My Avô and Avó
Roots Across the Ocean
I grew up captivated by tales of a land across the ocean, a place my grandparents called home before planting roots in South Africa. Madeira wasn’t just a distant island; it was a piece of me, woven into my identity, even though I’ve never walked its shores. Portuguese values shaped my world, deep family bonds, a quiet faith, and a love for life’s simple joys. My father, born in South Africa, carried Portugal in his soul. His fluent Portuguese filled our home with warmth, a language I never mastered but always felt in my bones. Fado’s haunting melodies drifted through my childhood, whispering of longing and nostalgia I only now understand.
Sundays of the Heart
Sundays were sacred. We’d pile into the car and head to Woodstock, where 30 or more of Dad’s cousins gathered. Card games, wine, and endless chatter filled the air with laughter binding us together. Our family wasn’t just those under one roof; it was cousins, friends, and even the parish priest who would drop by. Other Sundays, we’d visit another Portuguese family nearby. Over fish or espetada, done the real way, not the restaurant version. The kids played and went swimming as our parents laughed and treasured the traditions that held us tight.
A Home Alive with Legacy
My grandparents’ double-story home was the heart of it all. Upstairs and downstairs, split by a door on the staircase, it buzzed with life. A sprawling garden burst with grapevines, fruit trees, and towering oaks, so much green, mirroring the Portugal of my dreams. My Avô (grandfather) passed from cancer before I was born, but our lives intertwined in a way that feels almost sacred. Weeks after his death, I arrived, born naturally on his birthday, the third generation to share that date with him and his son. That bond across time ties me to him, to Portugal, in ways words can’t fully capture. When my Avó (grandmother) fell ill a few years later, my mom cared for her there, and we lived in that house for years.
Hands That Shaped a Dream
His spirit lingered in the garden, where bamboo grew wild. My Avô crafted cane furniture and baskets, combining patience and skill to shape the beauty from the earth. Those pieces carry his love, his legacy. In my Avó’s kitchen, the smell of fresh bread and Caldo Verde filled the air. She would spoil us and shape dough into little men, dotting cloves for eyes, pouring love into every piece. That warmth and care is the Portugal I hold precious.
Avó’s kitchen
Fear Meets Courage
There’s fear, of course. South Africa’s uncertain economy and the rand’s weakness against the dollar make moving tricky. I’m not wealthy, but I’m not destitute either. I don’t just want to leap and land back here six months later empty-handed. One reason I wrote a children’s book and self-published it on Amazon. It’s my way to build a foundation for this dream and to earn my path to Portugal. Every sale turns $1 into R19 for me and brings me closer to a dream, respecting where I’ve come from while embracing where I’m going.
Can’t grab my book? A $1 PayPal nudge keeps my Portugal dream alive!
Roots Call Me Home
Now, at 40, I’m asking myself: What am I living for? It’s more than the daily rhythm of supporting my partner’s butchery with marketing and admin. It’s an undeniable pull to reconnect with my roots. Portugal isn’t just a place to visit; it’s a home I’ve never known, calling me to walk its streets, learn its language and live its culture. Turning 40 has lit a fire in me: I’m teaching myself Portuguese from olá, família, tudo bem words my father spoke but never passed down, a heritage I’m reclaiming one step at a time.
A Leap to New Horizons
From South Africa to Portugal, my dream journey to new horizons at 40.
This journey isn’t just about a new country. It’s about living the Portugal I’ve carried in my heart since childhood, the gardens, the bread, the laughter. When I browse properties there, I see my grandparents’ home, charm, history and roots. It’s a call I can’t ignore, and with my book, I’m answering it one page, one sale, one dream at a time.
