Mambilla Plateau E-Book

DIEGO ZUSSA

• Herausgeber: Tektime
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 360

Beschreibung

Africa seen through the eyes and experience of a young novice, called to the challenge of an international assignment and job. The protagonist will be confronted with a totally unknown world, amidst all kinds of vicissitudes and the often surreal environment of a wild Africa of the 1970s. An experience that will lead him to have the world at his feet, but with a part of his heart always attached to his homeland. The novel is inspired by the true story of a migrant in the land of Africa, where the hard, difficult and adventurous experience will be the testing ground to express all his desire to emerge, to participate in something big and important and to travel in search of his fulfilment.

Leseprobe

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DiegoZussa

MAMBILLAPLATEAU

Africa 40 years ago as seen through the eyes and experiences of a very young surveyor

© 2023 – Diego Zussa

Translated by Simona Casaccia

Original Book was realised by Zeta Edizioni

Translated Book published by Tektime

To my beloved wife Giovanna Corder,

Who will be forever missed

Thecharactersinthisnovel,aswellastheirnamesandpersonalities,areentirelyfictional,andanyidentityorresemblance to any real or existing person should be attributedtopure coincidenceunintended by theAuthor.

1

Headlights ripped through the darkness of the night thathadjust fallen.

Thecab,asusual,wasspeedingalongthesliproadto Fiumicino airport.

He had just left the city of Rome. Imperial Rome,Romecaputmundi,Romeopencity,theRomeofthegoodlifeandinternationalworldliness.

    In those 1970s, the city was at the center ofFellini's dolce vita. An open-air museum that exudedhistory, splendor and power in every corner. Perhapspower is not the appropriate word, let's just say theremnants of old prestige and ancient civilization. Thecharm remained still intact andinextricablylinkedtothepalacesandsquaresofthe city.

Thecabhadarrivedinthelateeveningofaparticularly warm day of incipient autumn. The sunwas setting, coloring the horizon above the rooftopsof thebuildingswitha fieryblush.Awonderofnaturethatgave tothecityofRomeunforgettableeveningsandsunsets.

The west wind whispered its light breath over thecity.

"I'mhereforMr.Sandri,"thedriverhadannouncedovertheintercom,afterpressingthePladecobuttoninthelonglistofcondominiumbuttons.

"The cab to Fiumicino has arrived, can I get in?"he had continued, waiting for an answer that hadimmediatelycome.

"Comeonup,yourbagsarepackedandMr.Sandriiswaitingforyou,"theattractivefemalevoiceofthesecretary hadansweredthe intercom.

Fairlygood-looking,withdarkwavyhairandbrown eyes, Margaret had justifiably obtained theSociety'ssecretariat.Capableandresourceful,shewas recognized as the coordinating soul of the manyinternationalactivitiesthatawaitedtheSociety'svariedstructure.

Pladeco, an acronym for Planning DevelopmentCompany, had gained an international reputation inorganizingagribusinessdevelopmentplansinmainlyAfricanandAsiancountries,workinginclose liaison with the FAO and other supranationalbodies that, before intervening in large humanitarianoperationsinunderdevelopedcountries,financedlargecampaignsofresearchandstudyontheterritory.Studiesthatwereaimedatanalyzing,monitoringanddocumentingthepeculiaritiesofareasthatdeserved tobefunded anddeveloped.

And Pladeco had carved out a slice of this giantinternationalbusinessmoving billionsofdollarsandfeedinghumanappetiteseveninthedesolate,sunnylandsof Africa.

AnditwasAfrica,Nigeria,thatwasawaitingthearrivalof young GiorgioSandri.

2

Margaret, once I opened the door, had immediatelycalledme, "Giorgio,thecabfor you hasarrived."

In one corner of the entrance hall were stacked,one on top of the other, the five suitcases full ofdocuments, mail, projects and personal effects. Tothese,Ihadjustaddedmypersonalsuitcase,overflowingwith memories andhopes.

Thedriverhadpickedthemuponebyone,transferring them to the elevator to take them to theground floor. Out there, the cab waited with its fourflashing lights on. It was in fact, as usual, double-parked. The first one was always occupied by thechaoticcitytrafficandoftenbythecarsoftheapartmentbuildingemployees themselves.

I had taken my carry-on luggage and approachedthe door of the director, Dr. Viviani. I had knockedandwaited for an answer.

"Comeonin,Mr.Sandri.Ihearyourcabhasarrived. Now you can finally leave. Have a safe tripandgivemyregardstoeveryoneuptherein Gembu."

"Thankyou,"Ihadrepliedsoftly.

"Be sure to let me know how the work on theMambilla Plateau is progressing. Take care of you,you are very young, but tenacious and prepared andyou will see that you will make it," Dr. Viviani hadcontinued.

I had thanked him again and given him a strongand firmhandshake.

Iwasyoung,butalsodeterminedandconfident.

