It is always difficult to explain how one’s vocation was born. My case is not as striking as one may imagine. People often consider the missionary or the religious person as someone so special, almost describing them as extraordinary beings. However, it is not like that. We have so much to learn from others. What characterizes us is that we have a deep love for those who are marginalized, even when this is not always easy.
As you can see by my name, I am Italian even though now I have little in me from Italy, because I have been living in Kenya for more than 28 years and, as you know, here we speak English and Kiswahili; in our community, we speak Spanish and English. In short, I do not know what language I speak anymore, probably a mixture of everything.
Let me tell you how I arrived to this remote land. I lived in a small village called Pietraforte, in the province of Rieti, in Italy. At the time my town had around 100 people, and I am not exaggerating. Many people had left the town looking for jobs in the larger cities. The parish priest was from Spain. One day, he came to celebrate a funeral in the town and I went to see him, to request a certificate for one of my cousins who was getting married. I saw the priest’s car outside the church and two young women sitting inside. I got close, opened the door and sat with them. The young women were surprised to see me and I explained to them why was I there. They spoke to me half in Spanish and half in Italian. They were two lay missionaries of the Missionary Community of Saint Paul Apostle, who talked to me during more than half an hour about what they were doing in Kenya. I told them that I had always wanted to be a missionary, but that every time I approached the priest he introduced me to nuns, to see if I wanted to be a religious sister, and I saw that this was not for me.
After a while the priest came and invited me to go with them to Rome, because Fr. Paco was arriving that day. I went with them. From the first moment Paco saw me, he invited me to go with them to Kenya. He seemed too determined, to me. It was the first time that someone who did not know me trusted me at first sight, and I told him yes, I would go. I was with them for two days, and even though everyone tried to talk to me in Italian I could barely understand them, and I did not speak Spanish at the time.
That was how some months later I left my family. I had previously a brother, four years younger than me. He was born premature, six months into my mother’s pregnancy. He had to stay in an incubator for some time. Later was diagnosed with cerebral palsy and lived only until he was nine, when I became an only child. Fortunately, my four-year-old cousin came to live with our family after his father died and my mother raised him until he was 14, and went back to live with his mother. Then I really became an only child. Nonetheless, my parents did not oppose my going to Kenya. At the beginning they missed me a lot, but later they accepted it.
Now, after many years, I understand well Paco’s determination to call me to leave everything and follow Christ, in order to go where there is nothing, where people are so poor that they live with “less than nothing”, in Turkana.
When I came to Kenya I lived for a long time in Nairobi. I was the only Italian in the community and I only spoke Italian. Many times I felt odd, I wanted to go and live in Turkana, in the desert, and not in a large city. I remember that at the beginning I only wanted to be with one of the young missionaries whom I had met in my village, but she had to go to another mission in Bolivia and it was hard to adapt to the rest. My mother would call me occasionally for a minute to see if I was well, and even though I always said yes, she noticed that it was not true. I never told her, but it was very difficult to leave my family and my “small world” where I was used to do everything I wanted, to travel and to make my own choices.
The first months were like this: “I like it, but…”. After some time everything began to change: I understood better the meaning of the life I had embraced. The love and, most of all, the patience that the community had with me were extraordinary. After some months I decided to stay. It was after visiting Turkana, after seeing how people lived, after seeing the work done there. I think that Turkana moved me, and the thought that I could be useful changed me.
During the 28years I have been with the Community my mother has come almost every year to stay with us. She felt at home, teaching people to sew, embroider, and cook Italian pasta, sausages and other things. It is beautiful to see how one’s family can become a part of the Community, and at the end we all form one, big family. When they come they serve others, they learn to love our people in the mission and have a better understanding of the things I have explained to them.
It was not mere coincidence that my small village had a Spanish priest. Everything came from God’s hands, who was there. I simply had the door open, and I hope that God’s hand will continue to guide me on the mission’s paths, wherever He wants to take me
Patrizia Aniballi, MCSPA
