At the end of the ’60s, my father went from Brazil to Germany to study in a specialization in road bridge building. There he met my mother. They married and went to build their life in Brazil.
Until then, nothing unusual. But let’s go a little deeper into this history.
My father was Black and from a low-income family. My mother is a WW2 orphan, and to let her marry my father, her family took her off their will. From that day, her only family in the world was my father. Then something unfortunate happened. For reasons still not clear, my father was murdered. They had a son in Brazil, and my mother was expecting my sister. From that moment, my mother was a widow with a nine-month-old and expecting another, living in the middle of a rural area in Brazil, and she didn’t speak Portuguese.
Going back to Germany wasn’t an option. So, alone in an unknown country, without any help, and with two baby children, that woman fought for her family, and for what my sister and I became. I can tell you that she won.
I owe everything I am to her. She taught me the willingness to learn, was an example of grit, and is the one that has all my gratitude. Thank you, mother, for everything.