In 1953, a twenty-year-old girl and her entire family suddenly decide to leave. Starting point: Villarosa (EN), destination: Liège (Belgium). I don’t know if they fully realized that they were emigrants, that they were somehow part of our History. I have always known history well. It is the story that my mother always told me, a story that I have always laughed about, made of city lights and irresistible French-Sicilian linguistic misunderstandings, of uncles suffering from silicosis in the mines who however had themselves photographed in “Elvis poses” in microscopic photos, of naive and tender glances inside a reality that her eyes saw as fantastic and mine in a holographic way. But underneath there was another story. Hundreds of meters underground thousands of men worked in the coal mines, and died in the small and large “disasters” of every day.