Iknewthatalotoftrusthadbeenplacedinme.

Butaveiloffearhadcloudedmymindforamoment,would I be able to meritit?

I had been immediately called back to reality byMargaret's voice: "Giorgio, the cab is waiting foryou." She had kissed me on the cheek and said, "Go!Goodluck-and good luck."

"Dropdead,"Ihadrepliedconfidently.

Withalumpinmythroatandamixtureofrecklessnessandpresumption,Ihadtakentheelevator in my turn, gone down to the ground floor,andgotintothecab,loadedtothebrimwithluggage.

In addition to taking care of myself, I had the bigresponsibilityfortheluggageentrustedtome.Infact,eachpersongoingtoorreturningfromtheMambilla Plateau construction site had to act as a"carrier pigeon" and carry an incredible amount ofluggageandcorrespondence.

Although reached by normal air flights, NigeriawasstilladifficultdevelopingAfricancountrywherecorruptionreignedsupremeandnothingmoved,atanylevel,unlessitwasabundantly"oiled."

DuringthelongperiodwhenIhadstayedatthe Pladecohadamplydescribedtomethesocio-cultural and environmental conditions of Nigeria, acountry to which I was now about to go, to do theworkthatawaitedme at Plateau.

3

Just around the corner from Via Vittorio Veneto, thecabhadturnedontoawideavenue.ItwasViaBissolati,thestreetoftheairlines.There,almostallof them, had an office with winking storefronts andlargecorporateacronyms.Anditwasalwaysthere,atNigeriaAirways,thatPladecoboughtallitsairlineticketstoandfromtheMambillashipyard.

Theticketbookletswereimmediatelyrecognizable by the color green, the same as the flagofNigeria,andoftenthatcolorstoodoutamongMargaret'spapersonherdesk.Theystoodoutlikesomanyflies drowned in a cup of milk.At thatmoment, I had one of those tickets in my carry-onluggage and guarded it more than jealously, worriedabout losingit.

Ihadrecentlyturnedtwenty-twoandwaspreparing for my first airplane trip. My first planeticket,my baptismof flight.

Although I had seen so many of those cards in thelongmonthsintheoffice,thisoneconveyedtome a different anxiety, a deep concern, because the hourof truth had finally arrived: the hour of departure forthe unknown lands of Africa, the hour of umbilicaldetachment from that land where everyone spoke mylanguage. A land I would not see again for a longtime.

I knew that the official language in Nigeria wasEnglish,althoughtheMambillaPlateauborderedCameroon, where French was spoken, a language Iknewfar better.

Yeah,English.IhadonlystudiedFrenchinschool, which I had also practiced on my youthfultrips to France, where some of my father's relativeslived.

ButEnglishIdidn'tknowatall.JustthefewsimplewordsofthelyricsofthesongsIhadheardas a teenager on the radio. It was the music of the1960s and 1970s that was rampant in the Westernworld and filled the shelves of boys' bedrooms with45s.Therecordplayersandthentheturnofthecassette players into the old black Philips with thecenterbuttonanditsmanyfunctions:listening,recording,fast forward and fast reverse.

Passing Via Bissolati, the cab headed toward Piazzadell'Esedra,theninthedirectionoftheBathsofDiocletian and soon after to Termini Station, lappingits square. Termini was like a foreign body creepinginto the center of the city with its sprawling network.Far from the splendor and architecture of antiquity,thestationstoodwithitsFascist-erastyleandwasthe beatingheart of thecity. I was familiar with this route because, during myentirewaitingperiodinRome,Ihadstayedinaroom at the Principe Amedeo boarding house, whichwas located on the street of the same name and wasaboutahundredandfiftymetersfromTerminiStation.

Itwas a road I had taken at least twice a day,round trip from the office, and each time it was amarvel to walk alongside the Baths of Diocletian. Itwas history, the one you walked past: you brushedagainstit,touched itwithyour hands.

Theloominghighbrickwalls,linedupandrunningforovertwothousandyears,gavemeasense of unease, of smallness. Part of the Exedra wasgone, destroyed, and only half of its great dome stillstood,a testamentto thegrandeur ofthe empire.

In Rome, everything was a wonder to me, a youngboyfromaremotetown in Veneto. There,lifewasstillhookedonagricultureandstruggling to revive from the destruction of WorldWarII.IntheVeneto,reconstructionandindustrialization were slowly taking hold. Like somany small ants, the industrious and hard-workingpeople of Veneto were rebuilding a region and aneconomythatwantedtobreakfreefromthemiserablepeasantlifeenduredpassivelyforthousandsofyears.Thelatifundia,thegreatlordshipsandtheslaveryofsharecroppinghadsubjugated the people of the Veneto and relegatedthem to the poverty of a miserable and tribulatedagriculture. The postwar period and industrialization had beenthe engine of redemption. Pride and determinationhad grown in many to raise their heads and react tohistoric pastoral starvation, and with pride had alsoemerged the skills of those who had dared to rebelagainstthe endemicoppression ofthe lordships.

