Miguel Bornaschella - The satisfaction of having achieved my aims

Between 1953 and 1954, my father had already settled in Villa Clara. By those times he had secure employment and had been able to buy pieces of land from a lot made by the firm Artaza Brothers which gave facilities to pay in installments. In one of those pieces of land he built a kitchen and two rooms. This was the house where we would finally settle down and live. We were aware of the improvements in this building because he wrote and sent letters describing it. Apart from this he also sent the money he could save from his everyday expenses, his payments and building materials.

While Mum said “goodbye” to each of those people who came and greeted us and thanked them the good wishes, she also took care of every single detail in order to have things under control though our house was immersed in such commotion. Among those who came and said goodbye was Zaccarella’s family. Micchele was my friend and my sister also used to look after him sometimes. I have saved in my memory the look of his mother while I jumped from the chest to the suitcase and ran everywhere around the house for the last time. With the knowledge that life and time has given me, I can say that I understand that Maria Zaccarella, mother of my dear friend Micchele, was wondering about our destiny, where my mother, sisters and me would go, what would happen to us …

None of us went to bed neither to sleep during that night. At five in the morning Angelo Zaccarella, my friend Micchele’s uncle, took us to the railway station in Roccaravindola. We took the train to Campobasso and then we took another train to get to the Port of Geneva. I never lost sight of Mum’s anxiety and state of stress which could be seen in all her body actions and each of her facial gestures. Responsibility exceeded her capacity and she would have given her life to have us all, in a second on the other side of the ocean. But the journey was long and there still were things to solve.

Running the year 1949, I was one year old. My father had some new hope after the owner of an important piece of land in the Porcino Valley which ran by the riverbank of the Volturno River contacted him. The frustration of the project was the final blow which made him take the decision to migrate.

In 1951 my father set out on the American adventure boarding a cargo and passenger ship called Florida of the ELMA Company.

At the beginning of March in 1955 my mother got her passport in which my sisters and I were included.

On the first of April in 1955 we parted from Geneva Port. We boarded the ship called Giulio Cesare.

Already on board, I was next to my mother, my sisters and some members of the family Rossi.

On our departure, standing on the deck, I could see my mother ‘s melancholy and sadness. I thought it was a good moment to say “arrivederci Italia” ( goodbye Italy).

Standing on the deck of the ship, Mum looked at the sides of the mountains of Geneva, the houses, the chimneys, but apart from this, she pictured her own life projected in uncertain locations. She watched the recent past that had just left behind and everything had happened so quickly that gave her no time to oppose. She had to accept the fact of having been stripped of her properties, lands and memories peacefully and go on living as if nothing had happened. By contemplating her I was aware of her melancholy and sadness, so I thought it was a good time to finish with all that silence by saying some words: “Arrivederci Italia”- (Goodbye Italy). My mother broke down. If she had cried before, I do not know. But at that moment she did. Not only did I see her but I also heard her. She leaned towards me and went on crying a bit more and then she hugged me with only one arm, because she was still holding the bag with the wool and knitting needles in her other hand.

We met the Rossis in Roccaravindola, Berenice, José and their eight children. We shared the whole journey with them, and went on meeting later because we became neighbours in Villa Clara. Pepe, one of their children, spent a long time with me. We played draughts on the ship and Adriano, another of their children, became an employee of mine some time later, in one of the jobs I would start.

Although we had to keep our third class room, the ocean liner was luxurious, only for passengers, where people had breakfast, lunch and dinner as never imagined by us. There were safe places on this majestic transatlantic for children and others designated for the adults’ leisure activities. We shared our sleeping berth with a woman who travelled with her son. There was a bulls-eye window that let us see the light and darkness marked by the waterline.

My mother went on being anxious and nervous. She walked along the deck and sat down from time to time with the knitting bag on her lap, but she never knitted. We had been travelling some days when rumours about the dangers of arriving at the Strait of Gibraltar started to be heard. It had been told and spread with no sense, but under the ignorance of many people, that if there was another ship crossing it, the opposite side but at the same time, we ran the risk of collision. This provoked us, especially the children, me included, some kind of great fear…

Then we arrived at the port of Dakar and though we did not leave the ship, I was surprised when seeing those people of different colour walking along the land. Some passengers got off the ship in the ports where it was resupplied. We and other families remained on the ship just because we had nothing to do on land. Once we had departed from Dakar, we knew that our next stop would be the other side of the ocean. We were served the lunch of Easter on the high seas with a chocolate Easter egg included.

While we were travelling, my father went to the port of Buenos Aires from time to time to get information and confirmation of the date of the ship’s arrival. My mother had prepared me for the cold weather waiting for us in Argentina. She used to buy us clothes some sizes bigger in order to grow in them. They would accompany us for some years without having to buy new ones. And on this occasion I was wearing a very thick overcoat, as thick as a blanket, and so big that my hands could not be seen. This overcoat achieved its objective because it accompanied me during the long journey, the landing and many years later. But I did not like it… I had a sad feeling of being ridiculous.