My father and my mother were born in a little village on the Italians Alps, at the border with France. The village didn't have any school or teacher, no doctor, no stores, just a church and 200 people working in their farms.
One day my grandmother and grandfather were riding a mule, trying to reach their home at the top of the mountain, when my grandmother went into labor. It was too late to ride back to the village and too far to reach their house. So my grandmother lying on the side of the path, and with the help and love of her husband, gave birth to my mother, right next to a rose bush. My mother was called Rosa (rose); she was the little one of seven brothers and sisters. It was the year before Italy entered in World War II.
When she was five years old, Italy was still at war; my grandfather was hiding in the mountains trying to escape the Nazis with his two older sons. And my grandmother, pregnant again (after my mother she had two more children), was trying to raise seven children and manage the house. There was not much food on the table. Day in and out there were only potatoes and milk to eat. One day my mother, while she was playing in the barn, found an egg. It was summer. She hid it, keeping it to give to my grandparents as a present. At Christmas when, she wrapped it up in shiny paper and finally gave it to my grandmother, the egg was spoiled. Disappointed, she cried. My grandmother cried even more trying to console her little rose.
I relate this intimate family story to illustrate our poor origins. My mother and her 8 brothers and sisters had to walk an hour each way to go to school. In winter the snow was sometimes two feet high. Still my grandparents sent all of their nine children to school to try to give to them a different future.
Today, helping children in remote areas of Madagascar makes me think of my mother and her struggles to get an education. She knew how important it was to keep walking everyday to learn the ABCs. In her name and honor, I want to help other children to learn them too.
My mother’s name is Rosa Ponte (Rose Bridge). And this is the name I chose to call my project. My mother walked to learn to read and write. I will walk to give the same possibility to other children.
Your help counts!
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