I've written a lot in my book about me, but I never thought of telling a war.
I exploded in his hands and has been forcefully explode in the head and heart through these few words:
"Mom, we are leaving," and again: "Mamma ... if we can come back ... "are words that a mother should never hear from their children. Yet it went.
They live in a neighborhood about six miles from the center of Tripoli. It 'a little paradise, cabins overlooking the sea, a few essential shops, a supermarket, the doctor, the pharmacy. We live so many families, many children, all expatriate workers in all the land where the desert is eating their lives while plastering ... gray, the same color of the powder.
resonance of what is happening makes the phone dry. I asked to speak in code, like in the movies, because they are controlled and non possono parlare chiaramente:
“Com’è il mare li da voi?”
“Sta iniziando a sporcarsi, ma a casa di un nostro collega, il mare è già molto sporco”
Ho il cuore che batte forte. Ha paura. Lo avverto.
Silenzio
Ore ed ore senza sentirla. Le comunicazioni vanno e vengono. Ho un forte senso di nausea, l’apprensione è fortissima. DEVO poter capire cosa le sta accadendo.
Ancora una telefonata (sarà l’ultima):
“Mamma, stanno portando tutti gli italiani via dal nostro villaggio. Ci stanno lasciando qui! Ci stanno abbandonando da soli!! Fai something! And 'dangerous to pass another night here! They're shooting! "Silence
" Do not worry, you will return. " That 's what I could tell before the communication is shut.
I did everything. I called everyone. I screamed and threatened. Someone heard and maybe did something. No matter who or how ... I had to pull out of danger, she and her husband, her children.
do not know what has moved from Italy. Certainly not enough. I know someone is out of the house by the sea. He took a car and was thrown into the street in the middle of those dogs that were firing everywhere paid. In the middle those dogs cropping arms innocent among those dogs who rape women and girls.
has thrown in the middle of the war to save his family. E 'come from "those who count" anger and yelled at them. They finally listened and are back to back all those left alone in that "garden of fire."
"Mom, we're all together now. Tell me that we will be on the flight tomorrow morning. Please, give me this confirmation "
" Yes, you are all on the flight, I have already confirmed "
" I do not have documents, I have burned my passport. We are undocumented my little and me! "
They told her:" no photos, we can not make the expulsion order for the return! "
How is it possible? They enter into all this beautiful Italy, but can not return home because the lack of an Italian woman 2 photo ID? But how is this possible?
documents reach the last moment. When they are already at the airport, packed like cattle, small attached to them and tied for fear of losing them. Only a few moments before leaving the hypothetical boundary of the no man's land from the land of men.
And here we are. Four hours before their arrival. Received confirmation of their names on that list Alitalia. The list ... looks like a movie already reviewed. I have a list that does not give me a confirmation of their presence on the flight. Still anxiety, fear. The same as all those who are waiting here with me. Wives, sons, girlfriends and who knows who else. Journalists everywhere, looking for tears. Better hide and wait for the plane arrives.
Here it is. The small neck, the small stroller in which she smiles at me, happy ... like a white porcelain vase, his eyes swollen and red. Two days without eating something healthy. Only a few tablespoons of honey and biscuits. My daughter does not think he had the strength to put down anything. Only vitamins, she said ... had to breastfeed her child. Shortly after her husband, overwhelmed by fatigue. Three days since close eye for fear, for they hear the shots of gunfire, the bombs exploding. We embrace without words.
We cover the children with blankets. They were not ready in the cold this season: it was already spring from them.
Silence. The blank stare. Not even the strength to breathe a sigh of relief.
What relief? Some of them were still there. Some families, their neighbors, their children, their innocent children, Because the flight was so empty? Because they have taken away all those who could? Why out of 180 seats come just over forty people?
pass at least two hours and a few words I enter into a violent fist: "I have done everything possible to rescue your daughter and the children. Believe me, it was not possible to make it go away before the hell. I swear that I will never endanger the life of E. ".
And then:
"I'll come back. I can not stand not knowing what happened to the other children and families who have been there. " Libya's children, pupils of the school. Innocent children. "I can not stay not know. If the school would never reopen, I'll be there with them "(without my daughter. She smiles and approves, are his children ... but she swears they will never come back there ...).
E 'almost a week and still does not seem true to hear the phone, see her, hug her children.
E 'went nearly a week and I need to let go of thoughts. Laugh, cry when I go. Have simple things to do. I want to banality. I want sun and primroses. Music and air. Leaving home and to dampen the anxiety that has gripped my stomach. I want to run and watch something beautiful fosse anche solo l’aurora. Ho voglia di piccole cose, ho voglia di … vita.
