1

The Roots

I, Zoé Maria Liliana Gotti was born on the third of August two thousand and one at eight thirty pm in the Northern French city of Lille. 

 I was born fifteen days before the due date but I was a healthy baby with little black curls, bright blue eyes and weighted three kilograms for forty-nine centimetres. My parents chose my name as it is the name of one of my father’s idols daughter’s name: Zoë Kravitz, which Lenny Kravitz himself wrote a song to named “Flowers For Zoë”. My name is originally from the Greek language and ever since I was a baby; my parents had framed my name’s meaning and placed it on my bedroom’s shelf. On it, my name’s meaning was the one of ‘life, eternal life’. This always brought some kind of sense to my life, especially in difficult times. Reading it every now and then brought me strength. 

I am Eric Jean-Marc Henri Gotti and Francesca Maria Depino’s first child. My parents had recurrently described my birth as a laborious one, it had been long and a challenging work according to my mother who had been surprised when her water had broken earlier in the day. My father still recalls the emotional storm that had gotten over him that evening as I was born with my mother’s umbilical cord wrapped around my neck, paralysed. I had technically been born dead. The doctors, my mother and my father had done their best to take immediate action and the necessary precautions to save me. It had taken a little while before my first cry, and when I had, my father was crying too. He thought I wouldn’t have made it, but in the end, I did. I was born and I am alive. After my father got to catch his breath and held me, I was placed into my mother’s warm arms.  I felt my mother’s infinite warmth for the very first time. My mother is always warm, so warm that one could mistaken her for the sun. “Vous êtes mes soleils” my father still whispers to us today. 

Finally, my mother had gotten enough strength back to hold me. She now had me, she who had always wanted to be the mother she never had. The mother she still wishes she could’ve had.

Two years later came my sister Alizé, the second of July two thousand and three. She was born in Croix also a Northern French commune; I was beyond happy when I first held her in my two year old arms. I remember how happy my parents were too. They now had two daughters and the family was complete. And this was when it all started. 

My father was born in Nancy. A city located in the Eastern part of France. He was the eldest in a frat of three. He was a good child and he always had a big heart with great ambitions for the future. Today he is more than just a father figure to me, he is a man I admire and cherish. He is a mentor and a guardian, and although he isn’t perfect, his strengths are powerful enough to overtake all of his flaws. His presence is worth everything he has put us all through as a family. He has always managed to find a balance that allows him to enjoy the present moment whether it is to be spent with us or at work. 

He grew up in a few different towns around France only to end up as an expatriate who has lived abroad for what is now about twelve years. He accomplished six years of higher education, after high school, in mechanical engineering and started his professional career as an industrial engineer in the city of Le Havre where he already excelled and keeps doing ever since.

His own father had died before he could attend my parents’ wedding, I never got to meet him. My grandmother is still alive today and, coming straight from the bottom of my heart, I can say that she is my saviour. I owe her the moon. She is one of the people I cherish the most in life since my early childhood; not only is she a great mother, but also a beaming soul, one of those rare ones that the world needs more of. She endured her husband’s death in the most admirable way by turning herself towards healing from the traumas of her childhood and from the grief she had felt. And although it might have broken her at the time, without it she wouldn’t be in the place in which she is now. She knows it. And where she is now is a place of spiritual mindfulness and peace. She is a woman with the most generous heart and is full of compassion. She worked as a social worker most of her life and when the time came for her to retire, she started using physical-therapy and psychological certifications she had accumulated and accomplished throughout her life and created her own shelter in the home they had built together with my grandfather, before he had passed away. Today she is known all over the “région” of “Paris-île-de-France” to be a wonderful healer alongside her new life companion Miguel, whom she had met during a wellness lounge and is with ever since. They now dedicate their life to accompany other people and make them find they life path and their purpose. They accompany people to the heart of their core, of their bodies, their souls.

Looking back at my parents’ story, my father was the one who had fallen in love with my mother the minute he had first set eyes on her at a party in Paris back when they were just students. At the time, they were both in a relationship that they had given up for each other. They knew they belonged together from the very start. 

Francesca Maria Gotti, my mother nature; was born in the Italian city of Milano, she has two and a half sisters. She was and still remains a dreamer with a tough heart. Her mother died when she was only ten and her father was hardly ever around. I don’t know much about my grandmother, “nonna Gioia” but I know she was a good person, she didn’t deserve to die so young. Sometimes I like to imagine her as a star looking after me from up there.

