A Week's Worth of Words

I cannot begin to comprehend how I can compose a blog post and properly cover what has happened this past week (let alone a single day). There were countless moments when I thought, “how I am able to be here?” This is not a question of my ability or worth, rather a question of “where will I go next?” and “how can I continue this work?”

Less than two months ago, I was celebrating the final days of college. Last week, I celebrated Eid with men at a refugee welcome center and the safe arrival of 402 migrants after their lengthy and dangerous journey from their homelands to Brindisi's port. The meaning, act, and importance of celebration has transformed before my eyes.

Sunday

The first week here was very draining. Every person, conversation, and site was a new stimulus to ingest and reflect upon. It felt overwhelming at times; however, this was needed in order to be able to process this week. On Sunday, our apartment enjoyed a lazy day of recuperation. In the evening, Graziella and I accompanied Don Piero to mass at his parish. He drove us across town and purposefully took the round-about way. He pointed out the rundown and impoverished apartments and homes. This area was once used for the Mafia to smuggle contraband, but the operation was shut down eventually. Knowing nothing other than this illegal work, many people slipped into poverty. This is an issue that has plagued much of southern Italy. The Mafia is not a theoretical or imaginary entity. They have had their invisible hands in many issues, both domestic and abroad.

Monday

At the CARA, I shadowed Armani and Natasha, who both serve as cultural mediators and interpreters for hundreds of men, as well as the professional workers on site. To better understand what his job entails, Armani drew a spider web-like map and wrote down all of the departments and facilities on the peripheral and connected them to the center, which said “cultural mediator.” Their job includes helping the men understand what facilities are provided for them, explaining and translating how the asylum process works, accompanying them to the hospital to ensure they are properly treated, sitting in on meetings with the psychologist, relaying messages to the men’s lawyers, etc. I have never felt more inspired to continue pursuing comprehension and fluency in both Italian and French.

The afternoon quickly approached, so we helped set up tables, bring food and drink, and play music for the Eid celebration. Eid is short for “Eid-al-Fitr,” which is the final day of Ramadan. This day is traditionally celebrated with tons of food and music.

Mimo, a cultural mediator, and I walked around the camp to explain to everyone what was happening. I was shocked when I heard some of the men say that they would not come because they are not Muslim. Mimo began to explain that he is Christian but would still celebrate. We reiterated that this is a party for everyone, regardless of their religion. Religion was never intended to separate people; its purpose is to bring people together in love and celebration of life.

Once the music began to play, more men came out to eat and start a football match.

Tuesday

The following day, I shadowed Dina, who is a legal specialist at the CARA. Micah and I sat in on a new entry’s first appointment. The Iranian man only understood a dialect of Arabic and very little English, so another man from the center helped translate. From an outsider’s perspective, it was very useful and informative to sit in on this meeting and to better understand what Auxilium provides these men.

In the afternoon, Alessandra and I held our first writing workshop. Even though we had a cap of 20 people, there were over 30 men in our class. We tried to entice more men to come to our class by playing Rihanna. We quickly learned that she is an international sensation. It was a loud, rambunctious class, and we kept the energy high by opening with a classic ice breaker game: rock, paper, scissors.

Next, we started a “traveling story.” For this to work, I opened with the prompt, “There was a man…” Each man in the class could interject and add to the story until we reached a final conclusion. The goal of this activity was to gauge everyone’s creativity and to work as a community. In short, it was very successful, and “Mimo and the shark” had an excellent conclusion.

After this, we split the men into three groups. The class created a communal prompt for a story, which focused on a couple that was deeply in love but had discovered something new. The individual groups were assigned to create a plot and conclusion to this prompt. Unfortunately, these stories were not as light-hearted as the Italian fisherman and the shark. All three stories included the woman admitting to being raped in the past or being unfaithful to the husband. I was struck with confusion and sadness, thinking that this is a common occurrence in these men’s lives and countries. Additionally, I questioned the overarching theme of dominating masculinity.

Wanting to learn how to navigate and facilitate an open dialogue on this topic, I asked to speak with one of the psychologists at the center. Perhaps this exchange would create an opportunity for the men to open up about their past, relationships, and home and serve as a learning opportunity, both for myself and the men in the workshop.  

Wednesday

On Wednesday, we worked at Caritas. I have always joked that Italian mothers are very intimidating; however, nothing compares to being surrounded by multiple Italian women in a kitchen. No matter your cooking skill, you must remain humble and abide by these women’s kitchen and cooking rules. Assume you know nothing but take mental notes of how to cook like a true Italian.  

