By some strange quirk of fate, I have voting rights in Abbateggio. I only discovered this recently, and I’m delighted, as I’ve never been able to vote anywhere else in my life.

Some of you will have read about Abbateggio in my ‘Family History’: it’s a pretty village, with 450 inhabitants, on the barren, rocky hillside near Mount Maiella in Abruzzo, a couple of hundred kilometers east of Rome. I have never lived there, and none of my family is from there.

[More:]

However, because it was the last place my parents lived in Italy before I was born, and because I’ve never lived in Italy, Abbateggio is technically where I belong.

And my youngest child, Emilia, whose Abbateggio connections are substantially more diluted than mine, is also on the village voting lists. This is because she is the only child I have ever registered at any Italian Embassy. I did this when we moved to Tanzania, simply because the Italian Embassy said I should, in case of emergency evacuation. My other children were by this time living away from home.

My brother and sister, both Abbateggiani by birth, don’t have the same privileges as I do, since they have lived elsewhere in Italy and are registered voters in those places.

All this came to light fairly recently, when the dynamic mayor of the village started work on his ‘Progetto Emigranti’ recently. This ‘Emigrant Project’ has been recognized and supported by the Italian government, and is apparently a national showcase: its aim is to get in touch with Abbateggiani around the world, establish links, and get them back in touch with their origins.

Several months ago, when I was living in Uruguay, I received a letter from the Mayor of Abbateggio. He’d managed to find me because I always diligently register at the Italian Embassy wherever we go. A while later a similar letter sent to Emilia in Tanzania found its way to me (I didn’t register her in Uruguay as she’d by this stage flown the nest too).

The purpose of these missives was to tell us about the project, and to express the mayor’s regret that although he was going to visit as many Abbateggiani around the world as he could, he wasn’t going to make it to far-flung non-Abbateggiano-dense places like Uruguay or Tanzania.

Initially I felt a bit sceptical. Why go to all this trouble, in a village of 450 people? However, I admired the effort, and forwarded the news to my parents in Rome. They took the opportunity to get back in touch with the village, where they’d spent the first three years of their marriage. My Dad, you may remember, had been the first doctor assigned to the village.

They were welcomed with open arms, and my Dad was invited to present a prize at a literary festival last year. They then returned to celebrate my Mum’s 80th birthday there last October, and we all went – three siblings and Mum and Dad – in November. My parents will be going to spend Easter in Abbateggio, too.

In November, we all stayed at the Casa Giumentina, lovely converted stone house (see my last blog post on http://www.writelink.co.uk/blogs/chausiku/2009/03/24/p6496#more6496). We met the mayor, and had a big ceremony during my brother and sister were given copies of their birth certificates. We had a wonderful time, and all knew there would be lots more visits in the future.

Meanwhile, Abbateggio started a page on Facebook (see http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/group.php?gid=50022171607&ref=ts) which already has 117 members. There’s lots of information about the village, and a great selection of photos.

And last month, I received a letter saying the mayor, together with fifteen Abbateggiani, would be going on a tour of France, Luxembourg and Belgium, to see their people and elect a representative in each country. Would I be interested in going to Trazegnies, a small town near Charleroi, for the event on the Sunday afternoon? Of course I would! And if they had any time at all to spare, I told them, it would be great to meet in Brussels.

So a couple of Saturdays ago, when I’d been marking exams all afternoon at the British Council, I switched on my phone to find a message saying: ‘We’re on our way to Brussels. There in an hour. Can you find somewhere for sixteen of us to eat mussels and chips?’ I was a bit dubious, but a couple of quick calls later I had a table booked at Chez Léon, probably the best known traditional Belgian restaurant in town (http://www.chezleon.be).
It was delight to be in the company of such a fun and organised group. ‘Okay, the set menu for everyone? Stuffed tomatoes, mussels and chips, and a beer?’ Everyone agreed, two or three different mussel dishes were chosen, and everyone had a ball. We then wandered off to the Grand’Place, visited the Mannequin Pis, bought and sent postcards, and agreed to meet the next day.

On the Sunday I drove through pelting rain to an area of Belgium that doesn’t make it into the main tourist guides: the area round Charleroi. I met my new friends at Marcinelles, where they’d gone to see the Bois du Cazier mining disaster museum (http://www.writelink.co.uk/blogs/chausiku/2009/03/10/p6428#more6428). Many of the victims had been from Manopello, close to Abbateggio, and some people in the group had lost relatives in the accident.

From there we went on to Trazegnies, where they were all staying with various relatives, friends and connections. I was invited to lunch with the mayor and the members of his extended family who had moved to Belgium about thirty years ago. It was just like being in Abbateggio again, with everyone speaking dialect (which I barely understand), people wandering in and out, children playing and being cuddled by everyone, and a lovely hostess serving home made lasagne.

I’m still trying to find out how many Abbateggiani there are in the world. The area was not one with many resources, and there was little employment. Many emigrated after the war, in search of a better life, to northern Europe, Canada, and the United States.

The ceremony took place in a hall. There was a huge turnout: apparently there are two hundred Abbateggiani in Belgium, and almost a hundred came to Trazegnies that day.

There were speeches, and then calls for a volunteer representative. It was hard getting someone to come forward, so a member of every family was called up to chat and settle on a nominee. Most of these people were quite elderly. Then, amazingly, just as we thought that someone would have to be forced into the job, a young blonde woman piped up in French: ‘I’ll do it!’ Marny Di Pietrantonio was unanimously voted in, with the group of ‘elders’ as her committee.

I learnt that in Toronto, Abbateggiani used to have a tough time getting official paperwork done, because embassy officials didn’t speak the dialect, but the election of their representative has really empowered them. The project was starting to make a lot of sense to me. Several people made interventions. I stood up. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s a privilege to be here today. I would like to congratulate the local council of Abbateggio for their initiative. Many of you know how destabilizing it is to have to move from your own country, to leave family, friends, and roots behind. Many of you here have children, who were born in Belgium. Maybe some of them have already moved on elsewhere. But you are lucky. Thanks to this project, your children will always belong somewhere. Thank you for allowing me to be an Abbateggiana.’

Then there was singing,

dancing,

and a reception.

And on 7 June, I shall be in Abbateggio, voting in MY local elections. And Emilia says she’s coming too.