Nel 1911, alla fine della guerra Anglo-Boera, il Sud
Africa entrò a far parte del Commonwealth ed era governato da gente discendente
da Olandesi, Teseschi e Franco-Ugonotti, popolo forte e resistente che aveva sofferto per
conquistare la terra che coltivava e dove faceva pascolare il bestiame. La
maggior parte dell’interno del paese consisteva, e consiste ancora, in grandi
fattorie adibite a pascolo, chiamate “farms”.
Durante la seconda guerra mondiale, molti italiani vennero fatti prigionieri in centro e nord Africa, e portati dagli inglesi in Sud Africa. Qui, una parte venne assegnata a questi proprietari di farms, da cui ricevevano vitto e alloggio in cambio di lavori artigianali.
I nostri connazionali, come ben sappiamo, sono sempre stati ottimi artigiani, e così, presto vennero presi in considerazione, rispettati e benvoluti.
Finita la guerra, molti rimasero e sposarono donne Sud Africane; altri, in particolare, quelli che avevano già famiglia in Italia rientrarono in patria.
Uno di questi ex-prigionieri era un caro amico di mio padre e gli raccontò del benessere che c’era in questo paese a della “generosità” di quel popolo. Gli parlò altresì dei giacimenti auriferi che erano stati scoperi e delle città che stavano per sorgere intorno a quelle miniere.
Mio padre, sempre in cerca di avventure, era già stato a lavorare in Eritrea, Etiopia e Somalia e quindi non ci pensò due volte a partire di nuovo verso l'Africa. Così i nostri eroi arrivarono in un paese totalmente sconosciuto per loro, non parlavano una parola di inglese o afrikaans (altra lingua ufficiale del paese), ma vennero bene accolti dal proprietario della farm che li avrebbe ospitati. Quì capirono che bisognava costruire una casa per il figlio del proprietario ed altri edifici di cui necessitava in quel momento la proprietà.
Durante la seconda guerra mondiale, molti italiani vennero fatti prigionieri in centro e nord Africa, e portati dagli inglesi in Sud Africa. Qui, una parte venne assegnata a questi proprietari di farms, da cui ricevevano vitto e alloggio in cambio di lavori artigianali.
I nostri connazionali, come ben sappiamo, sono sempre stati ottimi artigiani, e così, presto vennero presi in considerazione, rispettati e benvoluti.
Finita la guerra, molti rimasero e sposarono donne Sud Africane; altri, in particolare, quelli che avevano già famiglia in Italia rientrarono in patria.
Uno di questi ex-prigionieri era un caro amico di mio padre e gli raccontò del benessere che c’era in questo paese a della “generosità” di quel popolo. Gli parlò altresì dei giacimenti auriferi che erano stati scoperi e delle città che stavano per sorgere intorno a quelle miniere.
Mio padre, sempre in cerca di avventure, era già stato a lavorare in Eritrea, Etiopia e Somalia e quindi non ci pensò due volte a partire di nuovo verso l'Africa. Così i nostri eroi arrivarono in un paese totalmente sconosciuto per loro, non parlavano una parola di inglese o afrikaans (altra lingua ufficiale del paese), ma vennero bene accolti dal proprietario della farm che li avrebbe ospitati. Quì capirono che bisognava costruire una casa per il figlio del proprietario ed altri edifici di cui necessitava in quel momento la proprietà.
Dopo alcuni mesi, ricevemmo le prime lettere che
raccontavano del loro arrivo in Sud Africa e dell’accoglienza che gli era stata
riservata, dell’abbondante cibo e della buonissima carne che avevano a
disposizione.
I mesi passavano, ogni tanto arrivava qualche lettera ma dei soldi che servivano per sfamare le famiglie rimaste in Sicilia nemmeno l’ombra. Mia madre e mia zia si davano da fare cucendo qualche vestito per vicini e comari, ma dato che i soldi mancavano a tutti, non avevano il coraggio di chiedere compensi in denaro; di solito ricevevano qualche cesto di fichi, qualche formagella, un po’ di verdura e quant’altro la gente poteva permertersi. Ma solo col denaro si possono comprare certe cose, così disperate, scrissero ai loro mariti per chiedere spiegazioni. La risposta non arrivò mai, forse la lettera si perse per strada, (allora non esistevano telefonini e computers). In seguito capimmo a cosa era dovuto il mancato invio di denaro.