Thatwas thehistorical period Ihad experiencedas a young man.Born a few years after the end ofthewar,Ihadgrownupduringthatongoingrevolution.Livinginit,Imaynothavefullyunderstood what was happening, how the world waschanging. Light and water were slowly coming intohomes, as were paved roads in small farming towns.A few tiny factories were setting up, bringing paidwork.Nolongertheservilelaborofthefields,sharecropping and toil on other people's land, butnew work that gave independence and the chance tobreak free from a miserable life of tribulation andhardship,oflarge, poor and destitutefamilies.

4

"Which route do you prefer to take, Mr. Sandri?" thetaxi driver asked me politely. "Would you like me toshow you some of the city, the Garbatella, the Eur,before leaving Rome?" he continued, waiting for ananswer.

Eveningwasfallingfaintlyandtheblushoftwilight was disappearing to give way to the rampantdarknessthat wouldsoonengulf the city.

"Pleasetakemetowhereyousaid,"Irepliedthoughtlessly, "I don't know those areas and I will beglad to see them to take a good memory with me," Icommented.

The cab stopped at a traffic light at an intersectiononChristopher Columbus Avenue.

On the right stood a small pyramid covered withtravertinemarble.ThesamemarbleastheColosseum. It was not very tall, perhaps about tenmeters,but itwasastapleofexitingthecity.

"That's it," said the driver, "now we'll take a rightonto Via della Magliana and then we'll continue onthe slip road to theairport. It will take at leastforty minutes,becauseasyouseethetrafficisalwaysvery heavy. But you're not in a hurry anyway, areyou,yourplanewillleaveattwoo'clocktonight,"thedriveradded.

"Yeah, two o'clock tonight," I thought.

"All right, I thank you. It's very kind of you to keep me company on this short trip" I replied.

And then I plunged into my thoughts, into what was happening to me and what I was about to do. With my eyes lost, I was lulled by the rocking of the speeding cab, watching the darkness of evening fall and the landscape flow out the windows.

A tumult of thoughts crowded my mind. "What am I doing here?"

"Where am I going? Alone then!"

The company had not sent anyone to accompanymeonthismyfirsttrip,atnight,inanintercontinental airport, with a mountain of luggageto guard and ship. What's more, I was inexperienced.Yetthey hadhad confidence inme.

"He'll see that he can do it," the words of my boss,Dr.Viviani,came back tome.

I had made the decision long before, shortly aftercompleting my military service in mountain artilleryinPontebba,Friuli.

Military service had shaped and forged me; now Iwasreadytomake importantdecisionsformy life.

Yeah,thedecision!IwanttogotoAfrica.Somethingmoreimportantthan friends,

Ofthebestfriend,ofthefamily,hadtakenpossessionof me.

Theinscrutable attractiveness of adventure andtheunknown had meengrossedand circuitous.

 Forme,Africawasthedestination.

5

Shrouded in darkness and absorbed in my thoughts, Icould see my past as a young teenager in the smalltownofVenetoscrollingbeforemelikeamovie.

The period of my youth and studies was spentamong the park and trees of a prestigious Venetianvilla,ownedbyVenetiannobles.Myparentswereitshistoricalcustodians.

A sportsman by nature, I was passionate abouttennis. It was easy for me to practice because thecourt was located within the grounds of the villa andwas always available to me in my free moments. Thegamecamenaturallytome,shapingmyalreadyathleticphysique.

ThefarmwhereIlivedwasmanaged,consistingof hundreds of acres of land, divided into severalfarmsscatteredthroughoutthetownshipandcultivated by about 15 sharecroppers. In those days,sharecroppingwasstillacommonpractice.Subservience to the "master," the owner of the land,wastotal.The farmingfamilies were numerous and at least three generations lived in theirlargebuildings at the sametime.

Anicegroupoffriendsand"festivities"atthevillafilledthefestivedaysandschoolvacations,while everything flowed in absolute normalcy. Thevillage was small and there were no major reasons orhappeningstodisturbthequietflowoftimeandseasons.

Summers were hot and sunny, winters long andcold. No ease, in the dwellings, to mitigate the peaksof mugginess or frost. Everything was natural andgetting used to it was not a burden. Enduring was aduty.

Iwaslookingahead,however.

Having completed my studies as a surveyor, I hadbegun sending applications for jobs abroad, throughtheconsulatesofSouthAfrica,Australia,andCanada. But the replies were slow in coming. Andwithout a job or an entry visa, it was impossible toemigrateto those countries.

The turning point came when I became an officeassistant to my professor of topography, EngineerTramontini.

Tramontini had been a fighter pilot during WorldWar II. A tall, nice piece of a man with a sweet andjovial disposition, but also serious and gruff whennecessary. He had married very late in life and had astill small daughter whom we often held in our armswhileworkingatthedrafting machineordesk.

