Sister Marie-Celine, MICM
Saint Josephine bakhita Escape
T
he “owner put us in a separate room and always locked us in, especially when he had to leave the house. It was almost dinnertime. Having returned from the market, he led to the house a mule loaded with ears of corn. He came and undid our chains, ordering us to unload the corn and to feed the mule. He then departed, absentmindedly leaving the door unlocked. We were alone and without chains. God’s providence–now was the time.”
The two girls took off as fast as they could through forests and deserts. Passing caravans and possible attacks of wild animals gripped them with fear.
Sister Mariannina Turco, to whom Bakhita told the following incident years later, recalls, “Bakhita once told me that something happened after she and her companion escaped from their owner, on the very first night they spent in the forest. While everything was dark all around them and they were hiding under some plants, she suddenly saw a beautiful figure take shape in the sky. Surrounded by light, this figure was smiling at her and pointed out the way she should follow. Without telling anything about this to her companion, she confidently followed the direction that this mysterious figure indicated. In this way, she found the strength and courage to continue on and thus they were saved from the wild beasts. Near dawn the figure disappeared, and she did not see it again.” God was watching over them.
The next day the thought of reaching their families pushed them on in hope. “Near sundown we saw a little cottage. Our hearts began to beat rapidly. We strained our eyes to see if it was our house. It was not. What bitterness, how disillusioned we felt! As we stood there thinking about what to do next, a man appeared right in front of us. Frightened, we were about to flee.”
Seeing their distress, he asked them where they were going. They answered they were looking for their parents. Willing to help them, he invited them to rest. After a short time, the man took them to his house and gave them something to eat. However, the next thing they knew they were tied and chained in the animal pen.
“Here we were, slaves again! So much for taking us to our parents. How we cried, how we suffered. We were left there for days, until a slave trader passed through. Then we were taken out of the pen and sold to that man.”
Kordofan
The girls traveled with the new slave trader until they reached the main caravan heading for the market. Those who were weak or considered a burden to the caravan were killed, beaten, or left behind in the desert. Days went by where the slaves had no water to quench their burning thirst. For almost three weeks they wearily followed in the miserable procession until they arrived at the city of El Obeid, the capital of Kordofan. Located in the “African Uplands” in Arab and Muslim territory, Kordofan was one of the largest slave markets of the world. Out of the 100,000 people living in Kordofan, 80,000 were slaves. The slaves in Bakhita’s caravan did not have much of a chance to see the city, as they were herded into warehouses and separated into categories according to healthiness. Bakhita was placed in the best one because she was a stunningly beautiful child with a healthy and robust constitution.
“When we finally arrived in the city, we were brought to the house of the Arab leader [thought to be the governor]. He was an extremely rich man and already owned a large number of slaves, all in the flower of their youth. My companion and I were destined to be the handmaids of the young ladies who were his daughters…The owner’s intention was to present us as gifts to his son when he got married.”
She felt a joyous time of peace here, a welcome change from the sorrow she had been through. She liked her new mistresses, and they treated her almost with affection. She was at their beck and call whenever they wanted to play or needed some entertainment. By her good nature she soon became the favorite, much to the envy of the other slaves. Three months passed by in this calm. One day, however, the owner’s son ordered Bakhita to fetch him a beautiful vase, which she dropped on the way. The young man exploded with threats and in a fit of anger started to kick and whip the poor girl. The fact that her mistresses watched on indifferently cut her to the quick. It took Bakhita a month to recover from the beating, and the only slave that did not taunt or leave her helpless was the little girl with whom she had arrived.
The Turkish General
It was not long before Bakhita was sold, for a third time, to a Turkish general who was passing through. The man’s mother and wife proved to be horrible and utterly wicked mistresses, demanding the superhuman from the poor slaves who lived in a constant state of fear from blows and whips. “The blows would fall on us without mercy. In the three years I spent in their service, I do not remember a day going by without my being hit. The wounds I received one day would not be healed before others were added the next, without my knowing why.”
“Poor victims of inhuman tyranny,” Bakhita would say about the slaves who, under these new owners, were subject to the basest cruelties. Even if they did nothing wrong they were used at times as something on which to vent anger. The general once ordered two soldiers to beat Bakhita and another slave. “I remember how they took aim at my thighs with the cane, taking away skin and flesh and giving me a long gash that left me immobile in bed for months. All of this had to be endured in silence because nobody came to dress our wounds or offer us a word of comfort. How many of my ill-fated companions died from the blows they suffered.”
“I have been in the middle of mud, but I never got dirty.”
If only to make things worse, Bakhita and the other slaves were subjected to tattooing in order to show to whom they belonged. Unlike methods of today, the markings were made by very painful, deep incisions, intended to become scars. Bakhita was branded with over a hundred. “I could not tell you how I felt. It seemed I was dying every moment.” Later on, Bakhita would remark, “I can honestly say that the reason I did not die was that the Lord miraculously destined me for better things.”