The Island Wounded by the Wind
© Angelica Cantù Rajnoldi
By Angelica Cantú Rajnoldi
What would you do if everything around you suddenly became hostile? If your world was turned upside down in an instant, and the place you call home was no longer safe? These are the questions I asked myself on Sept. 10, 2021, when I photographed the remnants of destruction left by a tornado that devastated part of the island of Pantelleria, which I’ve known since my early age.
© Angelica Cantù Rajnoldi
Pantelleria is often called “the daughter of the wind.” Without the wind, it would not be the island it is. The people who live there, or know the island as I know it, love this place for its fascinating but sometimes adverse, difficult and wild microclimate. Throughout history, the inhabitants of Pantelleria have adapted to its environment, building rural dwellings and other structures that allowed them to live there despite the variable climate.
© Angelica Cantù Rajnoldi
Three years ago, a different tornado appeared off the coast of Pantelleria. This one harmlessly extinguished at sea. It was an extraordinary, disarming and unspeakable spectacle at the same time.
This summer, a second phenomenon occurred. The sirocco, the hot North African wind that blows across the Mediterranean, became incessant. It was unbearably ardent for two weeks nonstop, making it almost impossible to stay in the sun for more than 15 minutes. I was there. In the same days, a temperature of 48.8 degrees Celsius was recorded in Syracuse, a city in Eastern Sicily. It was the highest temperature to ever be recorded in Europe.
And now this, a second tornado. This time, it didn’t stop at sea. Instead, it approached the coast, coming ashore, devastating a vast area of the island and causing numerous casualties and the deaths of two people.
© Angelica Cantù Rajnoldi
No one could have expected such a thing. This time, the wind exceeded 200 km/h. Stone walls were ripped apart and lifted into the air. Cars were crushed and raised as feathers, houses were gutted, strips of land were detached from the ground. The apocalyptic moments became eternal for those who witnessed the event.
It’s strange to think that so much can happen in such a short amount of time. It’s hard to forget the emptiness in the eyes of the island’s inhabitants. As soon as I arrived on the island, I visited the places hit by the tornado. The wind was cold, and a subdued silence came out from every detail I photographed. I don’t remember talking the entire afternoon I spent there. That stretch of the island still seemed to be crying, wounded by the wind.
© Angelica Cantù Rajnoldi