He often spoke emphatically about his experienceas a pilot. He was now retired, having long since leftactualservice. Heenjoyed abouthis aerialfights, thegyrations,theturns, when he had chased British RAF pilots overItalian territory or in the Mediterranean. He alwaysmimickedtheplane'sevolutionswithhishands,rememberingthemachinegunningwithhisbrownings.

He never told me, however, how many planes hehad shot down. It was a subject that troubled him,causinghimpain.

Buthewasthereandhadsurvived.

EngineerTramontinihadabrotherwhoworkedforPladecoinRome.Anolderbrotherwhohadspent a lifetime on African lands and constructionsites.

At that time, an interesting construction site wasopening in the Mambilla Plateau, Nigeria, and theyneededayoungsurveyortoperformamajorfeasibility study for agribusiness development in thePlateau.

The funders were none other than the governmentofNigeria itself and theFAO.

Atthatpointeverythingbecameclearerandmorecertain. I had finally found the key to my aspirations.Duringmysurveyorstudies,topographyhadbeenmy favoritesubject,andPladecowaslookingfora

youngsurveyor.

Bingo!

For me, the concrete possibility of going to Africawasopening up.

6

Itseemedatthatpointtheroadwasdownhill.Everythingmatched perfectly.

Itwastoogoodtobetrue.

Engineer Tramontini was intimately happy to beable to help his protégé, whose technical gifts andmoraluprightnesshehadcometoknow,bothinschoolandinhisengineering practice.

I had on my side an iron recommendation and anincredible astral coincidence. I could not miss thisopportunity.

Andthecallfinallycame.

"Good morning, Mr. Sandri," said a mature, firmvoice on theother end ofthe phone.

"I am Dr. Viviani, of Pladeco in Rome," the voicecontinued,"IwastoldveryhighlyofyoubyEngineerTramontini,ourvalued collaborator.Weare looking for a young surveyor to send to our newconstructionsiteintheMambillaPlateau,Nigeria." I couldn't standit anymore, my heart began topound,butItriedtoconcealthewaveofemotionthat wassweeping overme.

"Would you be interested in a collaboration withus?"continued Dr.Viviani.

Ididn'twanttobetoohastyandrespondimpulsively.Itdidn'tseemveryprofessional.SoIoptedforamoreformalresponse,"Thankyouforthephonecall,EngineerTramontinialsospokeveryhighlyofyouandPladeco.Thankyouagain,Dr.Viviani, for your interest in me."And I added:"Tramontinihasalreadygivenmeanoutlineofthewholeoperation,butwhatwouldbemytaskspecifically?"

"You,astopographer,willbeinchargeofeverything related to the cartography to be producedandthetopographicsurveystobecarriedoutonsite,"Dr.Vivianitoldme."Itisadifficultanddemandingjob,butyouwillhavegoodcollaborators. Don't worry. We are a good team," hecontinued.

"I am willing and well-motivated, I think I cancontribute to the work you have exposed me to," Ireplied.

"Good," Dr. Viviani did. "We will prepare a placefor you in our Roman office on Via Vittorio Veneto,waiting for your entry visa to arrive. Because, as youknow,withoutavisaitwillnotbepossibleforyoutoenter Nigeria,at oursite."

He had already called it "our" construction site, Ithoughtimmediately.Iwasalreadypartoftheteam.Icouldn'tbelieveit.Myfuturehadafirmcertaintyofstaying in Africa. "Iexpectit??nextMonday.Introduceyourselftothe secretary Margaret. You will see that you will befine.Goodbye,"andsosaying,Dr.Vivianiclosedthecommunication.

The phone call had reached me on a Wednesdayafternoon.Itwasabeautiful dayinearlyApril1976.

"Howtotellmyparents?"wasthefirstthingIthought.

They knew of my intention to go to work abroad.Theyknewabouttheattemptsandjobapplicationsto the Consulates, but they were quite happy that myexpectations, so far, had been unsuccessful and thattheirson wouldstaycloseto themat home.

But I didn't have much time to study strategies.Thatveryevening,Itoldmyparentsaswewerehaving dinner. The next day I told Federica, my bestxmfriend,andtherestofthecompanyoffriendseverything.

Itwasnoteasytolistentotheiralmostunambiguousanswers.

"Butyouarecrazy!Whatareyoudoing?Butwheredo you wantto go?"

"We are doing so well here, with no problems.""YouknowthereiscivilwarinNigeriaandcoups arethe order ofthe day!"

"Doyouknowwhatrisksyouaretaking?Stay!

Don'tleave.Thinkitthrough."

I understood the remarks that were being made.And perhaps it was true, I did not fully realize therisksI mightbe taking.Yet the mine was a painful but unshakable decision. I wasn'tsure what pushed me in that direction either. Perhapsrecklessness orperhaps thatspiritof adventure thatisinherentintheDNAofyoungpeople.

