One of my thirty-two great-great-great-great-grandmothers was born, in the XVIII century, free, proud and happy in Mama Africa! There, in her native Congo, she was kidnapped and taken as a slave to Brazil, where she delivered Izabel, "noble of blue blood, from the race of S. João del Rey" (Leoni Iório, Valença de Ontem e Hoje), who delivered Emilia, who delivered Rozina, daughter of Manoel Jacinto Carneiro Nogueira da Gama, Baron of Juparanã; who delivered Anna, daughter of Belchior Mariano dos Santos; who delivered Nahir, daughter of Miguel Monteiro; who delivered me, son of Walter Alves Nogueira.
Almost everything was stolen from the slaves: Freedom, Home, Family and even their names, old and musical sounds, full of poetry and value. The ones who terrorized so many would give them European names, supposed to be "christian". They would steal almost everything but their dream of being free again and the longing for their parents, brothers and children pulled out of the desperate arms of their mothers! One cannot steal what is well kept in someone's heart.
The true name of the Mother of Izabel was lost in time, indifference and shame felt - paradoxically - of being a descendant of the victims of slavery but not of the criminals who perpetrated it. That was an offense to our own ancestors since, if the prejudice was once to be taken - lightly - as a fruit of ignorance, today it is nothing else but what it has been and shall always be: evil and stupidity. After all, science has proved that we humans - black, red, yellow and white - come from a small tribe in the south of Africa. We are, all, Africans. Some of us, less black, as color faded.
Thus, I open the doors of the Temple of Memory: to say, loud and proudly, the name of the Mother of Izabel. At the baptismal font of nostalgia and respect for her and for all my ancestors, I baptize her with the water and salt of her many tears and I give her back the name of Simba of Bakongo ("the Lioness of Bakongo", in Swahili, Bantu language, also spoken in Congo), strong, free and proud.
"Jambo, jambo, Bakongo Simba! Barikie mimi!" ("Hail, hail, Simba of Bakongo! Give me your blessing")! Sing, happily, birds in the forests! Run free through the savannahs, beasts of the land and celebrate Life, wild rivers of Congo! Mbwa, father of Tembo, great-great-great-great-grandson of Simba, of the Nation of Bakongo, has found her!
Barcelona, 25 September 2004.
The town I was born has in its name "Marquês" ("Marquis"), reminding perhaps the nobility of its inhabitants.
Or, at least, so it was until few decades ago when careless politicians had the sad idea of reducing its name to "Valença", throwing it in the same bag where other "Valenças" can be found (from Bahia and Piauí). As if it were wrong or ugly to have your own name and not someone else's. Really!
Fortunately the dictionary Aurélio defines "valenciano" as "the native, belonging or related to Marquês de Valença-RJ". And I am not going to argue with Aurélio...
We need to reconstruct our town, it is necessary to reclaim it, to rethink our present and future! We have no right, as "valencianos", to let the richness of more than two centuries of history get lost. It is our duty to rescue the beautiful past of our people, our streets, our houses, giving back to our people the hope of better days, the certainty of their security, the satisfaction of participating of its recovery and the happiness of watching all that happening.
Future shall be, as it has always been, the only son of the past that we now call "present". If we want our children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and their offspring to have a place they can be proud of as their own, we must begin, as soon as possible, the serious, hard and urgent but also dignifying and rewarding task of promoting the rebirth of our Marquês de Valença.
And we should start by its name, demanding its restoration by the competent authorities. At the same time, we should create a NGO (that could be called, on purpose "Rebirth of Marquês de Valença"), aiming to reunite all the valencianos - the ones who were born there and the ones who fell in love with it and were adopted by our town as its own children - who are willing to think and to do whatever necessary to the recovery and development of our town.
There is much to be done but, after each step, there will be one step less.
Barcelona, 18 September 2004.