 My grandfather, “nonno Mimmo” or Domenico Depino is a southern Italian macho who can’t handle women nor money. He is good at making mistakes and sadly, at being forgiven for them. A sort of businessman who takes too many unmeasured risks. He had taken my mother and her sisters away from their maternal family to handle them to his own far down in the south of Italy out of jealousy from grief. He hadn’t even attended my parent’s wedding despite the years gone by. He had perceived my parent’s love as a crime in which my father was the criminal, stealing his beloved daughter from him and his misery. And that was exactly the case. My mother had found herself in the freedom my father had given her. 

They had found each other at the perfect timing.

And today, their love is invincible. 

Their marriage was a gateway to freedom. They were young, free and they were running away together, to build the life they had both dreamed of. And so they did. 

They got married in their early twenties and had me and my sister Alizé.

Once they had built a family, our family, they were ready to build their dream world.

Our life, as a family, had started off in France. I guess France is the country in which I feel I belong most to so far, I wouldn’t be able to tell you why though as it is yet just another country I have lived in amongst many others.

France is known as a democratic “République Française” in which citizens look to the state as a provider and guarantor of liberty. But another of the nation’s long standing themes is the insistence on the supremacy of the individual. It is clearly represented in the national motto ‘Liberté, Egalité Fraternité’ (Liberty, Equality Fraternity).

With a population of about sixty-seven million inhabitants, France is amongst the most important nations culturally, historically and industrially in Western Europe. It is well known for it’s cuisine, arts and science and it’s national holidays as well as French expressions such as “la vie en rose” (also the title of a song from the mystical French idol: Édith Piaf) 

We lived in France for a few years, during which my father kickstarted his career as a production team manager in the city of Le Havre. Then, he moved to Lille to follow his beloved wife who had been called to work as an import-export manager for the famous french retailer Decathlon. Four years later, we moved to Lyon where he worked as a quality & safety manager for a company called Texen. However it didn’t take long for him to escalate the work place’s hierarchy ladder and get his first job offer abroad. My mother, had created her own company as an entrepreneur of indoor decoration which she called Artdecozen and decided to sell it once my father got his job offer, it was her dream to live the life of an expat in the first place.

Back then, we lived a simple life. We lived in the first and only house that my parents have ever bought in a suburb of the city of Lyon called La Boisse. It was a big house in my children eyes. We each had our own rooms and Ali and I shared a bathroom. My parents did some houseworks to suit their taste and we got to decorate our rooms. We loved doing so. Eventually, my parents had thought of having another child which we all agreed with only to end up getting a dog, we named him Dax as he was born in the month of the letter D according to the dog calendar. He was the little boy of the family, we treated him as our little brother which my father adored as he was lacking a masculine presence among us girls. He was the greatest dog ever alive, he wouldn’t have even been able to hurt a fly for how sweet he was. 

We clearly had a vivid childhood full of fun and loving memories. Whether it was playdates with friends in the park after school, long forest walks with Dax, themed birthday parties, after school activities, family time exploring the surroundings and endless holiday trips out and about in memorable locations full of activities depending on the seasons. We also had big family gatherings on special occasions or festivities all around France and Italy to see both sides of the family, each with their family history and an awful lot of fun and entertaining cousins, there was a wide age range between us all which made it even more interesting. Being a bicultural family always fascinated people around us, they admired our values and our traditions from both ends.

On the whole, being a child was easy for me, we were spoiled in every aspect. We never had any financial or health related disabilities. All we had to worry about was doing good academically and growing up cultivated. We never lacked of anything and were given everything we needed in order to be happy and educated.

We even had a beautiful garden with a pond and a swimming pool. We also had great neighbours that we would hang out with all the time. There were two boys, Mathias and Adrien, who had our ages with the exact same two year age gap as Ali and I. We spent days out playing all sorts of games and telling all sorts of childish stories. At the time I was a bit of a tomboy, girls were too complicated for my taste back then. I liked climbing trees, playing football, and pets. I had begged my mother to sign me up to the local football club. She eventually gave in and let me play with the only condition that I also participate in a very prestigious ballet studio in town. It was well-known and my mother had always dreamed of being taken to dance classes herself when she was a child. At least, she thought she could try and pursue her dream through me. 

