Good afternoon dear Community, in Virtual Variety, we have looked for the way to become the voice of those stories that today deserve to be heard, of those stories that deserve to be told, and that is why we created a very special section, dedicated to tell the Stories that arise, that are told to us, those that leave us with a reflection, with a teaching, for nobody it is a secret, that the human being, from his beginnings, began to emigrate, in search of food, of protection, of a warm place where to spend the cold or rainy nights. Nowadays, many people are in need of emigrating, either by their own will, or in a forced way. Every December 18, the International Day of the Immigrant is celebrated, although this date has passed, today we share with you the reality of emigration, what we learn, what we suffer, but also, what we gain, we hope you enjoy this pleasant reading.
It was the year 1948, in Spain a personalized Dictatorship was established in the figure of General Francisco Franco, who monopolized all the powers of the State and created a systematic repression. In short, Franco's regime, especially during the period 1939-1959, was characterized by fear, political and social repression, ideological and moral control of the population, poverty and lack of the most basic human rights and freedoms, both individual and collective. This allowed the government, among other things, to persecute the Catalan language and culture and to annihilate the labor and trade union rights of the working class. Half a million Spaniards were involved in one of the greatest exoduses in contemporary history. Men, women and children make up a desperate migration where the sea was our only exit door from the country. Many times we fled on the backs of barges or on board of big ships. I was fourteen years old, my father took the decision to send me to Venezuela, because there was a rumor that they would recruit young people of my age to be part of Franco's military ranks. My father had a brother in Venezuela, Uncle Daniel; whom I vaguely remembered, we set sail in April 1948, the voyage lasted a month, aboard a ship called Telémaco, I will never forget my parents' hugs, their faces bathed in tears. The uncertainty of leaving the Canaries, the school, my brothers, my family and friends, I still did not understand why. That man named Franco had so much power that it was his fault that I had to run away, because that was what running away was all about.
The journey already seemed to be coming to an end, and El Telémaco sailed the sea until it reached a port called La Guaira. There, Uncle Daniel was waiting for me, a coarse-looking man who was not at all pleasant, who spoke very little, who frowned; I walked around the whole place with my eyes full of curiosity and with admiration he told me that this country is the one that is so named in the Island that beautiful place, the land that everyone talked about in the Canary Islands, the country from which the emigrants sent large amounts of money to their families. Uncle Daniel took me out of my thoughts by touching my shoulder and with a nod of his head he urged me to follow him, towards an old cargo truck parked at the side of the port, during the journey I did not cross any words; I broke the silence when I asked Where, we were heading towards the City of Caracas where you will live and work. We arrived at a very big house with two floors. On the top was the house and downstairs there was a bakery.
From that day on my Calvary began; this Uncle, my only relative on this beautiful Earth, exploited me, my work day was from three in the morning to ten at night, and he did not pay me enough; so two years passed, I learned the baker's trade on the sly, made bread and sold from house to house, gathered a good amount of money and escaped from that evil man; I didn't understand how such a cruel man was my father's brother. After so much walking, I finally found a place to stay in a neighborhood where my countrymen lived. A young man like me was walking alone, I told him what had happened and he punched the table and whispered "&/&%$#". Then he extended his arm over my shoulders and told me to relax kid, here you will have a real family. The day after I arrived at this nice place, Don Camilo, that was his name told me to get ready, you already have a job he took me to a place, fashionable at that time called the Trianon, it was a bar-restaurant, and they introduced singers like: Rafa Galindo, Jose Luis Rodriguez and Lila Morillo. I introduced myself to the owner and told him that I was looking for work and he needed a waiter. I worked from seven at night until three in the morning, I had a day off; and I was paid very well.
I decided to write to my father to tell him what happened with Uncle Daniel, his response was one of reproach, I was ungrateful, because Uncle told the events in his own way; I decided not to write to him anymore, I felt betrayed like! My father doesn't believe me if I don't usually lie, he knows me as his son. Four years passed and I turned twenty years old and gathered enough money to start my own business, I bought a car and joined a line of cab drivers, of course with the support of Don Camilo, I met many beautiful Venezuelan women especially the brunettes were my weakness. But I felt that none of them were the right ones to earn me the nickname of the hummingbird.
When I turned twenty-five I was told about a company that was organizing to form a transport cooperative, I only had to pay a capital fee to become a member, I decided to accept because everything seemed so cheap for the amount of money earned. The country was immensely rich. I saved 10,000 bolivars in a very short time, which was almost 200,000 pesetas, a fortune in Spain, with which I could buy 20 farms in Tenerife. I became part of that society, but I had to move to an area outside Caracas called Barlovento, because most of the partners lived there; I met new friends, good work colleagues, I stayed in a pension where most of us were drivers who came from abroad; I made a solid friendship with Vicente Di Doménico, an Italian who, like me, had been in this beautiful land for nine years.
Christmas arrives in 1955, I love to enjoy the delicious hallacas, the traditional sweets and the joy that characterizes the Venezuelans, that day, I met the most beautiful black woman that my eyes ever saw, when I saw her I said to Vicente, God! Everyone laughed and advised me to be careful. The father of this young woman is a blacksmith and carries a wrench in case someone like you wants to go too far with her. I said no to a woman like that, I'm leaving my bachelorhood. From that day on I researched more about that woman, to conquer her, and that's how we got married in 1962. From our union five daughters were born, one of whom must be telling my story. On the way back, they managed to build big businesses in the Canary Islands and if any of them came back they had to go through all the houses to tell the adventure. These were the days when Venezuela was called "the eighth island. For this reason I decided to become a Venezuelan Citizen, to carry out the pertinent procedures and to become a citizen; it was the least I could do for this Earth that gave me everything: Fortune, Love and a Beautiful Family.
As you can see, we managed to summarize this story and we only wrote down the most significant experiences of this great Man; the source of this story is reliable, because it was told to us by Professor Aurora Évora, who is the daughter of our character, and a great ally of Virtual Variety. To conclude, it is important to emphasize that despite all that he has experienced with his family, and having grown up alone without adult supervision, this young man has never forgotten the values he already brought from his native Spain, specifically from Santa Cruz de Tenerife, Chío (Canary Islands). Juan Évora came to this land, which offered him the opportunity of progress and peace that did not exist in his country at that time, and he returned this gesture with Work and Honesty. Unfortunately, Venezuela has become a country that very few of us recognize. Now the children and grandchildren of these great immigrants; they are the ones who leave, fleeing from the queues, the scarcity and the insecurity. In the end, it is the same search: for freedom and prosperity that their parents and grandparents also pursued. They are part of the new generation that returns to their origins to remember that life is also a return journey.
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