I immediately bought a new suitcase (the days ofcardboardsuitcaseswerebehindme).Ihadonlythree days to fill it. It was arduous to figure out whatto put in it. What I did know was that it was hotthere,veryhot,andthatheavyclotheswerenotreally needed. But I counted that while in Rome Iwould get more information about what to bring andwhatI wouldactuallyneed.

I went to the train station, in the city, and got theTreviso-Rometicket.

Onewayonly.Noreturnwasplanned,notanytimesoon.

7

I left at nine o'clock on a Sunday evening. It was themiddleof April.

Accompanied by friends and Federica, I set off tothe dock without a tear. I was serene and not at allworried.

As if I were leaving on a trip, I gave a sincere kissto Federica and a loving hug to the friends who hadcometo say goodbye.

Federica cried and came back to say, "Are youreally sure? You don't want to reconsider? I'm sosorryyou'releaving."

TherelationshipbetweenFedericaandmehadalways been like that, a simple and straightforwardfriendshipthathadmaturedwithinthegroupoffriendsthatmade up "Club 70."

Thatgroupwasformedbymeandtwootherfriends, Sergio and Mario, just in 1970. At the timewewerestillyoungstudentswithapassionformusic, and for many years that club was our centerforsocializing, partyingand attractinga goodpartofthecountry'skids.

ThosewerethedaysofPettenati'sBandieragialla, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Genesis, theBee Gees, Pink Floyd, Premiata Forneria Marconi,Orme,Pooh,theRokes,Santana,JimiHendrix,Lucio Battisti, Mina, Claudio Baglioni, Morandi andso many other international singers and groups whomade the rock music years from 1960 onward great.Those were the days of the flower children and theWoodstockand Isle ofWight rallies.

Upset,Ireplied,"Federica,youknowIamsorryto leave you, but you also know that this passion isstronger than me. I have to go. I will write to you,you know."

"Don't worry, I will write to you," I repeated andgaveher anotherkiss onthe cheek.

IboardedthetrainthatwouldtakemetoVenice.

FromthereIwouldtaketheconnectingtraintoRome.

I hinted one last goodbye from the window, andthen thetraindeparted.

I had traveled by train several times when visitingrelatives in Alsace. I had also been to the home ofsomecousins north of Paris.

However,Ihadneverexperiencedtheenvironmentandatmosphereoflargehistoriccities.

The train arrived on time at Roma Termini at 7:30the next morning, after about twelve hours of travel.Atnight. Alone.

Thecitywaswakingupandacaptivatingaromaof coffee and brioche was coming from the stationcafes.

IdidnotstopbecauseMargaret,thesecretary. of Pladeco, had booked me a room at the AbellaPrincipeAmedeoguesthouse,whichwasjustahundredandfiftymeters fromthe station.

There I could have breakfast and take possessionofmy room.

Luigi,theownerandporteroftheguesthouse,greeted me with a beaming smile. "Good morning,whatcan I help you with?"

"I am Giorgio Sandri, and Pladeco should havebookeda roominmy name," I replied.

"Ah yes, here it is, it's 214, second floor," he said,confirming what Margaret had already anticipated tomeonthephone."HereisyourkeyMr.Sandri.

Go ahead and freshen up, we are waiting for you inthe ground floor room for breakfast," Luigi addedverycordially.

Luigi was a lover of opera, and the entire lobbywas plastered with photos of him in the company ofoperasingersinvogueatthetimeorpostersoffamousoperas.

The boarding house was a few hundred metersfrom Vittorio Veneto Street, where the company'sofficeswerelocated.

I was very close to the station, the office and thecity center.

"Allgood,alleasy,"Ithoughttomyself,"butwhere'sthe catch?"

TheNajahadtaughtmethattherewasneveranythingtooeasy.Somethinghadtogowrong.Snagsandheadachesaretheinevitablecompanionof every activity. That's the way of the world. Thereisnothingtobe done about it.

Whatawaitedmethatwassoinescapable?

8

Naturehadbeenkindtome.

Iwasconsideredagood-looking,well-built,athletic, and nice guy. I had dark hair, brown eyes,andanaturaltanthatcamewithmydowry:mymother was of Spanish descent. I was aware of mygood looks, but I had always acted naturally, as if itdidnotconcernme.Icamefromasmalltown,wherepeoplehadnohang-ups.Theywereunnecessary.

Everything I did came naturally to me; I didn'thavetostruggletostandout.Intelligenceandadistinct but affable manner were in my DNA. Thatwaswhyfriendshadnicknamed me "the Count."

Wearing a Lacoste, a pair of jeans and a jacket, Iwent down to the lobby of the guesthouse and askedLuigithe wayto ViaVittorio Veneto.

Pladeco'sheadquarterswasaten-minutewalkaway,alongmajorroadsbranchingofffromthe TerminiStationsquare.

