1912-2003

Father Rambaldo was born at Campolongo al Torre (UD) on September 7, 1912, the son of Evaristo Olivo and Caterina Collino.  His baptismal name was Rambaldo but his family members called him Baldo and everyone else called him Olivo.  There were endless jokes on his surname (Olivo/olive).  He entered the Institute in 1927, made his religious profession in 1934 and was ordained to the priesthood in 1938.  He set off for what was then known as Tanganyika and remained there for the next sixty-five years.

His first assignments were at Madibira and Irole (1938-1943) where he was the assistant pastor and then became the pastor at the Cathedral in Tosamaganga for 27 years (1943-1970).  He worked a further ten years in Madibira.  During his last years he was the assistant pastor in Ng’ingula, Kibao-Mufindi, Igwachanya and Tosamaganga (1981-2003).

He was both optimistic and enthusiastic.  Letters to his superiors were full of the joys of missionary life and fulsome thanks for the help they provided.  In a letter to Father Domenico Fiorina, Superior General, dated July 11, 1950, he wrote:  “Most Reverend Father,  I never doubted that you are ever mindful of all our concerns, but that you should think of someone as “desperate” as me took me completely by surprise!  A thousand thanks for your note and special blessing which undoubtedly did me so much good that I am prompted to ask for yet another blessing.  I am really well – and as you imagined – cheerful and happy…”

Father Olivo identified himself totally with his work and invested all his physical, mental and emotional strength in it.  In a letter to Father Livio Ferraroni he wrote, “At that time Tosamaganga was a mission whose boundaries reached the ends of the earth.”  In the west the boundary was Great Ruaha;  several parishes were carved out of the territory in the south and west.  During the 1940-1945 war the missionaries were confined to their houses;  after the war it took a long time for things to return to normal.  For many years Father Olivo crisscrossed this area and especially in the early 1950’s when St. Peter Claver presented the Iringa missions with a series of motorcycles.  Father Olivo was famous for his daredevil driving on nameless roads.  He never hesitated to jump over gaps in the road and resembled nothing so much as a stunt driver.  One thing is certain – he must have had a cohort of guardian angels!

Father Olivo was a member of that generation who knew the old Africans from the early days of the missions.  He would frequently tell stories about those old chieftains who did so much to help build schools and educate young girls.  These elders still enjoyed meeting with Father Olivo – only now they had to come to him at home or in the hospital.

Father Giovanni Giorda added “Father Olivo was a missionary in the midst of his people; their spiritual and material welfare was always close to his heart.  Even in the last years of his life he loved visiting the many mission outstations (17) that he himself had established and that were now flourishing.  He visited families and the bed-ridden, celebrated Masses, baptisms and marriages and worked tirelessly to rebuild the Church. 

In his final years it was old age and not sickness that slowed him down.  He found this a hard cross to bear.  I tried to lift his spirits with these words, ‘You can no longer get around as you once did but you can nonetheless continue your missionary apostolate through prayer for all those people you met during your life as a missionary.’    He spent  his days praying and reciting the rosary.”

In an Easter 1999 letter to his townsmen and the Diocesan Missionary Center Father Olivo wrote, “… I am old and there is little I can do.  But rest assured I am praying for all of you.  I am equally in need of your prayers.  Even St. Paul asked his Christians to pray for him and I’m no St. Paul!  Pray that my bones will rest here in Tosa.  I am as independent today as I was yesterday – but who knows about tomorrow?”

In September of that same year he wrote, “Yes, I’m still alive and will be 87 years old at the end of summer.  There are still some things I can accomplish in the vineyard of the Lord.  For example I will soon ride my Suzuki to visit the old people in the hospital and celebrate Mass … Don’t think I am sad, unhappy or demoralized, ‘Hata kidogo’ absolutely.  I am satisfied with my missionary life.  I am grateful to God for all the favors he has granted me – he continues to help me do something for him even now.”

Father Giuseppe Inverardi, the Regional Superior, described how Father Olivo’s final days reflected his long, exemplary life as a priest and a missionary.  He died on June 26 at 9:45 PM in Tosamaganga.  He was spared the experience of dying alone – something he feared.  Fathers Giorda and Poloni as well as some ten Teresian Sisters were praying with him during his brief death agony.

He wrote: “I always say to the Lord – take me whenever you want, but please spare me a sudden and unforeseen death.  Give me time to shape up – but fiat ut vis [thy will be done].”  The Lord did more than just hear his prayer – his death was very slow.  He gradually wore himself out;  there was no sickness just old age.  For the last two years he was totally inactive;  old age and the concern that he was a burden on others bothered him.  He complained that the Lord had forgotten him.  God was calling younger and healthier people before him.

Every time he heard nearby church bells toll for a recent death he would say: “It is my turn next.”  But the years went by!  He was in a constant state of expectation.  “I have no physical discomfort,” he wrote, “nor any spiritual pain.  I seek only to do what our  GREAT BOSS  wills – he has been so merciful to me.  I hope he does not tire of me.  I am EAGER for his call…”  Again, “I am here waiting for a call from the Father of all of us.”  This was a constant refrain in his short notes to me and in his conversations with everyone.

