Indeed, those who met Paulin remember an affable man, a tireless worker, an exceptional professor, and a companion who knew how to arouse in others the taste for a job well done and how to ignite in others a passion for God. But those who knew him well also remember that he was sometimes a lone rider. His discretion also appears in how he has left us: He arrived in Nairobi quietly, and just as we learned he was here, he was already saying his grand farewell.
Paulin will be deeply missed by his family in Congo and beyond. The Central Africa Province will miss him; as a former Provincial, I can testify to the quality of the work he accomplished there. He will be missed by the Madagascar Province, where he was on mission, bringing added value to the Institute of Philosophy. JCAM will also miss him for the invaluable support he provided through his teaching.
May God grant eternal rest to our brother, Father Paulin Manwelo, S.J. Amen.
Rev. José Minaku Lukoli, SJ, JCAM President
Fr. Paulin Manwelo, SJ, was a man of quality, a beacon of excellence, a model of rigor, and an intellectual giant. His passion for knowledge was not just for personal enlightenment but was deeply rooted in his desire to form and shape the minds and hearts of those under his guidance. He understood that true formation is about acquiring knowledge and cultivating discernment, integrity, and a deep commitment to justice. His contribution to the formation of Jesuits will be remembered as one of profound impact—nurturing men who embody the spirit of St. Ignatius, men who think deeply, serve selflessly, and love generously.
As a scholar and a leader, Fr. Paulin made immense contributions to the Institute of Peace Studies and International Relations at Hekima University College. He believed peace is not simply the absence of conflict but the presence of justice, dialogue, and mutual understanding. He dedicated his intellectual gifts and pastoral heart to pursuing a world where peace is not a distant ideal but a lived reality. Through his teachings, writings, and mentorship, he challenged us to think critically, engage with our world’s complexities, and be agents of transformation in our communities and beyond. His deep admiration for the works of John Rawls was evident in his intellectual pursuits. He often reflected on Rawls’ principles of justice as fairness, emphasizing their relevance in building ethical societies rooted in equity, inclusion, and moral responsibility. Fr. Paulin saw Rawls’ theory as an abstract philosophical framework and a moral imperative.
As a student here, I remember we had a conference, and one of his major contributions in the questions he asked was that one of Africa’s problems is related to morality. Today, as we trust his soul to the mercy of God, we also take up the responsibility of honoring his legacy. Indeed, those who have gone before us, friends of God, leave us now a legacy in our hands, in the words of Elizabeth Johnson. May we continue to be inspired by his example of intellectual depth, personal care, and an unwavering commitment to justice. May his memory encourage us to strive for excellence, seek wisdom, and clarity of vision.
Here at Hekima University College, we are honored to have had the opportunity from him when he spent his life here and oversaw the construction of our postgraduate campus. Father Manwelo passed here two years ago on his way to Madagascar. I sat with him in the office, and he said, “Now the society is in your hands with your team, go further still.”
Manwelo, may you pray for us to have clarity of vision. May he rest in peace.
Rev. Marcel Uwineza, SJ, Hekima University College Principal
Father Manwelo was a great man and a good teacher, respected and loved by the students and the formators. He taught philosophy and ethics to the students of the School of Agriculture and Engineering, and not only did he teach, but last year, for a few months, he celebrated mass in one of our parishes, the French mass. So, there are so many people who knew him in Madagascar.
Thank you very much, ACE province, for sending him to us. I want to say thank you to the family where he comes from. Thank you very much for the gift of Father Manwelo to our province. I feel very sorry for the loss.
Father Manwelo was supposed to accompany some students for their thesis, and I’m sure that many people in the province, apart from the students, are affected by his departure. But we thank God for Father Manwelo’s gift to all of us—the gift of his life and talents because he’s a very talented man.
I want to thank the province of AOR for accepting my request to welcome and take care of him for the past few days, and I’m sorry for what happened.
Father Manwelo, thank you very much.
Rev. Rabeson Jocelyn, SJ, Jesuits Provincial for Madagascar
First of all, I would like to thank God for the life of his servant, Father Manwelo. By all standards, Father Manwel0 has died young. The Society of Jesus would have hoped to get some work out of him, but there you are. He has gone. But we thank God for this servant of his, who has made God present in our lives.
