Ivano, the “travagghino” (hard worker)

It's never cold in Favignana. The only memory I have of a cold, really cold day, it is 30 December 1999. The day when I saw my father lying dead on the kitchen floor.

I was just nine years old. At first I did not know what to do: I called for help and I stood almost motionless on the kitchen doorway, watching as my father was touched and probed, while my mother and my aunts were in despair. Then I decided to take a walk and I also grieved over.

I started visiting the cemetery, I went there every morning to greet my dad.

At first, I did not quite understand the concept of death. It seemed absurd that it could be so immediate: a matter of moments. I started visiting the cemetery, I went there every morning to greet my dad and ask him to reveal to me the secrets of death and. He did not answer much, but there was someone who did it for him: Mrs. Rosa, the guardian of the cemetery. She became my friend. Now I understand: a sad child wandering alone in a cemetery every morning is meant to arouse sympathy. How many adventures, with Mrs Rosa! I always laugh when I think about her, because she was really funny. I think about the cats, there were a lot of them around, sometimes they stuck under the cars and you could hear them meow for hours, how many laughs to get them out of there! She taught me how to fry the aubergines, I often went to have lunch at her house, I was happy in her company.

There I also met ‘u Zu Peppe’, a man who helped me a lot. He is the gravedigger of the island. I was always there with Mrs. Rosa, and I saw him working, carrying coffins, exhuming corpses. And I was so curious to get to know the secrets of death that I was always there with him asking questions. So he began to give meaning to my curiosity by sending me running errands on his behalf: bringing flowers around, arranging things. As I grew up and he aged, my teenage body turned out to be very useful to him: I often helped him to lift bodies or coffins too heavy for him. I still help him today when he needs it. Thanks to him I have my high school diploma. He and his wife have always encouraged me to study, and I'm sure I would have not done it without them.

Luvico the semenzaro (seed seller) was the first one to offer me a job: he had a cart in Piazza Matrice.

In the meantime, I used to go to school and I spent my spare time in the square. Luvico the semenzaro (seed seller) was the first one to offer me a job: he had a cart in Piazza Matrice, and he sold seeds and candies and toys for the kids. Balloons, sparaceci (shoot chickpeas). My job was to keep an eye on the cart to protect it from any thieves when Luvico went away or was busy and to help him build the sparaceci, a sling made of plastic bottlenecks. Chickpeas were sold as ammunition, of course. I did not work with him so much, he did not really need me; it was a pretext to keep me busy and give me some gift. He bought me ice cream, and after a couple of months he gave me five thousand lire.

But shortly thereafter I found my first actual work by u Zu Petrino, the square baker, who started to employ me to deliver bread to customers, and he slowly realized that I never had enough about work: I kept asking him if he needed help and he saw that when I was not working I did not have a reason to live. And he probably felt compassion, my brothers were adults, and I was a lively but shy kid. My story aroused sympathy, and my desire to help generated in others the desire to help me. So he began to show me the craft tricks, until 2000, when I was ten, and I officially joined his kitchen brigade.

I was good, a perfect travagghino (hard worker): I spent there all day in summer. Zu Petrino always defended me from my colleagues. At that time it was customary to "salare la Ciolla" (behaving badly) to newcomers. Basically, a handful of salt was forcefully inserted in the pants of the victim. And I'm very proud of the fact that in ten years of work in there no one ever managed to salt me! Every time they tried, I screamed and Zu Petrino came to save me.

Today it is hot. It is still September and while I'm here to tell my story, I'll have a nice brioche with ice-cream, which is slowly melting on the table.