Chap. 1 -The turning point - The Girl who Abandoned Destiny

Chap. 1  -The turning point -

Safaa no longer wanted the approval and trust of others; she had realised that she had to seek trust and her choices within herself, and this was her main goal.

At a certain point in her studies, while attending the fifth grade in a large tree-lined neighbourhood in her central Italian town, her parents sent her to an isolated farm in the country where her paternal Grandmother had a racehorse farm. It was a punishment for her rebellious and, in their opinion, undisciplined behaviour, not conforming to their canons, ways of seeing, customs; a tough, hostile character... that's how they saw her. Her father, in a fit of rage following a teacher's warning about allegedly questioning the notional teaching method, had reprimanded her in every possible way. Safaa knew that she was not perfect, but she needed to experiment; she was looking for stimuli for her imagination, and she felt a strong need to escape from the conformity of her country to experience new things, new colours, different people, ways of being and dressing from other peoples, as well as to experience new things.

Sampling food from other parts of the world and listening to new music.

Her family, with the exception of her wise Grandmother, who adored her, did not understand these needs, her outbursts of curiosity and imagination, considering her apparent surface. What disturbed Safaa the most was that no one tried to talk to her, to get out of her what was inside her that she could not express in words, but only through actions that others considered extraordinary and sometimes excessive, but those were her needs; it was the only way she could communicate in a non-verbal language, she who lived in a world of sensitivity and fantasy of her own, which she could not describe, which could not be understood by most. Only her Grandmother seemed to be able to understand her when they saw each other the last time. She spoke to her, looking at her with her clear eyes, full of wonder and intensity in the face of Safaa's questions and answers. Her Grandmother, with her reflections, could get her to open up; they could converse for hours, enveloped in a state of bliss. But there was no more time.

The last time they saw each other, they hugged tightly, something told them that they would never see each other again, except in a dream... and so it was, and for Safaa, this will be a thorn in her heart that will stay with her until she has to understand the imponderable in the other hemisphere in order to survive it. Safaa was sent away for the summer, to her other Grandmother in the far south, far away from her perplexities, but, after all, freer to understand and deal with them. It was supposed to be a punishment and rigorous teaching, but in reality, it began a new chapter for her. 

Arriving there, far from her city, she felt the wonder of the silence of the extensive southern forests. On the first night, she sneaked into the stable of a horse that was locked up for Life because it was considered unstable, bizarre and dangerous to humans.

The Horse, by nature, does not trust man; it is afraid of him. That mare who had been left alone for a long time to live in a small stable, she who was a free and wild being, but also sociable, born to run, no longer trusted man because of the abuse she had suffered over time. She had never wanted to accept human impositions, as all horses are forced to do: the bite, the spurs, the wounds, the blood, the unbearable living conditions, the heat, the thirst, the back aches from riding, the cramped conditions in small stables, the forced labour. All this is not tolerable for a horse, yet man forces it upon it. Even less was it bearable for her, a self-conscious and rebellious mare, locked up precisely because of her temperament in an isolated stable day and night, completely alone for days on end. Her sadness was now too intense; she expressed it through bursts of anger alternating with long moments of resignation, her eyes glazed over. She did not give herself peace; she rebelled with fierce aggression against any attempt at human approach, and now that she was locked up in a prison, she huffed, neighed and kicked against the timbers of the barn, as if begging for help every night, perpetually waiting for something to happen that would give her freedom: just like her, she felt Safaa.

Perhaps now that moment had finally arrived, perhaps for both of them.

Safaa, after a few days in that farmhouse far away from everything, in the deep darkness and silence of one night, woke up to loud, piercing nitrites, which that evening was much more desperate and powerful than usual. She jumped out of bed and, her eyes wide open, she asked herself what was going on, trying to figure out where the moaning was coming from. She quickly dressed, put on her amphibian boots and her jacket, and grabbed her rucksack with her personal belongings, which she always kept with her; this was a fixation of hers: whenever she moved, she always took into account that she might be away for a long time. She was always ready to seize the moment, but the right moment had not yet arrived.

She ran out into the deep night, into that place that was alien to her but at the same time familiar, her circumspection was utmost, her dark eyes wide open, her heart pounding. She was unfamiliar with the place; the darkness was pitch black, and she walked through a forest path, guided by the cries of the animals until she reached an isolated barn. She was amazed and astonished to find the beautiful mare snorting uncontrollably; with tear-filled eyes, she was flapping her hooves on the ground and the fence very loudly, constantly moving her head left and right, she was traumatised by what she had experienced and her nervous tics were increasing the dose to the point of madness. We do not think that an animal can experience such suffering, perhaps even greater than that of the caged man, who soon falls into resignation. It was alone, locked up, her agitation was total, immense. She was desperate; her big eyes were shiny and dark, and one could see all the fire of hell in them!

Seeing and hearing this young girl, the mare stopped, sensing that perhaps she could be her friend, perhaps she was rebellious and strong like herself. Safaa approached her in silence, her hand outstretched with the palm forward. The mare barely calmed down; her nostrils, after much boiling, were slowly ceasing to puff, to breathe softly, as if seeking silence to observe her curiously. Perhaps the long-awaited moment had come; perhaps she was the right person, one in a thousand; the man's fear could come to an end; he had to come to trust someone, and that someone could be her. It was her last chance at Life; that was what the mare was now asking for: just one chance. She was full of despair, her eyes so bright that Safaa got lost in them and began to ride. He stroked her gently, while she, amazed by the fear of that human being, slowly found a glimpse of peace and quiet, of sharing and empathy. A couple of hours passed between caresses and whispers full of affection. Then that sweet, strong girl lay down on the hay, not at all frightened, and half-closed her eyes, to suddenly fall asleep there in her stable. Nobody knew that girl for her true personality; she was the real Safaa, the authentic one, made of courage and instinct. The mare approached her and barely kissed her as a breath, the same breath that blew her away like the Wind forever, when the next morning, rich with a frost that screamed at them to slip away, Safaa set her free.

They disappeared together and became friends for Life. The whole village marvelled at the incredible event of seeing a girl disappear with a horse who had been much talked about for her great turmoil, intemperance, attacks on men, and attempts to escape. They never saw them again.

Safaa had few friends, but she had become very close with a particular boy called Nafis. She now lived with her mare friend, whom she called Quercia, and together, they visited the most isolated, impenetrable and wonderful places in her region amidst perfect beaches and unspoilt forests rich in flora and fauna.

Safaa to the people of the village, in memory of the mare they had locked up, left a poem, sent to her Grandmother, saying only: 'Grandmother dear, be calm and serene, I am well, tell that to your son and my mother'. The poem was entitled Horse in the Wind and went like this:

Let me

I, too, am a child of nature

I come from far away; against all odds, my strength and Wind bring me here to you. I am here now because I am a fugitive

after millennia. I still run, and I am alive. I love the Wind

Stop exploiting me, and I will be friends with you

less shy, but still, I run, not only to escape but instinct.

I run for the Wind, and I run for the future.

She was a slender but very strong girl, with long hair, now black and straight, and dark, large eyes... the interpreters of her face were bright and marked by Life in nature and the sun; they were reminiscent of the sky. Her face was triste and beautiful, full of bright things, but it was not so much striking in itself as in her expressions, expressions that rarely deceived because one could read her soul in her face.

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