Secondly, I would like to thank Father Manwelo himself. I’ll give you two anecdotes. I was privileged to be a student of Father Manwelo in Kimwenza, St. Pierre Canisius. He came back to us to teach, freshly minted as a doctor from Boston College, and the thing that struck us was that John Rawls had taught him. The rest of us read about John Rawls through books and commentaries, but before us stood a man who interacted with John Rawls because, being at Boston College, he could access classes at Harvard. So he told us anecdotes about John Rawls and so on.
And one thing, a bit stupid, that remains with me is how neat Father Manwelo’s handwriting was. I don’t know why it stayed with me. He had an impeccable handwriting, and he split the book of John Rawls, the veil of ignorance, on one board, the whole thesis in his clean handwriting. So he stood among us with great stature. Not only was he taller than most of us, but his intellectual stature was also quite amazing.
He clarified that book to those who wanted to pursue John Rawls’s high things. The second thing that was quite significant for me was that we sometimes went to the University of Kinshasa, UNIKIN, on Sundays for mass. This time, I sat among the students of UNIKIN, and the church was packed to capacity.
And I wondered, wow, this gentleman has already hit the waves, he’s quite popular. And he preached a homily on excellence. He preached so well that he roused excellence in us.
I almost told my neighbors that I’m also a Jesuit like that guy. After his homily, we could have taken a vow of excellence. It was not just words; he inspired excellence.
He made us question why things are the way they are in Africa. Can’t things be better? Those are two things that remain with me. His last words to me were the last time I saw Manwelo in that church, as I was about to leave Kinshasa.
And for me, that’s what I keep, that’s what I go with. So there you are, Manwelo, a man who inspired excellence, a man of courage, intellectual courage, and apostolic courage. As I move to more words of thanks, the third thing I want to thank God for is that Manwelo was a Jesuit and died a Jesuit. And no one takes that for granted. Whatever the journey may be in between, Manwelo has died a Jesuit.
Therefore, I’d like to thank the Society of Jesus for the many missions it gave to Manwelo. The last mission was to Madagascar, and he picked up his bags (22:34) and went. So, I’d like to thank the Society of Jesus for the missions it gives us and the mission it gave to Manwelo, but I would also like to thank Manwelo for obeying.
The fourth thing I want to thank God for is the province of Madagascar. They gave him a job, a platform to pass on knowledge and shine, and he used it well. As Father Jocelyn has told you, there was a flurry of activity towards the end of Manwelo’s life. I received emails, WhatsApp messages, and I think even a phone call as we struggled to save the life of Manwelo. One thing that he did or said was that as soon as I touched down in Nairobi, I wanted to go straight to the hospital.
The rest of us around him didn’t know what the man was going through, but life is best experienced and best known by the one who lives it. He wanted to go straight to the hospital. So I’d like to thank Madagascar for being there for him to the very end.
Fifth, I would like to thank Mwangaza. Father Manwelo was supposed to be a member of the Mwangaza community, where we have people who are a bit challenged health-wise and people who are praying for the society but a few other young ones. I think he would have enjoy being in the company of the men at Mwangaza.
I went to Mwangaza on Friday, hoping to see Father Manwelo. I was curious to see his appearance after so many years. As the preacher told us, you change, the face changes, you fade in the night. Unfortunately, I had overestimated Father Manwelo’s strength because he had been admitted to Coptic. So, instead, I visited a few other members who were sick, hoping that Father Manwelo would come back, and I would go to him and remind him that he had taught me. But God had other plans.
In the same instance, I would like to thank the doctors led by Dr. Ajay; he treats so many of us. Dr. Ajay led the team and was there at Father Manwelo’s bedside when he breathed his last. I’d like to thank the team at Coptic. The story goes that they kicked into action when he showed signs of distress. They gathered around him and tried to resuscitate him, but God had other plans. Finally, and not least, I would like to thank all of you for coming to bury Manwelo. If the province of ACE had decided that Manwelo would rest among us, he would have had a place.
Manwelo, rest in peace. May his soul rest in eternal peace.