Arriving at No. 5 Via Vittorio Veneto, I looked attheapartmentbuilding'scontrolpanelandimmediatelylocatedtheofficeI wasinterested in.

I rang and said, "I'm Giorgio Sandri. Can I comeup?"

"Come on in, Mr. Sandri," replied a polite femalevoice."Third floor."

The company's offices had been carved out on thethirdandfourthfloorsoftheapartmentbuilding,fromtwolargeapartmentsalreadyusedasresidences.

Affixed to the front door was a large brass plate,perfectlypolished,engravedwiththewords"PLADECO-PlanningDevelopmentCompany."

Margaret, the secretary, greeted me with a broadsmile.

"Goodmorning,Mr.Sandri.Wehavebeenwaiting for you. Did you have a good trip? Come I'lltake you to the director, Dr. Viviani is waiting foryou."Thevoicewaswarm,thetoneaffableandfriendly.

Withoutgettingupfromhisdesk,Dr.Vivianigreeted me by extending his hand for a powerful andconfidentshake.Hewastheboss.Icouldtellalreadyfromthat gesture.

Although smaller in build, Dr. Viviani resembledBettinoCraxi,apoliticiantheninvogue.Samesmile,samerecedinghairline,samewayofpresentinghimself.

"At last, we meet, Mr. Sandri. Welcome to oursociety,"hesaid,continuingsoonafter,"Ihopetoget your entryvisaforNigeria in a few days, soyou can leave as soon as possible for the MambillaPlateau.There have already been informed of her arrival and arewaiting for her. In the meantime, she will remain inourofficesandpreparewithDr.Lucianithenecessary cartography. Margherita. Accompany himtoDr.Luciani and havehimsitdown."

Thenhereiterated,closingtightly,"Go,Mr.

Sandri,andgoodwork."

Withthesefewwordshedismissedmeandreturned to bowing his head over the piles of papersanddocuments that filled his table.

Never had the idea crossed my mind to know oraskaboutthefee.ItwassomethingIwasnotinterestedin.AllIwantedwastobethere,rightwhere I was at that moment, looking forward to myadventureinAfrica.

But where was the problem? It wasn't normal thateverythingwassoeasy,Ikeptthinking.

9

As the days passed eventually the problem becameapparent.Therehad to besomething goingwrong,of course.

Theentryvisawasnotcoming.

Theywerewaitingforhimfromthegovernmentof Nigeria. In that state, at that time, without an entryvisaitwasnotpossibletoenter.Nopermissiblewaiver, no certification or statement of responsibilitythatthecompanycouldissuetoguaranteethepresenceofaforeignworkeronNigerian soil.

Avisawasneeded.Period.

Andthat,foralongtime,delayedcoming.

As the days, and then weeks, passed, the wait grewheavierandheavier.

My stay in the Pladeco offices became a dailyoccurrence.Itwaned,littlebylittle,theyouthfulimpetuositythathadledmetothatchoice.EventuallyIwasabletocometoterms with the delayandIsoonbecamegoodfriendswiththeemployeesandmanagement staff.

Dayspassedintheproductionofmapspreparatory to the campaign work that awaited me atMambilla. What I was supposed to do there, I wasnowdoingintheofficeinRome.Akindofanticipatedtechnical preparation.

The tables were always filled with aerial photos ofthe Mambilla Plateau territory, reproduced on largeformat,whichwerepunctuallyanalyzedwiththehelpof a stereoscope.

Itwasawondertoseetheroads,thehuts,thetrees,themountainsinthree-dimensionalform.Itwaslikebeing initalready withyourwhole body.

Those images were so beautiful and sharp that Ifelt like I was touching things with my hands. It waslike taking a bird's eye view over the wastelands ofthePlateau.

If you reversed the order of the two photos beingviewed, the images immediately changed: those thatwere rivers became ridges of mountains and thosethatweremountainssunkenriverbeds.Itwasadistortion of reality that only the stereoscope couldcreate.

One day Dr. Viviani's daughter arrived at the office."Goodmorning,MissAnna,"Margaretgreeted

her cordially in her usual thoughtful and kind tone."Whereismyfather?"askedAnnaimmediately,

withtheconfidentairofsomeonewhoknowssheistheleader'sdaughter.

"He'sinhisoffice,asalways,andhe'stalking. with Dr. Luciani and Surveyor Sandri," Margheritareplied. "Come on in, I don't think your father willscoldyou."

I,intentonanalyzingcartographieswiththeprincipal and Luciani, had listened to the dialogueandsawherenterthe ajar door.

And it was immediately, for both of them, love at firstsight.

Radiantly beautiful, brunette with curly hair anddark green eyes,Anna appeared in thedoorwayinallherglory.Shewasnotverytall,butshehadcurvaceous,graceful lines.

From the first glance, one could sense her positionasayounggirlfromawealthyfamily.Shewasprobably two or three years younger than me andperhapsstillstudying inhighschool.