“Quando quell’amico di mio padre aveva parlato della generosità dei sud africani bianchi, forse si riferiva all’accoglienza benevola e all’abbondanza di cibo, ma quando si trattava di denaro le cose erano ben diverse”. Durante la loro permanenza in quella fattoria, mio padre e mio zio avevano conosciuto un francese che parlava qualche parola d’italiano e questi gli fece capire che lì non avrebbero guadagnato nulla in quanto per quel farmista, che aveva avuto i prigionieri a lavorare, era sufficiente pagare il loro lavoro coi soli vitto e alloggio. Il futuro non era lì ma altrove e li aveva consigliati ad andare via. Via si, ma dove? Essi non sapevano con esattezza dove di trovavano, non parlavano la lingua del posto, non sapevano neanche dove fosse e quale fosse la città più vicina.
I mesi passavano, ogni tanto arrivava qualche lettera ma dei soldi che servivano per sfamare le famiglie rimaste in Sicilia nemmeno l’ombra. Mia madre e mia zia si davano da fare cucendo qualche vestito per vicini e comari, ma dato che i soldi mancavano a tutti, non avevano il coraggio di chiedere compensi in denaro; di solito ricevevano qualche cesto di fichi, qualche formagella, un po’ di verdura e quant’altro la gente poteva permertersi. Ma solo col denaro si possono comprare certe cose, così disperate, scrissero ai loro mariti per chiedere spiegazioni. La risposta non arrivò mai, forse la lettera si perse per strada, (allora non esistevano telefonini e computers). In seguito capimmo a cosa era dovuto il mancato invio di denaro.
“Quando quell’amico di mio padre aveva parlato della generosità dei sud africani bianchi, forse si riferiva all’accoglienza benevola e all’abbondanza di cibo, ma quando si trattava di denaro le cose erano ben diverse”. Durante la loro permanenza in quella fattoria, mio padre e mio zio avevano conosciuto un francese che parlava qualche parola d’italiano e questi gli fece capire che lì non avrebbero guadagnato nulla in quanto per quel farmista, che aveva avuto i prigionieri a lavorare, era sufficiente pagare il loro lavoro coi soli vitto e alloggio. Il futuro non era lì ma altrove e li aveva consigliati ad andare via. Via si, ma dove? Essi non sapevano con esattezza dove di trovavano, non parlavano la lingua del posto, non sapevano neanche dove fosse e quale fosse la città più vicina.
Dal fischio di un treno che ogni tanto sentivano in
lontananza, avevano capito che nelle vicinanze dovesse passare una ferrovia. Fu così che i due baldi eroi, preso
il corragio a due mani, dicisero di lasciare quel luogo. E fu quasi una fuga!
Durante la notte, dopo avere impachettato le loro poche cose, sgattaiolarono
fuori della baracca che era stata loro assegnata come alloggio, e partirono
alla ricerca di un altro futuro che cominciava dalla ferrovia che supponevano
si trovasse la vicino. Come è noto, la fortuna aiuta gli audaci, e trovarono
presto la ferrovia che cercavano. La seguirono per ore con le loro valigie
sulle spalle, fino a quando arrivarono alla “stazione”. Si trattava di poco più
di una capanna dove il treno si fermava per prelevare il latte delle fattorie
della zona e per caricare o scaricare bestiame. Passarono lì il resto della
notte senza dormire.
Fortunatamente, mio zio, aveva portato con se
l’indirizzo di un suo compaesano (mio zio era di Roccalumera e portava lo
stesso cognome di quella persona) che era stato anch’egli prigioniero in
Sud Africa e alla fine della guerra vi era rimasto, dopo aver sposato una
bellissima donna del posto. Con quel pezzo di carta dov’era scritto l’indirizzo
dell’uomo che cercavano, non fu difficile farsi spiegare se da quella stazione
sarebbe passato un treno che li avrebbe portati verso quella destinazione. La
fortuna li aiutò ancora una volta, dato che quel treno sarebbe passato da li al
mattino sucessivo. Il mattino seguente, in fatti, arrivo un treno carico di
bestiame, essi vi buttarono su le valigie e vi saltarono sopra. Il viaggio fu
lungo e dovettero cambiare più volte treno, ma sempre grazie a quel foglietto
che essi, nel timore di sbagliare mostravano a tutti per avere o indicazioni o
conferme, finalmente giunsero a destinazione: erano arrivati a WELKOM (in
Afrikaans significa benvenuti) che stava per sorgere e che allora era la
nuova citta dell’oro.
