The Secluded Immigrant

Francesca invited me to see a movie about Ethiopia last night at the Circolo Il Progresso, a community and cultural center of ARCI, a left-aligned association that promotes democratic ideals and Italian culture in Tuscany.

When I first arrived, I was one of about three women in the place. Mostly Italian and immigrant men, from Ethiopia or Eritrea, were waiting for the film presentation and a genuine Eritrean meal that Francesca’s co-worker’s grandmother prepared for attendees.

Francesca helps many immigrants and refugees from African countries assimilate into the Italian culture. She introduced me to several of her utente (this translates to client in Italian, but I have a feeling that is not how I would refer to them in English).

Each one was a bit shy or hesitant to meet me, and surprised that I had heard of their home country. Their reaction made me think that they do not meet many Italians or Italian women in Florence, and that many Italians do not know much about Africa.

Only one was bold enough to approach me without a formal introduction. He was from Ghana, and he told me things about his past life that made me seriously feel for him.

He was shocked when I told him this was not the first time I had met someone from Ghana. I feel like I am living in a country that is 1,000 years behind when African’s and other immigrants in Italy are shocked to learn that they are not the first person I met from Ghana, Ethiopia or Eritrea or that this is not the first time I have eaten African food, because this translates into Italians do not intermingle with anyone whose origins are outside the Italian border. Where am I living?

After we ate a traditional Eritrean meal with our fingers, we gathered into a cold room to watch the film “Come Un Uomo sulla Terra.” Everyone had their jackets on during the film and the meal.

My new acquaintances, were both polite and equally interested in me, sat next to me while we watched women and men from Ethiopia speak about their hellish travels from their homeland to a prison in Kufra, Libya.

It is unbelievable that a slave trade is still happening in Africa. They are not forced to work land. Instead they are forced to pay their way out of Libya and Africa, physically and financially over and over again; repeatedly being arrested without cause and released for a sum of money.

What was even more unexpected was the audience's reaction to the movie. Some had arrived to Italy via Libya. As horrible and unforgettable that their traveling experience has been, it is nothing compared to the treatment they receive in Italy, attendees said. One person said living in Italy is like living in an open-air prison. Many agreed with him.

Now I understand why the young men I met were uncomfortable when meeting me. They are not used to intermingling with natives, for whatever reason.

I feel like a small group of Italians mingle with immigrants, but I question their motives. I feel that some do so because they see immigrants as a novelty or they are rebelling.

I sometimes feel like a special trinket to Italians that I meet, especially Southern Italian men. It may be that they are attracted to “different” or go against their society by racking up internationals: African friend — check; American friend — check; American girl in my bed — check.

It is so bizarre that people who are common in my home country, are looked at as unfamiliar objects to be avoided by the majority of Florentines. I just cannot get over it. In the States it is not unusual to meet and be friends with people from different nations and cultures.