the portress, admitting into the school the mothers and their children, dealing with delivery men, contractors, and general callers. People loved to invent excuses to drop in to see her. She had the gift of making everyone feel like they’d known her all their lives, even after speaking with her for just a few minutes. Because she had suffered so much in her own life, she always understood when people poured out their sorrows and worries to her. They knew they could draw courage and fortitude from talking with her.  She was fond of saying, “In God’s will, there is great peace.”

Sister Josephine took her perpetual vows in August 1927 in the Canossian House in Milano. She was temporarily assigned to another of the congregation’s Venice houses in 1930, where she was interviewed about her life story by Ida Zanolini. It was published as “Storia meravigliosa,” which translates to “A Marvelous Story”. It was wildly popular in Italy, selling for the price of two lire a copy, and was translated into other languages as well. People began traveling to Schio to meet Sister Josephine. One day, she was called to the parlor to receive visitors at a particularly inconvenient time during recreation. She quipped dryly, “Mother, if it cost two lire to read me, how much does it cost to see me?” She always received the visitors with humility and courtesy, but never viewed her fame as anything but a nuisance.

In 1932, her superiors asked her to go on tour around the towns and villages of northern and central Italy for a series of publicity and fundraising events to support the Congregation’s foreign missions. Because Sister Josephine froze up in front of large audiences, and her Italian was not good enough for formal speeches, she was paired with Sister Leopoldina Benetti, an experienced missionary who had spent 35 years in China. Mother Benetti would deliver a talk on the missions and recount “The Marvelous Story” while Sister Josephine sat quietly next to her on the platform. At the end, Mother Benetti would turn to her and ask her to say a few words. Sister Josephine would stand up and thank everyone for coming, and say simply “Be good. Love our Lord. Pray for those who do not yet know him. It’s such a great grace to know God!”

In late 1936 she had an audience with Pope Pius XI in Rome. This marked the culmination of her mission promotion campaign — much to her relief, as she had not enjoyed it. Despite the overwhelming popularity of the presentations, which caused massive traffic jams in every town where they took place, Sister Josephine found it challenging to stand before large crowds without forming personal connections. She greatly preferred one-on-one interactions.

Thanks to the efforts of Fathers Oliveieri and Verri, Italian priests who worked to ransom young women from slavery, several other Black Sudanese nuns found their way to northern Italy. Sister Josephine met one of them, Sister Maria Agostino, a Visitation nun residing in a cloister in Soresina. As they exchanged stories, they were astonished by the striking similarities in their childhood experiences. Sister Maria, a few years older than Sister Josephine, was the same age as Josephine’s kidnapped older sister would have been. She also had been captured and sold into slavery, before being ransomed by an Italian, Father Blaise Verri. After receiving care from the Visitation nuns, she chose to join their Order. The two nuns felt a deep connection, believing they were long-lost sisters reunited. As they parted ways, they comforted each other with the promise that they would meet again in heaven. Sister Maria Agostina passed away at the age of 80, shortly before Sister Josephine’s own death.

Sister Josephine was never annoyed by curiosity about her color, even when expressed in ignorant ways. The townspeople called her “Madre Moretta,” which roughly translates to “Black Mother.” They did not mean this in any derogatory way; it was a term of endearment. But when “The Marvelous Story” was published, she did not like the fuss that was made over her and was upset that, after hearing her story, people would pity her. She felt that they were missing the point, not understanding that the story had a happy ending, because all of it had been for a purpose. “I’m not a ‘poor,’ thing, because I belong to the Master, and I’m in his house,” she would exclaim. “People who don’t know our Lord — they’re the ones who are poor!”

In researching St. Josephine Bakhita’s life story, the one thing that amazed me the most was her capacity for forgiveness. When a fellow Sister once expressed righteous anger against the wicked people who had tormented Bakhita, she placed a finger on her lips and said, “Shhh…poor things, they weren’t wicked. They didn’t know God. And 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 very good and generous to me, will be the same with them, and bring them all to conversion and salvation.” Whenever people asked her what she would do if she ever met her captors again, she had always replied “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 I would not be a sister today.”

It’s also quite possible that we wouldn’t be honoring her as a saint today if not for her early, harrowing experiences. However, it’s rare to find someone who can extend that sort of forgiveness and compassion towards those who inflicted such immense suffering upon them. One of the requirements for canonization is the demonstration of “heroic virtue” during one’s lifetime. In my view, St. Josephine Bakhita’s extraordinary ability to forgive exemplifies true heroism.

Whenever she met visitors to the House who were the parents of prospective missionaries, Sister Josephine could see that many of them were uneasy about their daughter’s choice. But she would say to them, “How many thousands of people in Africa would be brought to the faith, if only there were missionaries to tell them that God loves them, and that Jesus Christ died for them!” It was because of these people in Africa that she herself put up with going on tour. She would say, “Let’s hope it will help the missions, and especially my missions, and it doesn’t matter to me that I’ll never see them on this earth, because I’ll see them in heaven.” She knew she was fulfilling God’s will and making her own contribution simply by offering up her sufferings in humble obedience. She once told a heartbroken novice who was unable to be a missionary because of poor health, “Courage! You and I will both of us be saints and missionaries, and save many souls, by staying here.”