Ballet was much more of an educational place than I had imagined, and I was bad at staying put; so let’s say that it wasn’t my favourite hobby at the time (which I look back on and wish I could have made efforts with). I didn’t really fit in with all the others girls who were all so obedient. I had always loved to dance but I wanted to learn to do hip hop and never got the chance. Ballet was simply too much of a discipline for my energetic body. I stuck to my mother’s condition although I was a horrible student. I remember the teacher being a previous professional ballet dancer, his name was Roger and he was fully committed to making us learn how to become proper ballerinas. He was the first person in my life that I ever took as a serious authoritarian figure. He worked hard as a teacher and although it took a while for me to start staying put and obedient, I learned to be better for him. Because he put his heart in his teaching, lectured us and corrected our every moves and postures. Because he punished us if we were being disobedient and his punishments were harsh. Because thanks to him I learned that discipline doesn’t have to be hard, it is just a matter of respect. After a few months of learning how to dance and doing what was expected of me, Roger announced to the class that we were going to have an end of year show. One day he had reunited all the different dancers from all ages and all the other classes that he taught in the academy to announce the roles of each and every one of us. It was scary but I didn’t expect too much being so young at the time. I remember the time in which he was choosing the leading roles, I felt unnecessary tension rise up. When the name was called out, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen walked up to bow down to Roger in sign of gratitude. From that point on, I remember admiring that girl, I’d watch her behaviour, her persona and everything else she’d do every chance I got. I wasn’t obsessed but her beauty and delicateness numbed me. I had idolised her. 

Nevertheless, I still got quite a nice role despite it not being a leading one. 

The time came for our shows and Roger had chosen the one and only Swan Lake by Giscard Rasquin and Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. We had been rehearsing for months, and had one too many rehearsals the week prior to the shows, we were so ready. We had had two shows on Friday and Saturday nights and both had been huge successes, but the second one had enlightened something special inside of me. It was one of the first times I had ever felt a wave of adrenaline rush through me. In the closing act, the whole audience was on their feet clapping, Roger was tearing up and I could feel my mother’s pride by her stare. It all felt so overwhelmingly good. The hard work had paid off and the result was a bliss. And that was the end of ballet for a while, but I had enjoyed it and learnt so much from it in the end. My mother was proud.

On the other hand, I had also started playing football. I was the only girl in the club this time, but I was proud to be. I was following my best friends despite the coach’s warning about being the only girl in a boy’s club. I was never scared though, and I guess that was when I learned how they worked. I did also have girl friends but not so many, my childhood best friend Elisa lived in another neighbouring town and the Lou was in my class. She was a bit of a tomboy too as she had two brothers (which was understandable). My sister and I being girls, the only manly figure we knew best was our father and he worked a lot and was hardly at home. We also had cousins and uncles but we didn’t see them that often; so for us, boys were targets. They were specimen that we had to prove ourselves to (or fear). But I knew otherwise then, to fear guys. It was perhaps, a good thing at the time. But as I grew older, it wasn’t so much anymore. But that’s another part of the story. 

I truly loved my childhood, that house, and our life back in La Boisse. We haven’t gone back in years, and although we only lived in that house for a few years, it means a lot to us all. It is the touchstone that marks the creation of my parents’ world, our own world. Today it stands under our name but is rented by strangers.

 All in all, La Boisse was a cozy little town, there wasn’t much to it but it was charming enough and it was one of those towns in which each of the inhabitants knew one another. We lived wonderfully and have great friends that remain ever since we left.

Looking back I realise how wild of a child I had been. I was always full of energy, so curious about everything and anything. So wild that I had been through three major operations before the age of ten. One due to running and jumping around sofas with Ali and knocking my head on a corner of our living room table, getting one too many stitches. Another time as I was horseback riding for the first time wearing only flip flops and my foot getting slit right open by a barbed wire; and the last one was because I had just learned how to ride my bike and fell mouth first on a large stone stair from our terrace and broke my two front milk teeth when I was only four. I was wild and I was easily distracted in and outside of class. School was more of a socialising hotspot than an educational place to me. I didn’t care much of being top of the class at the time and did whatever it took to make it with a pass. My priority was people. I have been a people’s person from a very young age and have developed a strong social and extroverted mind ever since. My sister is interestingly a very opposite character to me, we do have our hyper sensibility to the world as a relating personality trait but we clearly aren’t very much alike and we’re both quite happy about it. While I had been a tough baby when it came to sleep, Ali had been a calm one until she turned three. I then became a very autonomous child who needed her days full of activities and social gatherings whilst Ali became more and more introverted the older she grew. She slept in my parents’ bed until about the age of ten as she had trouble with sleep. She had recurring nightmares and was afraid of the dark which made her unable to sleepover at any friend’s place for years. The nightmares always had recurring patterns of fears she has such as our parents dying, our house being robbed, the end of the world etc… She had even gone to see a psychologist to try and fix her sleep. Other than that, we were very close and slept in the same room until the age of twelve or so until I had decided to have my own room as I had started to grow into a teenager.

