In Pace Christi

Fr. Gianni Nobili, born at Sondrio on 4 June, 1940, died suddenly in Kampala on 12 April, last. He was buried at the Namugongo novitiate close to the Martyrs of Uganda.

We give here the beautiful testimony written by Fr. Alex Zanotelli. His complete obituary will be published in the Bullettin.

“My Brother, my companion in our work and our struggle”, Paul of Tarsus wrote to a close collaborator. These same words I could use today regarding Fr. Gianni Nobili. For me, Gianni has been a real brother, an extraordinary companion in missionary work, but also in commitment and in struggle. He was a man with extraordinary humanity which derived from his deep faith in Christ Jesus. A man who knew how to take risks in order to open new roads of mission. One splendid example of this is the fact that, in 1991, he had the incredible courage to leave his work in Congo to come with me to the hell of Korogocho. On 14 January, 1990, after waiting for two years, I had gone to live in a hut in Korogocho to feel what exactly it meant to live ‘in hell’. I lived there alone for more than a year: no Comboni felt like sharing this experience that many thought to be sheer folly. It was Gianni who (with the permission of those in charge) agreed to come to Korogocho. It was also a baptism of fire: the baptism of the poor. ‘If the mud does not touch you, if you do not walk in it, if it does not surround you, if it does not cover your body and soul (I am speaking of physical and moral mud), neither will you appreciate the gift of salvation and freedom that the Lord has given you – Fr. Gianni wrote in one of his letters from Korogocho. And let us not speak of vocations or priesthood! The sheer enormous amount of privileges such as education, freedom and culture that we have accumulated in our lives, compel us to share much more radically what we are. Half measures become ridiculous.”

This he did with extraordinary humanity, solidarity and friendship. I could sum up our life in Korogocho in two embraces that I will never forget. The first occurred on 15 December, 1991, when I returned from the Comboni Chapter. I arrived during Mass and I placed in his hands a branch of Christmas mistletoe from his native mountains. He gave me such a welcoming embrace that the Christian community exploded in song, and ululations of joy and celebration! From that day onwards, we worked together for almost two years (and it was not easy for Gianni whose health was rather frail).

He was an essential part of the formation of small cooperatives for the poorest people of Korogocho. He played an important part in the creation of a cooperative for refuse collectors at the Mukuru landfill, right facing Korogocho. And it was mainly he who facilitated the arrival, in 1993, of that formidable lay missionary, Gino Filippini, with whom he had worked in Congo (I believe Gino Filippini and Annalena Tonelli are the two most splendid figures among the Italian lay missionaries since the War; Gino died of mesothelioma, contracted while working in landfills!). It was Gianni, a passionate supporter of the laity in mission, to facilitate the coming of a group of lay people who greatly assisted the cooperatives.

But for me, Gianni was above all a travelling companion with that extraordinary humanity that recharged me in difficult times. I cannot forget the beautiful times we had eating some food late at night, followed by long conversations. Then there were the magical moments of prayer in the middle of the night, praying the Psalms of Turoldo. Gianni was also able to take decisions, even some that were very risky. I remember especially the decision to leave the hut where we were living in the complex of the informal school – a place that was relatively safe – to go and live in the heart of the shanty town, a place the people saw as very dangerous. We decided together to move to another hut in Grogon, against the opinion of the Christian community who feared for our lives. I fact, one night – I never before wrote this down – a band of six or seven thugs, using a tree trunk, broke down the door and immediately surrounded Fr, Gianni’s bed, armed with pistols and knives and demanding money. They hadn’t noticed that I was in the same room. With my heart in my mouth and not really knowing what to do, I got up, took the lantern and flung it against the tin roof and shouting: ‘Mwizi! Mwizi!’ (Thieves! Thieves!) The thieves did not know what was happening and took to their heels. We two followed them to try and block the doorway. When they realised they had been tricked, the thugs came back, trying to break in the door. On our part, we tried to make a barricade to defend ourselves. I tried to draw the attention of the people with a whistle. That was the most dramatic half-hour of my life. When the people came, the thugs disappeared. Gianni gave me another embrace, thanking me for having saved him. It was an embrace full of humanity, tenderness and friendship. It was this embrace which by phone and through my tears, I asked his sister Mariolina to give Gianni before placing him in his coffin at Namugongo (Uganda), where he was to be buried.

Thank you Gianni, ‘my companion in work and in our struggle’, because you were a brother to me and because you risked your life for the people of Africa. May your life, given and sacrificed, ‘regenerate’ that land that now takes you to its bosom”.
Da Mccj Bulletin n.270 suppl. In Memoriam, gennaio 2017, pp. 62-72.