Home > Africa > Gabon > Sweet Isabelle
dolce isabelle

Gabriella recounts her time in Gabon, and she talks about Isabelle, her maid, who left a great memory in her heart. Thank you Gabriella!

 

Our departure to Gabon in 1991, was very eventful. Firstly it was postponed by several months due to unrest following a failed assassination attempt on President Bongo. The situation was so bad that expatriates were obliged to evacuate. Secondly, just as the green light was about to be given to return, Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait triggering strong reaction from the United States that saw the attack on Iraq with Operation Desert Storm resulting in the first Gulf War. The West prepared for a new era of destruction, terror and fear.

We departed the night after the first big bombing raid on Baghdad. I remember that Fiumicino airport was almost deserted and patrolled by a large military and police force.

The atmosphere was tense in Italy. People had started panic buying in supermarkets as fear swept the country that the conflict may escalate and could touch Italy, that participated in the conflict.

Myself, my husband and our three year old daughter, Valentina, couldn’t wait to take off for our first expatriation. Our curiosity at going to a wonderful and far away African country was stronger than any fear or concern that others were displaying. Little Rosella was also travelling with us, still unaware of what the world had to offer… and yes, I was a few months pregnant and preparing for a new life in an unknown and relatively wild place, my enthusiasm and touch of foolishness was typical of me at thirty.

My husband Paolo had visited Gabon for a first basic visit and had already seen a house and found domestic help. The search for a maid, a guardian, or a driver in a West African country two decades ago, was mainly by “word of mouth”. There were no specialized agencies for this kind of recruitment.

Port Gentil, the small town on the Atlantic Ocean where we were to stay, had a virtually non-existent Italian community and most French families (out of a colonial habit I guess) had a “boy” who performed all the domestic work. But we wanted a young girl who could win the affections of our children. Paolo went to see the nuns, the Daughters of Mary Help of Christians and together with the Salesians, who are scattered across Africa with their centres for literacy, are close to the local people. Thanks to them we found Isabelle.

I thought she was no older than twenty when I first saw her coming towards me along the garden path. She had a lean body and a strong smile. She was kind and polite, spoke French well, and we had a great and mutual understanding straightaway. Valentina immediately asked her to play, which started a relationship full of friendship and affection which would last for the three years while we were in Gabon.

Isabelle would arrive in the morning with her contagious joy, attend to household chores, have lunch with us, and often remained in the afternoon to play with Valentina. She was clean and tidy. I remember that when she ironed, she would always put away the clean laundry at the bottom of the pile in the drawers, to ensure a steady turnover. She also helped in the kitchen, her specialties being stuffed crab and fried bananas! Sometimes she would return in the evening for a few hours of baby-sitting, using games and rhymes to captivate my daughter who, without realizing it, was learning French very easily and quickly with Isabelle.

When Rossella was born, Isabelle became even closer to me, both in the management of the house and the help with the children. Valentina had started kindergarten, but she only spent a few hours a day at school, preferring to play or draw at home with her friend Isabelle with whom she now had long talks. For her part, Rossella saw her as a family member and was happy in her arms. Time went on quietly and we were united and happy.

gabon

One day Isabelle told me she had health problems, but despite my attempts to persuade her to confide in me, she would not tell me what really bothered her and refused my proposal to contact our doctor. She said that her sister would arrange a visit by a very good healer who lived in the village, and that she would return to us after a few weeks.

I could not change her mind, but I had a bad feeling when I next greeted her on the doorstep in the hot African night. When she returned to us she had changed. She had become quiet, more closed, silent, as if hiding a secret.  A couple of months later we knew the reason. The “healer” had performed Voodo rituals in order to drive the evil away. Unfortunately these rites often involved sexual practices. Sweet Isabelle was expecting a child, and was preparing for an ungrateful future as a single mother.

Everything had changed, although she still tried to be cheerful and carefree. The moment when we would soon be leaving was fast approaching. Sadly we would not be able to see Isabelle’s new child. I gave her many of Rossella’s things, hoping they would bring luck to her and the baby. I really wished that their life would be as peaceful as possible. I left her our contact details and asked her to write to us and keep us informed about her life, but at the time of our goodbye, as you well know, when you leave a country and a loved one for ever, words are never enough.

We returned to our life in Italy, and everything quickly returned to normal as it generally does in familiar places, but without erasing the memory of Africa. Isabelle wrote us a few months later, saying that the baby had died shortly after birth. She had found another job and wanted to start over. In the following years came other letters but they became increasingly rare, even though we answered with long stories, photos and drawings of the girls. She was pregnant again and this time she gave birth to a healthy baby boy who would be about twelve now. Sadly, shortly after that no more news about her arrived. Our letters came back, returned to sender, and the company my husband had worked for closed their Port Gentil office, and everything shut behind us.

This is my story, this is the story of Isabelle: I lost track of her, but I pray she is well and remembers us, as we will always remember her.

In the pictures, the three of us with Isabelle and the guardian.

Gabriella
Milan
May 2012

 

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