In a spirit of communion I went to visit him on the eve of the feast of Our Lady, the Consolata.  After a while I said good-bye but he really didn’t want me to go.  I tried to get up and go at least ten times but he would grab my hand and ask me to remain.  Finally he dozed off and I could leave him.  This was the first time he had been so insistent.  I had the impression that he felt “Easter” was approaching.

Two days later I heard on the radio at Kipengere that his temperature had risen to 40° Centigrade and the outlook wasn’t good.  The sacrament of the infirm was administered once again.  I stopped to visit him once more on the evening of the 24^th and he seemed better.   This may have been one more of Father Olivo’s many recoveries - but in recent months he had become noticeably weaker.  Even though I had to go to Dar es Salaam on Wednesday I felt I would be called back to Iringa.  On Thursday the 26^th at 10:15 I received word of Father Olivo’s death.  I left for Iringa on the following day.  In the meantime Father Pancotti had informed everyone who could be reached by telephone and had begun preparations for the funeral with Father Giorda and the Diocese.

The Teresian Sisters held a wake with prayer and song all day Friday, the 27^th.  Men and women Consolata missionaries, Christians from the seventeen villages that make up Tosamaganga Parish and many others came to pay their respects.  At six in the evening his body was taken to the hospital mortuary.  On Saturday morning at 8 AM it was carried back to the church.  A crucifix and a small picture of Our Lady, the Consolata were laid on his breast.  The crucifix was the same one that had been given to him when he was first sent to the missions.  He had written: “Before we left Italy we were given crucifixes – it was a beautiful ceremony.  I still have that crucifix today even if it is somewhat the worse for wear.  I only hope I can carry this same crucifix when I come before our heavenly Father.”  It was true – the crucifix was visibly the worse for wear.  The same could be said about the small picture of Our Lady.  The crucifix and the picture of the Consolata were always at his bedside.  Every now and then he would pick them up, hold them and kiss them.  They were his viaticum.

The funeral began at 10 AM and Msgr. Evaristo M. Chengula, a Consolata Missionary and the Bishop of Mbeya, presided.  The Bishop, our confrčre, arrived in Dar es Salaam late on Thursday evening.  As soon as he heard of Father Olivo’s death he expressed the desire to take part in the funeral.  It is easy to imagine the Bishop of Iringa’s (Msgr. Tarcisius M.J. Ngalalekumtwa) disappointment.  He was in Dar es Salaam on important business for the Episcopal Conference and could not attend the funeral.  He directed preparations for the funeral and burial from afar.  The Bishop was always grateful to Father Olivo who allowed him to be an altar boy before he was baptized.

The enormous church at Tosamaganga was full and all the nearby schools were closed for the occasion.  Two bishops, thirty-four priests, a crowd of sisters, religious and Christians from the many Tosamaganga villages filled the beautiful church.  The Brothers of the Sacred Immaculate Heart of Mary were also present – it was their patronal feast but they wanted to join everyone else in the church and at the cemetery.  We later had the usual funeral banquet at the Brothers’ house.  There were two feasts at the same time – Father Olivo’s departure required a feast.

In his homily Msgr. Chengula reflected on the feast day liturgy and its significance for the Brothers.  He then briefly described Father Olivo’s life, work and personality.  After Communion Father Inverardi thanked everyone for coming and spoke about two of Father Olivo’s traits:  his zeal as a missionary and his cheerful, easy relationships with others.  Evidence of these traits appears in his writings.

Missionary Zeal

His style never changed wherever he happened to be:  Madibira, his first  assignment – assistant for 2 years and pastor  for 10;  Tosamaganga,  pastor (1943 to 1970) and later assistant in the years before his death;  9 years in Kibao and 2 years in Igwachanya. I would like to quote  two passages that describe this style:  “I visited all the families in each of our villages – even the pagans and Muslims.  No one ever threw me out.”  “I was constantly traveling, visiting villages, inspecting schools, checking to see what the catechists were teaching, visiting and blessing families – bringing the Word of Life.”  Once he wrote in upper-case letters:  “Very cordial and sincere thanks to God who held his holy hand on my head during all my years in Africa.  Years I have never regretted.”  The missions were in the center of his heart – he radiated missionary zeal.

Cheerful, Easy Interpersonal Relations

Here in his own words he describes his first stay at Madibira:  “I had no trouble adapting to my new environment or fitting in with the missionary personnel: Fathers, Brothers and Sisters.”  Later reflecting on the difficulties of common life and working with others he wrote something beautiful about the time spent with Father Berghi in Tosamaganga.  Father Berghi pleaded with Father Olivo – if he had something to say that he not hold back.  “We were together for 17 years and I never went to bed offended by something Father Berghi may have done – or that I may have said or done to offend him.  We had become Siamese twins.  We discussed and planned together.  Neither of us did anything without informing the other.  We still have happy memories of the years spent together.”  The passage goes on much further describing Father Berghi’s many good points.