Hischarmwascaptivatingandimmediatelystruck a chord with people, while his friendly andsinceremanner put everyoneat ease.

This was the idea I immediately had of her. Itcouldonly be so.

"Goodmorning,MissAnna,"promptlygreetedDr. Luciani, almosthinting at a bow of reverence.He had known the girl for a long time, but she wasstillthechief'sdaughterandcourtesywasinorder.

Anna returned the greeting with a cordial nod andthen turned to the young stranger, "Good morningsurveyor...Sandri,soMargarettold me."

"Nicetomeetyou,"Ireplied,shakingherhand.

Infiveseconds,Anna,too,hadformedanimpression of me. It had not taken her long to noticemygraceful gesturesandconfident bearing. Having exchanged superfluous pleasantries withher father, Anna shortly afterwards went out wavinggoodbye. But, before disappearing beyond the door,she cast a furtive glance at me, unnoticed by herparent, as if wanting to assure herself that what shehadseen wastrue.

Over the next few days Anna showed up muchmore often at the company's offices. The excuse wasalwaysthesame,tolookforherfather,butafterallitwasme,she hopedto cross pathswith.

And the offices were not so big as to prevent thatmeeting.

10

Iwouldreturnhometomyvillageonlyeveryfortnight to spend a short weekend there and thenleave for Rome on the usual night train. At 7:30 Iwould arrive on time at Termini Station and an hourlaterI wasalreadyat theoffice.

Months passed and I was always waiting for myentryvisatoNigeria.Buttheywerenotdifficultmonths, on the contrary, so much so that at one pointIwouldnothave wantedto leave.

AnnahadforcefullyenteredmylifeandfilledRomanevenings and weekends.

Wewouldoftenmeetup forpizzaorsightseeing.

On every street, at every corner, we would comeacrossanopen-airmonument.Itwashistoryandmundanitythatwasintheair,andAnnawashappytobe my Cicerone.

HetookmetotheImperialForum,theColosseum,theAltaroftheFatherland,PiazzaNavona, Via Condotti, Via Veneto, moreover verycloseto the offices.

The whole historic center was within our reach.Thebondbetweenussoonbecameverystrong.

Fromholdinghands,wenaturallymovedontohotandintriguing kisses.

I gave the first one to him one evening while wewere sitting on the brick embankment wall of theTiber, at the height of Ponte Fabricio, opposite TiberIsland.

It was a beautiful spring evening, and the sun wasdappling the sky. The cloudswere affected by thelastraysoftheeveningandinthewestwereglowing fiery red.

Those sunsets were a regular occurrence in Rome,and to our eyes in love they became a pleasant sidedishto the first kiss.

Itwasallverynaturalandatthesametimepassionate.

I felt his tender, fleshy mouth clinging to my lipsandneverwantingtoleavethemagain.Theinvolvement was total, so much so that we did notdetachfor severalminutes,noteventobreathe.

Anna, still hot, said, "I really like you you know,Giorgio. You are really a good guy. Why do youwantto leave?Stay herein Rome."

Irealizedthenthose thingsweretakinganunexpectedturn,goingbeyondmyschematicpredictions.

"Damn,"Isaidtomyself."I'mherewiththedirector's daughter. If he finds out, he'll fire me onthespot.It'stoodangerouswhat's goingon." Iregainedcontrolofmythoughtsandsaid:"Anna,IamheretogotoAfrica.Youknowthat'swhatIwant.Ifeelverygoodwithyou,too.Youarefillingmyheartandlife.YouarethemostbeautifulthingIhavemet,butunderstand,theMambillaPlateauiswaitingforme.Everyonehereisworkingtomake that possible."

"Your father must not know about the two of usand our involvement or he will send me home in ahurry," I continued, "I am the young surveyor whohas to go to Nigeria and not the one who takes hisdaughteraway fromhim."

Anna lowered her eyes and a little confused said:"We'lltalk aboutit,okay?"

And then she gave me another long kiss, perhapsto stop what she realized was already slipping awayfromher.

11

Andsummerpassedaswell,ahotandsunnysummer that melted the tar on the paved roads andamongthesampietriniofRome.

Despiteinsistenceandurging,thevisawasslowto arrive.

HecouldthussecretlycontinuetheloveaffairbetweenAnnaand me.

"Anna," I often told her fearfully, "if your fatherfinds out, he will send me home instantly. And youknowthat none ofus wantthat."

We often returned to our place, there on the Tiberembankment,undertheshadeofthetrees,exchanging kisses and tenderness, complicit also inthesummervacations.

In September, Anna would resume school at theclassical high school. It was her senior year, her highschoolgraduationyear.

OnemorninginlateOctober,onanasusualbeautifulandsunnyday,thebosssentforme. By now, after that long stay, everyone was callingme by my first name in the office. We were really agoodteamworkinginharmonyandsynergyofpurpose.

Only with the boss was lei obligatory. Respect forhispositionrequiredproperdetachmentinrole-playing.