When it comes to beliefs and religion, my parents are catholics and do go to church every now and then for special occasions but not weekly (unlike my grandmother). They believe in god and the bible but do not feel the need to go and attend mass every Sunday nor to confess to preachers. They believed and liked to celebrate catholic celebrations and that was good enough for them. On my end, I had always been to church with them as a child but Ali and I did try to get off the hook by making excuses as we grew older. It just wasn’t for us. There aren’t many children that I know who enjoy going to church anyway.

 So I would occasionally go to church; mostly for Christmas and Easter and on Sundays with my grandmother when we were in Chatou, her hometown. Going to church wasn’t a torture but it wasn’t something I really enjoyed or felt the need to go to in order to fulfil my spiritual mind. I didn’t really believe in god back then already. To me, the bible was a book telling a grand story for sure, but it didn’t seem realistic to my young mind at the time. So yes, I’d go to church and behaved as I was supposed to although I do remember having taken the sacramental bread once too many times without having done my first holy communion. But, I had gotten baptised when I was one year old. Despite my lack of religious spirituality, I did pray like my mother and grandmother said I should. I prayed for “nonna” Gioia and “grand-père” Norbert. I had never met them but I have always felt their presence in the form of gut feelings. I like to think that every coincidental goodness or luck that has ever come my way, is their energy. That they are looking after me. And ever since I was a little girl,  the sky, the stars, the sun and the moon have always fascinated my eyes.

 Today I like to think that they are one of those stars up in the sky that we all see at night. That they are looking down over me and sending light and love. I can recall my Italian aunt “zia” Milli always telling me that she could see stars each time she looked into my eyes, and I’d believe her. I believe in energy being passed down to the living by the dead. That intuition is a lifelong guide. I believe that everyone has a purpose on this Earth and that if we want to feel alive and not just survive, we should do all that we can in order to fulfil that purpose. That everything happens for a reason and therefore, that we must pay close attention to our surroundings and ourselves too.

I found my purpose at a very early stage of my life, I can’t remember how old I was exactly, but what I do know is that I always felt like I wasn’t like other people, not that I was better or special, but just different. I don’t know whether a good or bad kind,  just different. As if there was a gap between my vision of what life ought to be, what it isn’t and reality. I have always been a daydreamer and I easily loose track of time as my head wanders in the clouds and outer space or simply, overthinking every situation. I was the happiest child, and I guess that growing up provoked the growth of a certain nostalgia in me that I have never been able to overcome. I will zone out every now and then with a melancholic feeling that only classical music can outweigh. All I know is that I had found my purpose, I found it the way a sailor finds their way back following the polar star when stuck in the middle of an ocean. My purpose was clear and bright just like the polar star. My purpose fit my personality and shaped my train of thoughts and decision making. Everything I do ever since I discovered my purpose has been aligned with it. I soon understood that this was the pathway I must design in life in order to be fulfilled. Don’t get me wrong, I try my best to follow my intuition and go out of bounds in order to attain it everyday but I do mess up sometimes. But don’t we all?

 Challenges, those circumstances that life throws at you unexpectedly stimulating your instincts; they teach you more than you know. It took me a long time to figure out that there is no such thing as a failure for example, and that everything we go through happens for a reason, one we must learn lessons from; and sometimes you learn the hard way.

I was only five when we first moved abroad. My consciousness wasn’t developed enough to realise that the world as I had grown to know it up until now was going to crumble. It was the very start of our expatriate life. The start of our journey as citizens of the world. We were moving to the city of Abidjan in Ivory Coast as my father had gotten a job offer to be a technical director at CFAO Group. We were going to discover the magnificent African continent. We had no idea of what to expect, but we were excited for this adventure. 

Next Chapter: Abidjan, Ivory Coast