A small tribute to the memory of my cousin, Ivinho - Text by Julio Gomes

Ivinho was born on our dear little island of Brava - our Djabraba - where from an early age he took up the profession of mechanic, a job he carried out with dedication throughout his life. He also served as a Town Hall official and had the important responsibility of controlling the island's power station.

At that time, light was a luxury - just a few hours a night - but enough to illuminate the houses, streets and hearts of the Bravenses, reducing the "sucuro di breu" of our town. During the day, as well as being a mechanic, he also drove the "Mar Azul di Nho Djin" and later owned his own van, the famous Juvita, transporting people, goods and stories between Furna, Mato Grande, Nossa Senhora do Monte, Faja d'Água and "tudu braquinho undi carro ta circulaba".

It was by his side that, as a boy, I experienced moments that I will treasure forever. At the age of 12, I began to accompany him on his journeys - often hitchhiking to Furna, the main port of Brava. There I discovered the charm of the sea, the crystal-clear waters where I swam under Ivinho's watchful eye. "El ta spiabá mi, simá quem qui ta gardaba um fidju."

Every boat arrival was a party: people bringing news from Praia and the rest of the world, goods, fresh little things and visitors. Everything was new, everything was life. Everything was joy, everything was another day!!!

At night, after dinner, we would sit in the square, in front of Nho Chiquinho's house, listening to stories and laughter - especially Nhó Tei's - while we waited for the lights to go out at 11 o'clock. He also taught me how to start the motors at the power station, stabilize them and then "sendé luz" (light) into the streets and houses of the village. "Light was only in the village". They were simple moments, but full of meaning. Simple moments "but which today have endless value".

"'N cre també reparti", some memories that have stayed with me forever.

My first trip to São Vicente, when Ivinho went to do an internship at the power station - in those days, going to Soncente from Brava was like traveling to Lisbon. (Mindelo was our Metropolis).

It was also with him that I drove a motorcycle for the first time, a Honda 50 belonging to Djinzinho de Nhó Djin de Covarodela. That same day, he proudly told his father: "Nhó sends Júlio for a moped in S. Vicente".

A few days later I was already the owner of a brand new Yamaha 50 "Pipilita". I remember my first "di trivimento" adventure, going down the old road (via Sta. Bárbara) to Furna. When I arrived, I met a powerful ruler of the island who pointed out that I was a minor and that I couldn't go down the "bedju" path. But Ivinho, with courage and justice, replied: "Pamodi qui Ixa di Nhó Tuca, Tiá di Nhó Chico e otus ta diché ... e el é ca podé? His motorcycle is registered and he has a license from the Town Hall, so he can say it too."

Because Ivinho tried to defend me, he also ended up being reprimanded... and I, ashamed and afraid "di nha pai sabé cumá 'n lebá um raspaneti di homi grandi". Even worse in front of an old girlfriend who was on vacation in Furna.

On another occasion, when I arrived on my motorcycle while he was servicing a council car, I said to the powerful ruler: "Nhó cumprá fidjo di nhó um motinha també." The answer was cold: "No...'n ta cumpral livros pel studa pel da bom homi."

I was shaken. But later, alone, Ivinho told me: "Ca bu amportá...bo ta da bom homi també." Words that stuck with me.

I also fondly remember the day he received a chamois from the United States that didn't fit him, it was "pertado na el". For weeks, he would see it hanging in his room and dream..."one day it will be gone". Until one day he gave it to me. On Sundays, I wore it proudly, riding my little "Pipilita" motorcycle, all "basofo" through the streets of Djabraba.

He was also the one who let me drive a car for the first time, the Mar Azul truck. He took me to the Nhó Padre playing field to practice. After many laps, I thought I was ready for the road. I asked him if we could leave... he smiled and just said: "Credu inda nau."

Ivinho always protected me. Once, in the square, a postal worker wanted to assault me. He intervened without hesitation: "Si bu dal, an ta dabu també. Lembrá ma el tem pai."

He was like that - always firm, fair, protective.

This coexistence lasted until October 1973, when, at the age of 17, by my mother's decision, I left for the United States to avoid the colonial war. It was a difficult farewell... full of "di sodadi".

Today, at this moment of farewell, I can only give thanks for all those memories.

"N ta gradicê, di corasan".

I pray that God grants you eternal rest, and that in eternity there remains the fresh and gentle scent of the flowers of our dear Djabraba. "God gives you eternal rest, Ivinho."

Rest in peace, Ivinho. You'll stay in our hearts forever.

"Bu ta lives in our memory, forever".

Text by Julio Gomes