Continua...
________________________________________________
THE GOLDEN CITY
At the end of the Anglo Boer war in 1911, South Africa became part of the Commonwealth, governed by people descendent of Holland, German and French-Huguenots stock, a strong and resilient population that had suffered greatly to obtain the land that they now nurtured, cultivated and where sheep, cows and other farm animals were pastured and bred.The greater part of the country consisted of these large farms.
During the Second World War, many Italians were taken prisoners in Central and Northern Africa. Many of them were brought to South Africa. Some were given out to farmers who needed workers as their boys were at war in Europe, fighting with the English. These prisoners-of-war, were given food and lodging in exchange for their work. Our nationals were and still are excellent artisans, so soon they become respected and well liked by their hosts.
At the end of the war, many remained in the country and married South African women, whilst others returned home to their families and children.
One of these ex-prisoners was a friend of my father’s who told him many stories of his time in South Africa; the wealth and “generosity” of the people. He also told him about the new Gold Fields that had been discovered and the new cities that were being springing up because of the new gold reefs.
My father, who was always looking for an adventure and had worked in Eritrea, Ethiopia and Somalia before the war, didn’t think twice to leave and make tracks again towards the African shores. Whereas before it had been the north of Africa, they were now journeying to the tip of this continent.
Our heroes arrived in a country totally unknown to them without knowing a word of English or Afrikaans (the other official language of the country), but they were welcomed by the owner of the farm where they would be working. They understood that a house was to be built and other farm buildings that were needed on the property.
After a few months, we received the first letters telling us of their arrival in South Africa, where they were treated with kindness and given good and abundant food and excellent fresh meat, milk and eggs.
Months went by with only an occasional letter without mention of money that was needed to feed the families that had remained behind in Sicily. My mother and aunt did their best, by sewing for neighbours and friends, but did not have the courage to ask for money for their work as most of the people, at that time, were in the same dire straights. They would receive fruit and vegetables in season. Sometimes some goat’s milk cheese or whatever these poor beings could afford. But there are some things that only money can buy, so in desperation they wrote to their respective husband demanding an explanation as to why they were not sending money for their families. We never did receive an explanation, maybe the letter got lost as in those times there where no mobile phones or computers. It was only later that we understood the reason for this.
(When my father’s friend spoke of the generosity of the white South Africans, he was referring to the kindness and abundant food, but when it came to money, that was a different story). During their stay at the farm, my father and uncle had met a French man who spoke a little Italian and who led them to understand that they would not earn any money there and that their future lay elsewhere. The farmer was used to having prisoners of war working for him and thought it was sufficient to give food and lodgings in exchange for work. He obviously hadn’t understood that the war was over and these men were working for a wage to send home to their families. They now decided to leave, to go, but where? They weren’t sure where they were, they didn’t speak the language and hadn’t a clue how to get to the nearest city. They sometimes heard the whistle of a train nearby and therefore deduced that there must be a railway-line not too far away. With this in mind our two heroes, taking courage in both hands and decided to get to their next destination. This was a sort of escape! During the night, they packed their few belongings and silently walked out of the shack that had been their accommodation and went towards other horizons. They hoped to find the railway line that they presumed was nearby. As luck would have it, they soon came across the railway line and with their baggage on their backs, followed it until they came upon what looked like a hut, but was in fact a “station” of sorts.
The train only stopped there to pick up milk from the nearby farms and to load and off-load cattle and sheep. They spent the rest of the night there without shutting an eye.
Fortunately, my uncle had the address of a man from his village of Roccalumera. He had also been a prisoner of war, but after the war had married a beautiful South African girl and had settled in this country. With this piece of information, written on a scrap of paper they asked for directions. They were told to catch the next cattle train which would take them to Pretoria and from there keep on asking until they got to their destination. The train arrived punctually and they quickly threw their luggage onto it and were off. The trip was long and seemingly unending. They often showed their scrap of paper to make sure that they weren’t going in the wrong direction, but at last weary and famished they arrived in WELKOM ( in Afrikaans this means welcome) a city that was beginning to grow out of the flatlands of the Orange Freestate… the new City of Gold.
