Martina had never imagined that Laura's villa, which she always spoke of with such enthusiasm, would be so beautiful. It was a house painted entirely white, with many succulents at the entrance—something like those residential villas you'd find in Italy. She had always imagined Africa as a poor place—and in many ways, it truly was at the time—but she hadn't known that exceptions existed. Some people, like Laura's family, lived in a bubble of privilege.
Laura's grandfather had arrived in Ethiopia long before the Italian occupation and had grown wealthy by selling paving stones and tiles to the local elites. Despite that, he had never really integrated—he spent more time in Italy than in Addis Ababa, yet he always claimed to suffer from that famous "mal d'Afrique" said to afflict so many Europeans. Laura said he talked about it until the very end of his days. That was part of the reason she eventually decided to move to Addis Ababa.
Martina often wondered how someone could claim to love Africa while rejecting local food, avoiding living among the locals, and constantly referring to Italy as the "real" country. To her, living in a place meant immersing yourself entirely, body and soul. And it was with that spirit that she had decided to face her new life in Addis Ababa—with complete sincerity, though always within the limits imposed by the fascist regime on Italians in the Empire.
There was so much discrimination, and all of it seemed terribly wrong to her, but she obviously couldn't mention it aloud. She was the kind of girl who secretly loved and read Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, hiding those forbidden books with the utmost care. Her grandmother would have scolded her harshly if she ever found out, being an elderly woman convinced of the greatness of the "Italian race."
~ ~ ~
The first day at the Italian school in Addis Ababa had a scent all its own—a mix of chalk, new wood, and the red dust carried by the wind. The school had been recently built, and everything looked shiny and new… but too tight for rebellious, free spirits like hers. Everything felt too orderly, too rigid.
Martina crossed the courtyard with a determined step, though inside she felt a tangle of emotions—excitement, curiosity… and a subtle sense of unease. She had no idea how a teacher was supposed to behave outside of Italy, nor did she know what children raised far from home would be like.
The building was low, painted white with green shutters, much like many provincial Italian schools. But beyond the classrooms, the landscape was a different world: tall eucalyptus trees, African cordia trees with sweet white flowers, and the highlands stretching far into the distance like unmoving waves.
She was assigned a second-grade class. The Italian children—sons and daughters of officials, merchants, and soldiers—wore their little smocks, spoke loudly, and carried themselves like they owned the place. They almost intimidated her, but she couldn't show any uncertainty in front of them. She was the one who had to guide them.
On the teacher's desk, next to the register, there was already a bust of Mussolini. And above the blackboard, the motto:
"Believe, Obey, Fight."
Martina stared at it for a moment. Then she turned to the class with a gentle smile.
"Good morning, children. I'm Maestra Martina, and this year we're going on a beautiful journey together. A journey through words, stories, and new things to learn. But first, I want to know something about you: What do you like to do? What are your names?"
The children looked at each other. Martina began pointing at them one by one to give them a turn to speak. One said, "I want to be like my dad and drive military trucks." Another: "I want to go back to Italy. It's too hot here." A little girl, the daughter of an engineer, whispered, "I like drawing the huts outside the city…"
Martina took mental note of it all. She knew that beyond the propaganda, there was something more. These were little human beings, each with a window open onto the world.
As the bell rang and the children spilled outside for recess, Martina remained alone in the classroom for a moment. She looked out the window: the sky was dazzling blue, and in the distance, through the eucalyptus branches, the dark silhouette of a hut was visible. There were children with darker skin, playing in just their shorts.
She wondered how many beautiful souls could have entered that classroom—if only they had been allowed. How could one claim to bring civilization, she thought, if those who needed it the most, like those local children, weren't even allowed the same education?
She had many questions but few answers—questions she would ask Laura once she got home.