Sudan’s political climate was simmering like a pot about to boil. Mohammed Ahmed, who called himself the Mahdi (pronounced: Ma-dee) or “God’s Envoy,” began his conquest of the country. His plan was to start with Sudan and gradually conquer the whole world. The Sudanese Catholic missions, begun by Saint Daniel Comboni, were wiped out in 1881, the same year that this great missionary bishop died.
By 1882, the slaves of the Turkish general knew little about the events shaping up in the city and throughout the country, but there was more activity than usual. They noticed a kind of nervous excitement, as if changes were in the air. Rumors began to fly.
“I wonder what’s happening,” fourteen-year-old Bakhita whispered to a fellow slave. “What do you think it could be?”
“I don’t really know,” the girl replied, “Do you think that the general could be planning to move back to Turkey?”
“What would that mean for us?” Bakhita asked quickly. “Would we go, too?” The girls shrugged their shoulders.
“Well,” Bakhita’s friend added, “we’ll find out soon enough.”
Finally the general announced that he would be returning to Turkey. In preparation he was going to sell all but ten of his slaves. Bakhita would be one of the ten who would remain in the general’s household. The rest of the slaves were sold in El Obeid before the general’s family left for Khartoum, the capital city of Sudan.
The general’s household traveled by camel caravan to Khartoum. When, after several days, they arrived, Bakhita was shocked to hear that she, too, would be sold.
I know what life is like in the general’s family, she said to herself, but I have no idea who my next owner will be. What if he’s even crueler than the general?
Bakhita was afraid, but she knew how important it was to continue to do her work well in order to escape punishment. That afternoon the general had a visitor. The distinguished-looking man gazed intently at Bakhita as she served him coffee. Later, when her work was finished, she lay awake all night worrying and silently waiting for the dawn.
The next morning a woman dressed in white arrived. After a short conference, the general called Bakhita into the room. “Follow this maid,” he ordered. The young slave tried not to show her surprise. She quietly followed the woman out of the room. Have I been sold again? If so, to whom? the girl wondered silently.
Bakhita stole a glance at the woman. Her black hair was held in place by a white scarf. Her face was gentle, and she smiled at the girl as she said, “Come with me. Don’t be afraid!”
Bakhita’s spirits lifted. Could it be that her new owner would be kind and good? The two left the hotel and walked down the street, stopping in front of a large, imposing building. From the balcony, a white, red, and green flag fluttered in the breeze. Bakhita wondered what it meant, but was too shy to ask.
“This is the house of Italy’s vice consul, and I am his maid,” the woman in white said. She paused, and explained, “Italy is a country in Europe, far, far away. Signor Callisto Legnani saw you yesterday and learned you were for sale. He has bought you to make you his servant. Eventually he will set you free.”
Although Bakhita could not fully understand every word the woman said, she could sense the kindness in her voice. Slowly, the young slave smiled. She understood that her new master would be kind, and decent, and good. She would finally truly be Bakhita, the lucky one!
From that day on, Bakhita loved a country she had never even heard of until then: Italy. She dreamed of the day when she would see this wonderful country herself.
The kindly maid led Bakhita to a room where she could wash. Then she presented her with a dress. Bakhita held it up and admired it.
“Go ahead, put it on,” the maid encouraged. “I’ll help you.” Bakhita carefully slipped into the dress. It was beautiful—the first dress she had ever owned!
Bakhita was then led to a drawing room and presented to the vice consul, Signor Callisto Legnani. “Good,” the Signor Legnani said. He smiled at the quiet young African with the timid eyes. The diplomat read fear in those eyes and it pained him.
“There is no need to be afraid,” he assured her. “You will be safe here and loved. You can help my servant with the household chores, and no one will mistreat you. Be peaceful and happy!”
This was the last time Bakhita would ever be sold. The painful years of slavery, the beatings, the neglect, the cruelty had finally ended. “Be peaceful and happy,” Signor Legnani had said. She wanted nothing more!
The atmosphere in the consul’s home was friendly and cordial. Everyone—relatives, guests, and servants—was treated graciously and with respect. The young woman tried to show her gratitude by working diligently. Sometimes, as she performed her tasks, Bakhita would ask herself, How did I get here? Why did Signor Legnani pick me? How have I been so lucky? She had no answers, but wasn’t it wonderful?
Two years passed happily. As the political situation worsened, Signor Legnani received word that he was to return to Italy immediately. He made the necessary arrangements, planning to leave his house and servants in the care of his housekeeper. When Bakhita understood that Signor Legnani would be returning to Italy, she did the unimaginable. She gathered up her courage, approached the kindly man, and asked, “Please, may I go with you to Italy?”
Bakhita would never have dared to make such a request of her former owners. The general, his wife and mother, Salim, the slave traders—their reactions would have been swift and cruel. But that was in the past!
“Please, Signor Legnani,” Bakhita begged.
The man sighed. “It is a long and difficult journey,” he explained, “and very expensive.” The young African’s eyes pleaded. “Well, all right,” he relented. “You can come.”
Bakhita’s heart was dancing!