To be continued...
THE GOLDEN CITY
At the end of the Anglo Boer war in 1911, South Africa became part of the Commonwealth, governed by people descendent of Holland, German and French-Huguenots stock, a strong and resilient population that had suffered greatly to obtain the land that they now nurtured, cultivated and where sheep, cows and other farm animals were pastured and bred.The greater part of the country consisted of these large farms.
During the Second World War, many Italians were taken prisoners in Central and Northern Africa. Many of them were brought to South Africa. Some were given out to farmers who needed workers as their boys were at war in Europe, fighting with the English. These prisoners-of-war, were given food and lodging in exchange for their work. Our nationals were and still are excellent artisans, so soon they become respected and well liked by their hosts.
At the end of the war, many remained in the country and married South African women, whilst others returned home to their families and children.
One of these ex-prisoners was a friend of my father’s who told him many stories of his time in South Africa; the wealth and “generosity” of the people. He also told him about the new Gold Fields that had been discovered and the new cities that were being springing up because of the new gold reefs.
My father, who was always looking for an adventure and had worked in Eritrea, Ethiopia and Somalia before the war, didn’t think twice to leave and make tracks again towards the African shores. Whereas before it had been the north of Africa, they were now journeying to the tip of this continent.
Our heroes arrived in a country totally unknown to them without knowing a word of English or Afrikaans (the other official language of the country), but they were welcomed by the owner of the farm where they would be working. They understood that a house was to be built and other farm buildings that were needed on the property.
After a few months, we received the first letters telling us of their arrival in South Africa, where they were treated with kindness and given good and abundant food and excellent fresh meat, milk and eggs.
Months went by with only an occasional letter without mention of money that was needed to feed the families that had remained behind in Sicily. My mother and aunt did their best, by sewing for neighbours and friends, but did not have the courage to ask for money for their work as most of the people, at that time, were in the same dire straights. They would receive fruit and vegetables in season. Sometimes some goat’s milk cheese or whatever these poor beings could afford. But there are some things that only money can buy, so in desperation they wrote to their respective husband demanding an explanation as to why they were not sending money for their families. We never did receive an explanation, maybe the letter got lost as in those times there where no mobile phones or computers. It was only later that we understood the reason for this.
(When my father’s friend spoke of the generosity of the white South Africans, he was referring to the kindness and abundant food, but when it came to money, that was a different story). During their stay at the farm, my father and uncle had met a French man who spoke a little Italian and who led them to understand that they would not earn any money there and that their future lay elsewhere. The farmer was used to having prisoners of war working for him and thought it was sufficient to give food and lodgings in exchange for work. He obviously hadn’t understood that the war was over and these men were working for a wage to send home to their families. They now decided to leave, to go, but where? They weren’t sure where they were, they didn’t speak the language and hadn’t a clue how to get to the nearest city. They sometimes heard the whistle of a train nearby and therefore deduced that there must be a railway-line not too far away. With this in mind our two heroes, taking courage in both hands and decided to get to their next destination. This was a sort of escape! During the night, they packed their few belongings and silently walked out of the shack that had been their accommodation and went towards other horizons. They hoped to find the railway line that they presumed was nearby. As luck would have it, they soon came across the railway line and with their baggage on their backs, followed it until they came upon what looked like a hut, but was in fact a “station” of sorts.
The train only stopped there to pick up milk from the nearby farms and to load and off-load cattle and sheep. They spent the rest of the night there without shutting an eye.
Fortunately, my uncle had the address of a man from his village of Roccalumera. He had also been a prisoner of war, but after the war had married a beautiful South African girl and had settled in this country. With this piece of information, written on a scrap of paper they asked for directions. They were told to catch the next cattle train which would take them to Pretoria and from there keep on asking until they got to their destination. The train arrived punctually and they quickly threw their luggage onto it and were off. The trip was long and seemingly unending. They often showed their scrap of paper to make sure that they weren’t going in the wrong direction, but at last weary and famished they arrived in WELKOM ( in Afrikaans this means welcome) a city that was beginning to grow out of the flatlands of the Orange Freestate… the new City of Gold.
To be continued...
N.B. Nella
foto, una trivella per l'estrazione dell'oro.
Siete dei siciliani emigrati al nord Italia o all'estero? Inviateci un
vostro racconto e lo pubblicheremo.
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