Black sheep

By Maurice Christian

The narrator of "Black Sheep" is a French, naturalized Paraguayan citizen, who turns his gaze to his past to rescue episodes etched in his memory. Eight decades of a life spent half in France and half in Paraguay have resulted in marriages, children, successful businesses, and a multitude of anecdotes on both sides of the Atlantic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maurice Christian
• Release date: Nov 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223780304

Book preview

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Each one of us is a story in itself, a story that is unrepeatable and as unique as a fingerprint. Our experiences, challenges, and achievements are a reflection of what we’ve lived and shape who we are today. The staircase of the present is made up of the countless steps of yesterday. We are all fundamentally alone, and in the end, what we hold in our hands is nothing more than a long succession of memories. I have chosen to write them, to share my story with the world. Perhaps someone can learn something from my successes and mistakes.

From childhood to adulthood, I have faced ups and downs but also enjoyed unforgettable moments. Throughout these years, I have learned a lot about myself and the world around me. Experience is that commodity that is never free and often arrives late. Looking back, I see that I have always tried to venture into uncharted territories, to test the waters not with the tip of a toe but by plunging the limb up to the knee. Always keeping my distance from the herd.

This is my story, the story of a man who has lived and learned. The life of someone who has undertaken journeys, faced challenges, and overcome obstacles. The account of a person who has found love, joy, happiness, and, of course, their flip sides as well.

It is my hope that these pages become a testimony of life and, in turn, a source of inspiration for those who read them. I hope, dear reader, that you immerse yourself in my thoughts and feelings and find something that touches your heart. Every man is a story, and every life is a journey. Straddling the 20th and 21st centuries and spanning two countries on different continents, my life, like everyone’s, has had its peaks and valleys, triumphs and failures, its splendors and sorrows. So, I invite you to join me on this whirlwind journey of eight decades.

The Origins

My mother, Crisanti, was born in Tripoli. She was the daughter of George Malliacas, of Greek origin. It was said in the family that, despite being illiterate, my maternal grandfather had been very wealthy: he owned properties, vast stretches of land, and even a railroad. All of this in the historical and culturally rich region of the Maghreb known as Tripolitana. One day, my grandfather picked up an Italian beggar from the street. He gave him food and offered him shelter. Over time, the Italian, unlike my grandfather, who could read and write, became his trusted man. Grandfather Jorge’s mistake was terrible. Slowly, the educated Italian had him sign papers that were property transfers. Betrayal and ingratitude often come as the reward. My grandfather lost everything due to the treachery of his protégé and ended up leaving Tripolitana with his wife, children, and virtually nothing.

They moved to Tunisia, where he had to reinvent himself to support the family. It is said that, wearing a diving suit, he would dive into the deep sea to harvest sponges - all the way to the bottom of the ocean and poverty. A significant change in the life of someone who had once owned properties and railroads. In Greek culture, marriages were arranged. My grandfather wanted my future mother, the young girl Crisanti, to marry a Greek man in Tunisia. At that time, she had a French boyfriend, and she found the idea of marrying someone she didn’t love quite unpleasant. Naturally, she ran away from the country with her lover. They settled in Nice, a French city in the Alpes-Maritimes department, just a few kilometers from the borders of Italy and Monaco.

In France, their romantic relationship flourished, and my mother eventually married her boyfriend, who was the son of the man who owned the largest hotel in Nice. So, she became the wife of a rich boy, someone who never worked, accustomed to giving orders and receiving everything handed to him. She lived in her mother-in-law’s house, a move that rarely turns out well.

Months passed, and the spoiled child of the hotelier family gave my mother her first daughter. Tired of the verbal abuse and physical violence from a husband enslaved by drugs and criminal behavior, my mother fled the house, unable to take the child with her.

Her hasty escape led her to Lille, where she met Maurice Dallennes, my biological father, who owned a mechanic’s workshop, and they began a romantic relationship together. But trouble always seems to follow. Around the time my parents got together, my father happened to meet another woman by chance.

He had gone out to buy food, and there he met a young Polish woman who was overly friendly with him. Things escalated quickly between them, and it didn’t take long for the woman to become pregnant. The parents of the Polish woman pressured my father to marry her as soon as possible.

My paternal grandfather, whose name was Agustín Dallennes, was a notary and had an insurance agency. He was a very conservative bourgeois, so he wanted nothing to do with the relationship his son had started with a married woman who had come from who knows where, telling a story of a forced marriage attempt in Africa and an abusive husband in Nice. When his son Maurice told him about the situation with the Polish woman, my grandfather’s response was as firm as a rock: You got her pregnant, so you have to marry her, and that’s the end of it. He also intended to steer his son away from the relationship with my mother, who, remember, was already a married woman.

However, despite the forced marriage, my father did not abandon Crisanti, my mother. The Polish woman gave birth to a daughter. A few months later, I was born. My father had to support two families with young babies: his Polish wife and Edith, my half-sister, and my mother and me. His official home was with his Polish wife, but he made frequent visits to the house where his other family lived.

France

Homeland Under Occupation

I was born on October 21, 1943, in Lille, in northern France, near the border with Belgium. The capital of the region of Hauts-de-France, my hometown then had about 180,000 inhabitants and, like the rest of the country, was occupied by the Nazis since 1940. That was the time when I first saw the light, during the dark period of the terrible carnage of World War II. A period of countless tragedies and wounds that would leave eternal scars on the face of humanity.

The invasion of France began on May 10, 1940, when German forces launched an offensive on the western front, advancing swiftly south and west into France. It was a sad day, to say the least. On June 14, 1940, the Germans entered Paris. The invaders established a collaborationist government in Vichy, a city located to the south. Lille was of great importance to the Nazi war machine due to its strategic geographical position. It was a key point for transportation and supply for the German forces in the region.

The city where I was born was subjected to intense bombings by the Allies. One of those friendly fire bombings would mark my life forever. The presence of the aircraft was signaled by the sound of an alarm, a sign to seek immediate shelter. I was just a few days old when, during one of the hurried rushes to the basement, my mother slipped on the stairs, and I ended up crashing onto the ground. I cried, and she cradled me gently amidst the deathly sound of the bombs dropping from the planes. After a short while, I stopped sobbing, and it seemed like everything was returning to normal. A bruise had formed on my face, but it disappeared after a few days.

Bebé_y_Crisanti

With my mother, Crisanti, at 9 months of age.

But the fall had damaged an optic nerve, causing me to lose 90% of the vision in my left eye. They only noticed this problem when I was in primary school, and I had to wear distinctive glasses ever since, with the left lens resembling the bottom of a bottle. Nearly four decades later, after a retinal detachment, I would undergo a successful surgery in Paraguay (a country I will talk about later, where I spent the last four decades). As a result of the surgical procedure, I could see very well. However, that wouldn’t last because, within six months - due to a connection to the Chaco region - I would become completely blind in that eye. The incident on the stairs illustrates that I was dealt a bad hand at a young age. Nevertheless, it has been said that destiny shuffles and deals the cards, but it’s us who play the game.

The German occupation of France came to an end in August 1944 when Allied forces landed on the beaches of Normandy and began their advance into the country. On August 25, 1944, French forces led by General Charles de Gaulle liberated Paris from the clutches of the Nazis, marking the beginning of the liberation of all of France.

Twenty years later, on October 6, 1964, de Gaulle made an official visit to Paraguay, which was at that time governed by General Stroessner. Several anecdotes from that