What I keep of her is the gaze you see in this black-and-white picture, her eyes gently brushing the lens. Tender and determined.

It was 1993, and Zefave was hosting me in her simple home in Ilha do Ouro, a small rural village in the Brazilian Sertão.

She told me about the struggle for their land. She and the farmers had managed to drive the fazendeiro off the unproductive lands. The agrarian reform law was on their side, but as we know, when it comes to the humble, the law of the strongest usually prevails.

Hopefully, that was not the case in Ilha do Ouro. What prevailed was the farmers’ mobilization and sense of justice, supported by Friar Enoque and later Friar Isaias, charismatic representatives of Liberation Theology (which is not exactly that of the current successor of Peter…) and by the unions.

After months of struggle — and even enduring police batons, as a poem by our Brazilian “pasionaria” recounts — the land became theirs. Belonging to all the farmers, not to just one. Of course, they lacked everything: tools to work the land, simple irrigation pumps, money to invest. But can you imagine the satisfaction? To sow, to cultivate, and to harvest freely, without having to give part of the crop to the landowner.

As I listened to life stories of farmers and fishermen, I spent more than a month in Ilha do Ouro and became deeply attached to the place. So much so that I returned several times, alone or with friends.

The last time I went back, after a very long pause, was in 2022. I found Zefave tired. She had lost some strength, but not her spirit. At 88 years old, she was still planting and harvesting as if time had not passed.

Once again, she welcomed me into her home. One evening, she gestured for me to come closer. She rummaged through a box and pulled out a photograph of my firstborn as a newborn. For all those years — twenty-one — she had kept a part of my life as if it were a treasure.

On January 26th of this past year, she passed away, but I am certain she continues to live on in the fields of Ilha do Ouro, where she fought for herself and for others, sowed and harvested for herself and for her more than seventy relatives: daughters (7), grandchildren (32), great- grandchildren (29), and great-great-grandchildren (3).

Rest in peace, Zefave, sower of peace, justice and hope…