By Sr Medeiatrice Muhawenimana
I first met Agatha Uwimana on a Friday evening in 2025, the eve of my home thanksgiving Mass in Rukomo Parish, Byumba Diocese in Rwanda. Dressed in a simple white shirt and a sky-blue skirt, she stood among a group of young women undergoing religious formation, alongside their formator and other religious sisters who had come to celebrate with us.
At 32, she carried a distinctive maturity and stillness that set her apart from the younger candidates in the program. If you looked closely at her hands, you could spot faint rough spots left behind by hard physical labour. When she spoke, her voice was gentle, yet it carried the weight of someone who had looked deep into the abyss and survived.
I sat down beside her, drawn in by her serene spirit, completely unaware of the extraordinary journey that had brought her this far. She opened up about her past life. Years earlier, she had joined the congregation of Oblates du Saint-Esprit, full of youthful zeal. She lived happily as a professed sister for four years, but family issues and a long period of discernment led her to leave the congregation and return to the lay life.
However, the desire to serve God remained a burning fire that she could not quench. Even as she got into her thirties, she knew her true home was within the convent walls. Desperate to find a gate back to her calling, she began searching the internet for congregations that welcomed older, mature candidates.
It was during this search that she encountered a sweet-tongued person online who claimed to represent an internationalorder expanding into a neighbouring country. The promise of a holy life focused on prayer felt like a miraculous open door and she crossed the border into Tanzania.
However, the moment she stepped into the compound of the supposed religious congregation, that illusion vanished. There were no older sisters, no daily Masses, and no prayer books. Instead, she found herself in a locked house filled with frightened young women who were forced to work day and night.
The people running the house told them the endless cleaning and cooking was a special spiritual test to break their pride. No mattresses were provided for them, and they were forced to sleep on the cold concrete floor.
The most terrifying part was the absolute anonymity; the house was completely directed by an unseen figure who only gave orders through a coordinator’s mobile phone. Agathaquickly realized that she had fallen into a human trafficking ring disguised as a house of formation. Trapped in this forced labour camp, Agatha knew she had to act quickly before she was sold to another country from Tanzania.
Fortunately, she had managed to hide her mobile phone from the handlers during the initial intake. In the dark hours of the night, she secretly searched the internet for any lifeline. On TikTok, she came across a Catholic sister from the congregation of the Daughters of St. Paul, who was sharing vocation content online. Feeling a sudden spark of hope, she secretly wrote her a long, detailed message describing the locked compound and the forced labour. The sister immediately recognized the signs of human trafficking.
Though she was hundreds of miles away in Tanzania, the sister used modern technology to save her, sending emergency travel money directly to her phone via mobile transfer. With the digital funds secured, Agatha waited for a moment when the guards dropped their watch. In the dead night, while the house was silent, she silently slipped through a back exit. She ran into the dark streets, terrified but praying constantly for divine protection.
On her long, exhausting journey back towards the Rwandan border, she met several “good Samaritans.” Ordinary, kind-hearted citizens who chose to protect her by hiding her from suspicious trackers and helped her navigate the difficult border controls safely until she finally crossed back onto Rwandan soil.
Returning home was a long process of healing from the shock of having her faith manipulated by criminals. The Abaja ba Mariya, a Catholic Marian pious association in Rwanda, wrapped their arms around her, offering counselling and psychological support to remind her that her calling was still beautiful. Eventually, she was introduced to a verified, legitimate canonical congregation that welcomed her history with open arms.
As Agatha finished telling me her story, she looked out the window and smiled. “God uses the most unexpected path to bring us home,” she whispered.
Her words broke through my own assumptions about safety and faith. I realized how easy it is to misjudge another person’s journey without understanding the quiet battles they have
fought to get where they are.
As we parted ways to retire that evening, I carried her resilience in my heart, amazed at how often we fail to see the quiet triumph of grace when it is standing right before us.