That’s what zia Sitta was repeating to us, probably to keep us quiet, waiting for that something, which often was a biscuit, the ‘freselle’ that I am reproducing here in Niger as well as I did also in Chad.
Zia Sitta passed away today.
I will not be home for the funeral.
She was a milestone for my growing up and my sense of family, and it is an odd coincidence that she dies while I am in Venezuela repeating the travel that our grandgrandparents did at the end of the nineteenth century to build our house in Picerno.
I found here a missing part of our family and I’ve lost while here a crucial part of my family in Italy.
Zia Sitta was and is a nice company for small talks next to the fireplace and a supporting person for any kind of enterprise. I miss her already.