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| Excerpts from Bakhita's story are taken from manuscripts told by Bakhita herself to her Sisters in Venice between 1910 and 1929. |
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When they emerged from the woods, the two children seemed to see the hazy outline of a cluster of huts. Could it be their village? Incited by the same wild hope, they resumed their flight in that direction. A man, appearing out of nowhere, crossed their path, and with a gentle look upon his hard face, enquired, "Where are you running to, little girls?" "There, to our parents," they said, pointing to the village. "Why, you look exhausted. Come with me and rest for the night. I'll take you to your village tomorrow." As they reached the village, the dear object of their dreams, they were locked up in a shed, with heavy chains on their feet. Oh, what a heart-rending delusion! How miserable they felt! Slaves, once again! A few days later the girls were sold to another trader and went on a journey across the desert with another caravan. They were taken to Kardofan, where the two girls were bought by a wealthy chief to act as maids to his daughters. Bakhita's mistresses were very affectionate towards her and she tried her best to please them. But one day she dropped and broke a precious vase. This so annoyed the master's son that he beat Bakhita without mercy and ordered her to be sold. It took a long time for the wounds to heal and after three months she was sold to a Turkish general. So I had to leave Binah whom I loved like my own sister, and my two lovely mistresses who had been good to me. |
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For the next two years Bakhita was at the mercy of the whims and fancies of the womenfolk of the household. Out of sheer cruelty they made her submit to the torturing operation of being tattooed by incision. A hundred and forty deep cuts all over her body made of her but a bleeding mass of wounds. For, in order to bring the design into bold relief, the incisions were opened and smeared with salt. |
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The pain was indescribable. I can truly say that the only reason I didn't die was that the Lord had better things in store for me. I didn't hate anyone. Maybe they never knew what they were doing And so I never gave up hope because I could feel a mysterious force inside me that kept me going. Because I suffered such a lot in my life it has helped me to understand people better who are suffering themselves, it's brought me closer to them... Then quite unexpectedly the officer decided to return to Turkey. He took with him only a few slaves, including Bakhita. Without her even suspecting it, deliverance was waiting for Bakhita just round the corner. At Khartoum, the officer sold more of his slaves. To Bakhita's surprise, she was one of them. |
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It was here that Count Legnani, Italian Consul in
Khartoum, saw me and decided to buy me. At last my luck seemed to be changing: the Consul
was a patient and gentle person.
No more whippings, no more telling off, no more punishments. My new job, helping the maid, was not hard work at all and I was pleased to make myself useful. I was allowed to dress up and have my hair done like other African girls of my age. I wasn't free yet, but things were beginning to change. |
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