The procession to the cemetery was long.  All the rites were carried out meticulously:  the placing of the casket, the ritual, the burial and the final prayers.  There was dancing and drums around the flower-covered coffin of the  91 year-old missionary who had spent 65 years in Tanzania and 31 years at Tosamaganga. It was not a funeral dance – but rather a dance of joy.  The Fathers and the Sisters participated.  It was repeated in front of the house where he had lived for so many years as a gesture of respect, gratitude and affection.

With his death a generation of Fathers and Brothers has disappeared.  The generation who came here immediately after the Second World War.  Those who worked and worked – often sick with malaria.  Those who sowed in sorrow and were able to share the joy of the first fruits and the fruits of succeeding decades.  These were missionaries in love with the missions.  Father Olivo once said, “I liked Africa more and more as time went by – and I liked the people of Madibira even more.”  If there is one thing that struck everyone who knew him it was his missionary zeal – he was always visiting, proclaiming, catechizing, celebrating.  Another striking trait was his sensitivity to those in need – he was a generous man.

Father Olivo struck up strong friendships with many people – missionaries and others.  I could list countless people who had respect and affection for him.  He was lucid right up to the end and often asked about his many friends.

He was a grateful man.  In recent years he often wrote to thank me for even the smallest favors. In one of his writings I came across a list of people to whom he was grateful:

-  to Monsignor Beltramino who was always willing to hear confessions on Sundays when he was home

-  to my confrčres, Fathers and Brothers, who have helped me in my apostolate: “…if I have accomplished any good it is due to the help of those missionaries who lived in Tosamaganga or were passing through.”

-  to the Consolata Missionary Sisters who taught and visited the villages

-  to the Teresian Sisters who trained the catechumens

-  to Fathers Titus and Rodrigo, diocesan priests

-  to the local authorities and the people I believe are so good.

He sought cooperation from everyone and usually got it.  No one could resist the good-natured insistence that was symbolized by his raised fingers.  He once wrote, “I thank all my confrčres who have always treated me kindly, my former and present superiors, but especially Father Giorda my most recent pastor.  He has always treated me with respect and affection – he has never abandoned me.”  It was almost a miracle that Father Olivo led a long and fruitful life as a missionary.  As a student at the Sagrado House in 1926 he went home on vacation.  Several of his companions had expressed the intention of not going back to the seminary and Father Olivo was of the same mind.  He had begun working in the fields but after only a few days he began to regret his decision.  He made up his mind to go back to Sagrado.  The return date had already gone by.  Accompanied by his father Olivo went to see Father Lorenzo Bessone.  Undoubtedly the young Father Bessone recognized the fire in Olivo’s soul.  Bessone had probably heard Allamano say that missionaries needed internal fire so he received Olivo back into the seminary.  Father Olivo was grateful that his father had accepted  both his decisions with equanimity.  All his father said was, “It’s your decision.”  Oh happy sorrow, oh happy remorse – oh happy decision!

Father Olivo, you really got around.  You covered miles and miles on your bicycle and even more on your motorcycle.  You were driving cars – somewhat dangerously – up to two years ago.  Now you rest in peace.  Truly in peace – with that subtle smile that was always on your lips.  All of us thank the Lord for your long life and for the many good things he allowed you to do for others.  We thank you for the example of a full priestly life and for your enthusiasm as Consolata Missionary – this enthusiasm was reflected in your words, your heart and your life.  We seek shelter beneath your cloak – let it fall on our shoulders.  THANKS.”

Father Giuseppe Inverardi

A fellow townsman from Campolongo wrote about Father Olivo in Voce Isontina  the Gorizia Archdiocesan weekly newspaper:  “Even though he left our village as a child and has spent most of his life far away he never abandoned or forgot his  roots.

His enormous heart and lively personality kept these ties alive.  He remained extremely popular here in the village and news of his death only increased our attachment. 

We know that he spent most of his life (65 years) in Tanzania.  As a missionary he realized that he was a front-line soldier and did not hesitate to seek help from those of us who remained behind the lines.  He sought our help for his missionary and welfare work;  he was especially keen on schooling and professional training for young Tanzanians – a sure way to improve the cultural and social future of the country.

He devoted all his energy, affection and life to the missions and repeated so often his heartfelt desire that “his bones be laid to rest in Africa.”  Years ago when it looked like he was going to die we went to visit him in Africa.  We were amazed to discover how much affection everyone felt for him – people traveled miles on foot to see him.  

The wealth of his humanity and the ties he kept alive with all those who had come into his life did not overshadow the simple, but strong and concrete faith that governed his life of dedication and service to the Lord.

This was apparent throughout his life but even more so at the time of his death – something he always thought of as “going home.”  He was so convinced of this that he wrote in one of his last letters, “Goodbye to you and to the whole community.   As soon as I get to heaven I will ask St. Peter if there is some way I can communicate with you!”  I am sure he has already done this and many are aware of his communications.

E.T.