I was born in Angola- Africa from Portuguese parents and leaved out to Portugal with 15 years old. My bondages to Angola are still strong and profound. My heart is mostly with the children of Angola who lost their mother and father in the civil war that lasted for 30 years, those little ones who are totally alone, living on the streets. There are neighborhoods of thousands of children taking care of other children.  When I was a child I used to take care of the babies of the Angolan women that worked for my mother, at home. Laying on the floor, in their "beds" called "luandos" made of dried bamboo plants, I was there all the day watching them sleep, to call their mom's to feed them (it is frequent that African women feed their babies on the breast, on every place without having feelings of sin as in the occidental societies, and they carry on their babies on the back while working), to play with them. In the old Eighties, when the civil war in Angola was at the hottest I saw an Angolan boy, crying because he lost his two legs on a mined field while playing with other children from the place. His only dream was to have his legs back because he wanted to ride a bicycle. Now, I carry these children on my heart and I wish I had the courage to go back there, even in the insecurity that still abounds in the Country and take care of them all.