In the dusty corners of northern Uganda, where camps brim with South Sudanese refugees, healing often comes not from clinics or aid trucks—but from a quiet, persistent force of compassion. Catholic sisters, led by the tireless Sr. Linah Siabana of the Missionary Sisters of Our Lady of Africa, are providing a rare blend of trauma recovery, education, and spiritual care for some of the world’s most overlooked survivors.
Serving in the Arua Diocese, Sr. Linah—a trained mental health professional—offers holistic care in settlements scattered near Uganda’s border with South Sudan. For the past five years, she has been on the front lines, helping to rebuild broken lives and soothe invisible wounds inflicted by years of conflict and displacement.
Her work is part of her congregation’s broader mission: to be “a healing and consoling presence” among the most vulnerable. And in the face of deepening crises, that mission is more critical than ever.
Uganda is home to nearly 1.7 million refugees and is widely admired for its generous asylum policies. But beneath this praise lies a system stretched to its limits—underfunded, overcrowded, and strained by shifting international aid dynamics.
“In places like Adjumani District, the suffering is immense,” Sr. Linah explains. “Women, children, and elders have fled war, only to face hunger, loneliness, and fear.” The district alone hosts over 54,000 refugees, many of whom feel forgotten in a world with short attention spans.
Sr. Linah began her mission in 2019, but it was in 2022 that her transformative work took root. Conducting a year-long needs assessment in the Maaji and Agojo settlements, she immersed herself in local languages and customs to understand the pain beneath the surface.
What she found was harrowing—rampant trauma, collapsed education systems, and growing tension between refugees and host communities. In response, she built programs from the ground up: securing scholarships, launching vocational training, and leading trauma healing workshops grounded in faith.
“Resilience begins in the soul,” she says. Sr. Linah believes spiritual care is as crucial as food or medicine. She leads Sunday communion under mango trees for those who can’t reach a chapel, and when food aid was slashed, she and her team distributed emergency supplies to vulnerable groups—especially children and elders with disabilities.
In a dimly lit tent, Sr. Linah sits beside a woman who hasn’t slept for days. “The nightmares won’t stop,” the woman confides. This isn’t unusual. The trauma is layered—first from war, then from the daily grind of survival.
As the mental health lead, Sr. Linah addresses grief, anxiety, and despair worsened by a recent UNHCR policy that cut food rations for thousands. “Something as basic as a food parcel can be the difference between despair and hope,” she says. Her home visits, done with the Refugee Welfare Council, bring emotional first aid—and dignity. “One elderly woman told me, ‘You remind me I still matter.’”
Refugee life is not just about scarcity—it’s also about tension. Ethnic clashes and competition with host communities simmer constantly. “We’re not just caregivers,” says Sr. Linah. “We’re bridge-builders.” Through community dialogue and cultural education, her team helps de-escalate tensions, even as resources remain limited.
Her work doesn’t stop in the camps. Sr. Linah also mentors young religious sisters in the Adjumani Vicariate, running workshops on trauma care and spiritual formation. “There’s a hunger for guidance,” she notes. “But trained mental health mentors are few, and infrastructure gaps make it harder.”
Still, she presses on. “Every village, every camp, every encounter—it’s holy ground. A chance to reflect Christ’s love.”
For Sr. Linah, the mission is deeply personal. “When we walk with refugees, we see the suffering Christ in them,” she says. “The hunger, the grief, the exile—it awakens our calling to be present, to console, and to restore what’s been broken.”
Even as global attention fades, her message remains unwavering: “These people are not statistics. They are mothers. They are children. They are elders. They are human beings with dreams, dignity, and a right to be seen. We cannot turn away.”
In a world where so much suffering is met with silence, Sr. Linah and her fellow sisters are living proof that faith, when lived out in service, can become a lifeline.