Rev Kizito Kiyimba, SJ, Jesuits Provincial for Eastern Africa
A Light That Never Fades
Baobabs fall. Colossi crumble. Living libraries depart, carrying with them immense knowledge, or perhaps leaving it behind as a fragile legacy in the memories of those who walked alongside them. There are men whose legacy is not measured in years but in imprints. They are the ones who never truly disappear, for their passage continues to illuminate the paths they have forged.
Father Paulin Manwelo was one of these men. “Was!” It is difficult to use this verb in the past tense. His departure struck like a sudden gust of wind, tearing a star from the firmament when we least expected it. Priest, thinker, educator—he was a flame, a wellspring, a watchtower for those seeking to understand, to learn, to grow.
I still remember my first steps into his universe, discovering his writings almost by chance one evening in the recreation hall of the Novitiate in Kinkeso. My eyes lingered on a copy of Congo-Afrique. I opened it, unaware that I was stepping into a world that would forever mark my spirit. I was drawn in, devouring its pages with the eagerness of one discovering an entirely new world.
Two names emerged from those pages, imprinting themselves on my mind like flashes of light: Méthéna, whose sharp and inspired prose opened unforeseen horizons, and Manwelo, whose pen reshaped my perception of the world. “Faire les choses autrement” (Doing Things Differently), his editorial, seized my attention and sparked a fire within me. Beside it was another text, that of Father Méthéna: Retour à l’originel (Return to the Original). Two voices, two souls reflecting on a world in search of truth. Their words carried a depth of thought, an unshakable commitment, and an unwavering discipline.
These men were not merely writers; they were architects of language, goldsmiths of words, builders of meaning. Reading Méthéna without a dictionary was a challenge, his prose so refined and profound that it demanded patience and rigor. Manwelo, on the other hand, wrote with quiet strength, a breath of wisdom that penetrated the mind and unsettled certainties. He did not simply transmit knowledge; he transformed thought, stirred it, provoked it. A single phrase could open an entire world, a new perspective, a call to transcendence.
When I arrived at Canisius, an ardent desire consumed me: to meet these men of thought and faith, to hear their voices, to learn from them. I met Father Méthéna at Servico, weakened by illness but with a mind as sharp as ever, burning like a flame that nothing could extinguish. Then came Father Manwelo.
His imposing figure, his natural presence, his understated yet dignified elegance… He carried within him an authority that did not demand respect but inspired it effortlessly. With him, there were no grand speeches, no unnecessary embellishments. He spoke little, but each word was measured, each silence carried meaning. He listened with rare attentiveness, giving space for each person’s reflection. And when he did speak, it was always with that restrained wisdom, that discreet smile that seemed to say: Keep going. Go further. He embodied that rare politeness that is not mere formality but a profound expression of respect for others.
Yet beyond the thinker, the writer, the intellectual, he was above all, a priest. His vocation was not confined to the pulpit or to books. It was something he lived, something he embodied, something he passed on through his very being.
I never had the privilege of having him as a professor. And yet, he shaped my journey in a decisive way. When I was writing my final thesis at Canisius on John Rawls, I asked for his opinion with a humility that bordered on trepidation. Few knew that Father Manwelo was a Rawls specialist. He had dedicated a doctoral thesis in political philosophy to his work.
I handed him my paper. A few days later, I got it back… and it bled. Corrections, annotations, suggestions. Entire passages to review, to deepen, to rewrite. He did not merely critique—he demanded excellence. But what struck me the most was a simple note, placed after about thirty pages: “THIS WORD SUMS UP YOUR ENTIRE THESIS.” That was his entire pedagogical approach. He taught the essential. He had this habit with his students: asking them to summarize an entire book in a single word. Because he knew that for thought to be powerful, it must be concise, dense, and precise.
As I write these words, one question haunts me. What if we were to ask Manwelo and Méthéna to write about the current situation in the Congo? What would they say, as our country seems to sink into an endless war? What image, what allegory would they use to name the unnamable, to describe the darkness without inflaming political divides?
Today, Father Paulin is gone, and with him, a part of our intellectual and spiritual heritage. But he does not disappear. A man like him never truly dies. His memory endures in his writings, in his teachings, in all those he has touched. Manwelo is not just a name etched into our memories. He is a voice that continues to resonate, a fire that will never be extinguished.
Mukoso Camille, SJ, HUC Student