"Giorgio,"Margaretcalledmeontheinternalphone line, "the boss is waiting for you in his office.Comedown rightaway."

Myheartbegantobeatfast.

"OhGod,whatdoeshewanttocallmesourgently?HasheheardaboutAnnaandme?"Ithoughtat first,my pulse racing.

"And if so, that's big trouble coming." With myheart in my throat, aware that I had something tohide,Iinterruptedthe workIwasdoing

Andquicklydescendedthestairs.

I had not been heartened by the words of Dr.Lucianiwhowasmydeskneighborandwhohad

said,"Let'shopethisisit.Go!"

I had to make a great effort of concentration and self-controlnot to letmy anxietyshow.

Knock.

"Come on in,Sandri," replied beyondthe doorDr.

Viviani'svoice.

Once in the room, I tried to look at the chief's facefirst, just to get a sense of what the air was like. Butas always, Dr. Viviani kept his head bowed to themountainof papersthat filledhis desk.

Iwaitedforthesentencewithmyheartinmythroat.

Suddenlyheraisedhisheadandgavemeabrightsmile,showingwell-groomedandalignedteeth. Thatsmileinstantlyheartenedme,andIcouldfinallyrelax.Therewerenocloudsinsight,otherwise his face would have been gruff and sullen,asit often was.

"Hedoesn'tknowaboutAnnaandmeyet,"Ithoughtimmediately, andthatreassuredme.

"Sandri,"hetoldme,"thisisitatlast.ThismorningapackagearrivedfromtheNigeriangovernment, and inside I found his entry visa. Whatcanyou tellme?Is he happy?"

"Dr. Viviani, you know how long we have beenwaiting for him. I am not happy. I am twice happy!" Ireplied with my heart pounding, and this time out ofjoy.

"Good! Within a few days we will prepare thedocuments to be sent and your plane ticket. The sitemanager,SurveyorBreda,hasbeenurgingyourarrival for a long time and is eagerly awaiting you.Now go and get ready," he said, thus ending the briefinterview,andreturnedtobowhisheadonhis desk.

MyfirstthoughtwastotalktoAnna.

Iwasgoingtotellherthatverynight.Theagreement was that she would be the one to call me,on the phone in the guesthouse room. I would nothaveventured to callher at herhome, of course.

And thenI would tell my parents, mymother,withwhomI wasalwaysin contact.

Thatnighthebegantocry.Itwasthenewsshehadhopednevertoreceive.Shehadexpectedherson to stay at least in Rome, which, though far fromhomeand familyaffections, AtleaststayinItaly.

I had never heard my mother cry before, and apang of remorse gripped my heart, but the decisionwas made and I couldn't go back, and in the end, Ididn'teven wantto.

I was adamant. I just wanted to go and work inAfrica.

ThatnightAnnaalsocried.

We had met at the Savini Café in Piazza Colonna.It was a café that had, in addition to the central roomthatwas alwayscrowded, smallrooms where wecouldbe quiet.

Annakeptholdingmyhandsandrepeating:"Giorgio,butwhydoyouwantto leave?"

"I am very sorry too, because I love you, but thedecisionismadeandIcannotdootherwise,"Ireplied.

I was not crying, but I had a knot in my throat thatalmostprevented me fromspeaking.

We looked into each other's eyes for a long time,withoutadding anythingelse.

Annaunderstoodmyreasons,butsheseemedunwillingtogive up.

"MaybeifyoutalktoDr.Lucianiaboutit,secretly,withoutDadknowing,youcanatleastwrite to me. I know that he sometimes comes andgoesfromthe Mambilla Plateau."

Welefteachotherthatitwasalmostmidnight.Our lips were still moist from one last passionatekiss.

12

"Mr.Sandri--Mr.Sandri,wehavearrived,"thedriver'svoice aroused me.

Absorbed in my thoughts, going over in my mindthe events of those last months, I had not realized thelengthof thejourneyandthearrivalatthelargeairportin Fiumicino.

Thecabhadstoppedattheinternationaldeparturesentrance.

Although it was 9:30 in the evening, the airportwas swarming with people with their bulky luggagemovingfromonesidetotheother.

The taxi driver helped me unload the six heavysuitcases and look for a cart to carry them. Then, in ahurry, he got back into the car, started the engine andfrom the window greeted me, saying, "Have a safetrip,Mr.Sandri."

Nothingelse.

Thelights,onceinside,seemedevenmore shiningthanseenfromoutside,wherenighthadalreadyfallen.Alltheseatswerefilled,andatcheck-inthere werelonglinesof peopleleaving.

Ihadarrivedmorethanfourhoursaheadofschedule.

Iwasalone.Aloneandanxiousasever.

Itwasmyfirsttimeseeinganairport.Haditbeena smallone, like the one in Venice for example,more handy, more human, I might have been lessafraid.

Butthatwasoneofthemajorintercontinental