Brazil, 1981

Not every branch of the family left Xartinho and Mata do Rei for New England. While the Manuels settled in Massachusetts and Rhode Island, their cousins, António Duarte and his family, born in the same village, went to the state of São Paulo in Brazil. In the fall of 1981, as a graduate student in political science at Boston University, Dr. Manuel told the story of how he found them in The World, the university’s newspaper. The article is given here in full.

Study Abroad and the Search for Roots

By Paul Manuel, Graduate School, Political Science. The World at Boston University, September 23, 1981, page 2

Whenever one witnesses, or even more, partakes in a startling event, it is almost impossible to express one’s feelings. Somehow, translated into words, the event seems to lose its importance, its revolutionary character. That in mind, I should like to try to tell my tale.

Last spring I made plans to travel to Brazil. Stanford University and the University of Florida were co-sponsoring a program of Brazilian culture in Santos, close to São Paulo. Having previously traveled in Europe, I saw Brazil as a fascinating place, a new challenge. After conferring with my parents and the Study Abroad Office, the plans were set: I would leave on June 21.

“I Believe We Have Cousins in Brazil”

One Sunday before my departure, I went to tell my grandparents of my plans. They are Portuguese, having immigrated to the United States in 1919. Upon hearing the news, my grandmother was demonstratively pleased. My grandfather said nothing, merely sitting and thinking. Then he said: “Eu creio que temos primos no Brasil” (I believe that we have cousins in Brazil).

This revelation was a shock for us all, since it was the first mention ever of any family outside Portugal. Skeptical and fascinated, I asked if he had an address. He said that he would try to get it. I didn’t think much of the incident. I went home and prepared for my trip. The day before I left, my grandfather gave me an address, legible though not extremely clear.

Pibituba or Pirituba

The trip to Brazil went well. I spent a week in Rio, traveled on to São Paulo and then to Santos, where my study program began. The first weekend, I set out to meet my cousins in São Paulo. I purchased a map of the city and searched, but nothing. I looked over the suburbs, again nothing. Finally, I checked other areas around the city. My sheet of paper listed the town as “Pibituba.” I found a “Pirituba” on the far northeastern side of the city.

After a long subway ride and a commuter train trip, I arrived in Pirituba. Eventually, I found the avenue and located the address, an apartment above a store, next to a dentist’s office. I rang, and a lady in her late thirties responded. She looked curiously at me. In my best Portuguese I said: “Sou o neto de Joaquim Manuel” (I am Joaquim Manuel’s grandson). She smiled, gave me a kiss and invited me inside.

The woman was not my cousin directly but knew of my family. She called my cousin, who came right over. We greeted each other with a hug and then engaged in a long conversation. We had sixty years of history to catch up on!

Two Brothers, Two Names

His name was António Duarte; logically, then, my first question was why we have different family names. He explained that names in rural Portugal in the early 1900s were based on family tradition. Names were added on each generation, and so there were many family names, not just one. Parents would pass on their parents’ names, but not any single name.

Consider our case, he went on: José Manuel and José Duarte were brothers, with the same first names but different last names. José Manuel had two sons, one of whom left for the United States in 1919. He is my grandfather. José Duarte left in 1921 for Brazil, with his wife and five children. António, one of these children, left on this trip at age nine.

An Historical Link

This story accounted for the separation of the family but not for the lack of communication. So I asked why no one had ever tried to make contact over the past sixty years. António thinks there are basically two reasons. First, in 1919, no one knew how to write. Secondly, by the time the families established themselves in the United States or in Brazil, they had no way to contact each other. The grandchildren were never aware of their family history. It became apparent that, quite by accident, I had become an historical link.

António took me around Brazil to visit all our cousins. I stayed at his home in São Paulo, living with his two sons, his daughter-in-law and eight grandsons.

Tears of Joy

Upon returning to the United States, I went to a family reunion, held in honor of my grandfather’s eighty-first birthday. I told him of my experiences and showed him the photos I took of our cousins in Brazil. Tears of joy fell all afternoon.

To my own life, this experience has added a new dimension, one of cultural wholism. Meeting young people my age in Brazil, who were, in fact, my cousins, gave me an understanding of why I am American: my family left Portugal in search of El Dorado in the New World.

Projects for the future include a return to Brazil to live in São Paulo for an extended period of time. And someday I hope also to travel to Genoa, Italy, and find cousins by the Lagomarsino name, my mother’s family. This roots thing is addictive!