Life in 1919 was not a paradise in the interior of Gran Canaria. In the south, the land had become a punishment. "The heat was getting stronger, water increasingly scarce," says Antonio, an elderly man from Tirajana. Hunger was the only traveling companion. Hopelessness was felt in every dry furrow of the potato fields, on the sun-curdled faces. At least 70 people from the south of the island, condemned to emigration, boarded the Valbanera, a vessel that has remained etched in memory as the "Titanic of the poor."
The memory that rescues the truth
To understand these events, the research work of figures such as the journalist from La Palma, Juan Carlos Díaz Lorenzo, a true reference in the field through his books and newspaper, is essential. BridgeTheir work, along with that of other qualified researchers and the Sal Si Puede theater group (the first to rescue the memory), has helped unite the threads of these stories. The Canary Islands Association of Maritime Culture (Accumar), founder of the Canary Islands Maritime Culture Network and a member of the UN Ocean Decade campaign, has played a crucial role by coordinating data collection and facilitating its publication, ensuring that this tragedy is not forgotten.
In Mogán, the situation was no better. A resident of Veneguera recalls how news of emigration spread like a blessed rumor. "Around here, it was said that in Venezuela and Cuba, people grew rich without effort." A seductive narrative for those who, despite working tirelessly, had nothing. In Agüimes, people still whisper about those who sold their last piece of land, their last hope, to pay for the passage. The fear of the unknown was great, but the fear of continuing in poverty was even greater.
A journey without return
The voyage on the Valbanera was not a whim. As the Canary Islands Association of Maritime Culture (Accumar) points out, it was a passenger steamer on a well-defined route. It departed Barcelona on August 10, 1919, with 1.230 people on board. After stops in Canary Islands ports, it headed for the Caribbean, where a terrible storm awaited it.
María, from Tunte, remembers that her cousin and his family left on that boat. They sold the few goats they had and a small piece of land in El Sequero. "They didn't cry about selling it, they cried about having to leave," says her great-granddaughter. Their departure was not made public. They left at dawn with a small suitcase, so they wouldn't have to give any explanations. A resident of Mogán remembers that two brothers from the Fataga area were on board. "They got into the hold with the cattle, tightly packed, with fear in their bodies, but with hope on their faces." They believed the boat would take them to the promised land.
The shipwreck and the silence
In September, in the port of Havana, sailors heard the ship's siren calling for help, but the ferocity of the cyclone made it impossible to assist. Their remains were found at a depth of 12 meters, but the most chilling aspect of the tragedy was that the bodies of the 488 people on board were never found. The Valvanera became a watery grave. The lack of news weighed heavily on them. There was no official confirmation, only a silence that grew ever greater. Those who remained had no opportunity to mourn their dead; they could only lament their absence. The tragic end of the Valvanera is not just a newspaper fact; it is an open wound in the memories of the people of Tunte, Mogán, and Agüimes. It is a reminder that the true history of Canary Islands navigation is not measured in tons of cargo, but in the courage and sacrifice of those who lost everything in search of a better future.