Sister Josephine stayed on at the Canossian house in Vimercate for two more years, then returned to Schio for good at the end of 1938. She was suffering from arthritis and the long-term effects of the brutal treatment she had suffered in her youth. After a bad fall in 1942, she needed a cane to walk, and by the following year was in a wheelchair. One day, a Bishop who was visiting the convent asked her what she was doing while sitting in her wheelchair. With a  cheerful smile, she answered, “I’m doing what you yourself are doing: the will of God.”

As World War II raged and bombs began to fall over Italy, the townspeople were frightened. But Sister Josephine reassured them, “No, don’t worry. Schio will be spared.” She refused to take cover in the air-raid shelter, saying, “No, no, our Lord saved me from the lions and panthers; do you think he can’t save me from the bombs?” Her prediction turned out to be correct. Bridges and military targets in the surrounding area were bombed, and at one point, 50 bombs dropped on the outskirts of town but failed to explode. One wing of the textile mill was destroyed, and some workers died. But the houses of Schio remained untouched at the end of the war.

By 1945, Sister Josephine was mostly confined to bed, because her health had declined so badly. “I’m going slowly, slowly, step by step to eternity,” she said. “Jesus is my captain and I am his assistant. I have to carry the suitcases. One contains my debts, the other, heavier, the infinite merits of Jesus. What shall I do in the court of God? I will cover my debts with the merits of Jesus, and I will say to the Eternal Father, ‘Now judge what you see.’ In heaven, I will go with Jesus and I will obtain many graces. I will come visit you in your dreams if the ‘Master’ allows me. In paradise, I will have power and I will obtain many graces for all.”

She was too sick to go to Mass, but said that her Guardian Angel would attend for her. Although she took a lot of prescribed medications, they didn’t do much for her pain. When asked about it, she would reply, “As our Lord wishes – it’s up to Him to decide.” She refused to wake the Infirmarian at night when she couldn’t sleep. “Why should I disturb the sleep of those who need to sleep?” she would say. “I can rest later, but that Mother has work to do during the day. Anyway, if I suffer a bit it doesn’t matter. I owe our Lord so much that what I offer him is nothing.”

At 11 AM on February 8, 1947, the priest came and asked her if she wanted to receive communion. She replied, “I’d better, because afterwards there will be no point….I’m going to heaven.” Toward evening, apparently reliving the tortures of her youth, she told the infirmarian, “The chains on my feet are so heavy!” The Infirmarian lifted away the bedcovers to give her some relief. Sister Josephine said, “That’s fine. Now I must go over there, to St. Peter.” The other Sister thought she meant the Cathedral, but Sister Josephine corrected, “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.” The Sister told her that it was Saturday, the day of the Blessed Mother. Sister Josephine replied, “Yes, I am so happy….Our Lady, Our Lady.” At that moment, her eyes shifted and she broke out into a radiant smile, as if seeing a vision of the Heavenly Mother. “Look, look!” She exclaimed. “You’re here? Come, come, let’s go to the foundress….So, when I’m there I will not have to go away again and I’ll be there forever.” With that, she closed her eyes and passed into the next life.

The next morning, Sister Josephine’s body was laid out in an open coffin at the convent, so that the townspeople could pay their respects. The first visitor was an unemployed workman, who approached the coffin, removed his hat, and asked Sr. Josephine for help in finding a job, because he and his family were destitute. After leaving, he went to the Rossi textile mills and spoke to the foreman, who immediately gave him a job. Soon, despite the snow and ice on the ground, a long line formed to view the body of the beloved Mother Moretta. Some of them furtively cut off pieces of her habit or locks of her hair. Others touched their personal belongings, such as watches or rings, to her body for a few seconds, taking them home to cherish as blessed relics. She often had said that when she was dead, she “would not scare anyone.” Indeed, the children were not frightened of her, because she didn’t seem dead to them – she just lay there smiling peacefully, as if asleep. A large number of workmen from the Rossi textile mills came to see her when the factory closed for the day. After her funeral, a procession of nearly a mile long made its way to the cemetery where she would be laid to rest.

Josephine Margaret Bakhita was beatified in 1992. One of the miracles that led to her canonization involved a Brazilian woman with advanced diabetes, who was in danger of having her legs amputated due to severely infected wounds. After praying to Josephine Bakhita in the cathedral of Santos, Brazil, her wounds completely disappeared. This medically-unexplainable healing was later recognized by the Church as a miraculous event. Saint Josephine Bakhita was canonized on Oct. 1, 2000. Her feast day is celebrated on February 8^th. She is the patron saint of Sudan and victims of modern slavery and human trafficking.

At her canonization Mass, Pope John Paul II said: “Abducted and sold into slavery at the tender age of seven, she suffered much at the hands of cruel masters. But she came to understand the profound truth that God, and not man, is the true Master of every human being, of every human life.…This experience became a source of great wisdom for this humble daughter of Africa. In today’s world, countless women continue to be victimized, even in developed modern societies. In Saint Josephine Bakhita we find a shining advocate of genuine emancipation. The history of her life inspires not passive acceptance, but the firm resolve to work effectively to free girls and women from oppression and violence, and to return them to their dignity in the full exercise of their rights.”

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