Armel. An endless pause after your name. There are no words after a death like this. Sudden, which hurts and doesn’t let you breathe. I have had the privilege of sharing many fraternal moments. Because as we always said “We Africans” we understood each other immediately with simplicity. You were a genuine boy, and this was seen in your eyes but above all in your actions. “We Africans” loved being together, laughing and joking. We always hugged very tightly. You were a great friend. And then you cheered Napoli as my grandfather. When we played football, you worried about my capricious heart and you cheered me on with that “Go Gattuso” a little in French. One day, before the game, you gave me your pair of soccer shoes.
It is one of the memories of your human greatness. This gesture alone would be enough to tell you who Armel was. A humble, selfless boy, a warrior who had overcome every difficulty, also capable of giving you a gift just to see you Happy. Once I asked you to tell me how you got to Italy. And You with those black eyes made me plunge into the most cruel sufferings passed in the Libyan fields. Yet it was exciting to see your strength in the face of all those injustices experienced. When you arrived in Italy, you far surpassed anyone else, because you had a lot of humility and a desire to learn. So you learned from scratch to be a metalworker. And you weren’t just any worker.
You quickly became the best worker in your company, able to use even advanced machinery and use laser cutting. To get there, you had to make many sacrifices and tightened your belt. At that moment you took courage and asked permission to speak in the boss’s office. So entered, with the education that distinguished you, you explained that you could not live on that meager salary and that after the rent you had nothing left to eat. Then the chief replied: “How much would you like?” and You answer: “You decide, boss, I only need what is necessary to live”. In the end the boss in front of your polite courage had to understand that he had a special person in front of him. Because immediately afterwards he decided to increase the salary, and this allowed you to do everything possible.
You got your driver’s license and also bought a beautiful midnight blue Grande Punto, almost as black as Africa. Mother Africa! You haven’t seen for at least 4 years. And that every time I asked you to tell me. Favorite dishes, animals, family, the Ivory Coast and your childhood. But even here your simplicity had not gone unnoticed, so much so that there were always many friends around you. One evening under the Porta Grande a group of girls from Lecce approach to greet you. You spoke French and I didn’t understand much. But my curiosity was captured by a word: “Golden Boy”. They called you that. And when I asked why. They told me you were a golden boy… they were right Armel. Yet you esteemed God and his Son Jesus more than gold.
You were a person with a huge culture, education and spirituality. For at least 6 years, you had chosen to draw close to God and study the Bible as a Christian witness of Jehovah, and you had also chosen to dedicate your life to serving God and caring for others. So after work you always got busy in voluntary work, staying close to those who suffer, talking about the promises and the name of God. You never allowed yourself a moment. For some years we had seen little of each other because you had chosen to serve in the French-speaking Congregation in Lecce. And You were so happy about this, so much so that our last conversation, a few weeks ago, was precisely about this. You firmly believed in the words of Jesus and in a soon restored Earthly Paradise.
This is also why we loved each other very much, because we also had faith in common. Every time you met me, you said to me: “Great David” and we hugged each other very tightly. And this was enough for us Africans to be happy. And I replied that you were the Great One. And you really were Armel. Imagining the suffering and pain of your poor mother, your brothers and sisters in the Ivory Coast breaks my heart into a thousand pieces. You considered me an African brother and I a Mesagnese brother. And every now and then you said to me: “Davide you love Mesagne too much!”. The truth is that Mesagne loved You too. Today, thanks to your example, we too are African children. The emptiness you leave is immense. Goodbye Armel. Mercì beaucoup!
We Africans – in memory of Armel – Qui Mesagne – Web newspaper of the City of Mesagne