Sixty-nine years ago, on a speck of land floating 850 miles off the coast of Portugal, a girl was born who looked a lot like me. She had long dark brown hair, brown eyes, and fair skin. But she was shorter, only five feet tall, with a frail build due to malnutrition. Her family was so poor that she slept on a rough bed of corn husks gathered on a dirt floor. At eleven years old, she had to abandon her schooling to help at home. She quickly learned the importance of work as she milked her family’s cow with her tiny hands and gathered potatoes, kale, blackberries, and more in their small garden. She also helped her mother prepare dinner for her and her six younger siblings. The family ate while huddled around a small petroleum-lit candle because they had no electricity, and the dark soot streaked across their noses like warpaint and lingered until morning,
This little girl from São Jorge island would grow up to be my grandmother.
This little girl from São Jorge island would grow up to be my grandmother.