After we finished cooking, we sat and ate with a group of Kurdish men. Four of the men are from Iran, and one man is from Syria. As a side note: Kurdish people are part of an ethnic group in the Middle East. They are neighboring territories in parts of southeastern Turkey (Northern Kurdistan), northwestern Iran (Eastern Kurdistan), northern Iran (Southern Kurdistan), and northern Syria (Western Kurdistan). Once we finished our meal, we interviewed each of these men for our Humans of Brindisi project.

It was beautiful watching these men, who are ostracized due to their ethnicity, open up and willingly speak about the struggles they have faced since leaving their countries, homes, and families. We were providing an outlet for these men’s voices to be heard, when so often they are shut out. If you are interested in our project, follow us on Facebook or Instagram.

Thursday

We were surprised to find that 37 new men came to the welcome center the night before. There were multiple military trucks driving in and out of the camp, carrying men and supplies. Security was very high, as both the Office of Immigration and UNICEF (United Nations Children’s Fund) were at the welcome center.

We had no information about these men (i.e., their homeland); however, we were told that they were rescued on Sunday, were on a boat for two days, brought to Sicily, landed in Brindisi, and drove on a bus to Restinco.

While we were waiting to see how we could help process these new men, I remember Leila, one of the psychologists at the CARA, saying “You cannot look at these men as victims or refugees; you must look at them as people Libya, Mali, Pakistan, Iran, etc.” These are people, and they must be treated with dignity and respect. This is the microscale problem that we face day-to-day.

To help with our perspective, one of the workers at the CARA told us about how he arrived in Italy. At the mere age of 16, he was kidnapped while in a taxi in Iran. He was put in an underground prison and tortured. He suffered from unwanted trafficking. This is a story that not many people hear about when they think about the refugee crisis. There is both wanted and unwanted trafficking occurring. This is part of the bigger issue at hand: the international mafias. Here, a macroscale problem capitalizes on abandoning people’s humanity. Some people are placed on these boats and will be sold in modern day slavery for farmers; however, the traffickers do not care if these people survive the treacherous water crossing because they have already received money from the bidders. People’s worth is given a price tag.

What I find really befuddling about this pressing issue is:

1. It is not as heavily covered by the news
2. Many Italians are angered by the magnitude of migrants entering their country, yet there are traffickers in their country who are part of the problem (i.e., it is an internal issue with the country)

This is a very complex issue, and I am, by no means, qualified to unravel all of the convolutions entangled in it. Having said that, I am constantly inspired by the men and women who have completed the journey and persevere, despite the heartache, war, plagues of xenophobia, and fear of potential rejection and exile. The following day, I would be exposed to a new facet of this long journey of migration: from sea to land.

Friday

In the morning, our crew walked over to Caritas. Upon arrival, we met a young man. He was traveling from Greece with his uncle, but he had problems with his passport and was separated from his uncle. He had been walking around Brindisi, asking where a Caritas was, so he could receive aid and call a family member.

Before Graziella and I left for the port, I spoke with one of the volunteers to ensure that the boy would receive shampoo, conditioner, and a phone. I have seen this young man walking around Brindisi for the last few days. I can only assume that he will be served at Caritas this upcoming week.

Following this, Graziella and I headed out to Brindisi's port. Two cars drove to the port across the town to help with the new arrival of migrants. There were 402 men, women, and children who arrived that morning. My heart was pounding, as we stood in the parking lot of the port, bearing witness to countless human bodies that morphed into one large mass on the Royal Navy vessel. I could not believe what I was seeing. In the parking lot, there were other relief aid organizations, international border protection services, and multiple forms of the Italian military and police force. From what I gathered, the following organizations were present: Frontex, IOM, UNHCR, The Red Cross, Polizia, Protezione Civile, Carabiniera, Guarda Costiera, Guardia di Finanza, the Prefettura, and the Questura.

People were running up and down the railing that linked the ship to the dock, preparing for the first migrants to unload from the boat. While waiting, we learned that one of the boats that had been rescued from the Royal Navy had caught fire. This left 20 people and 5 children severely burned. In this case, they were the first people to get off the boat. Tears filled my eyes, as I watched their tired, crippled bodies hobble down the stairs, finally reaching land for the first time in several days. Wheelchairs were provided for the first migrants who came off the boat.

Once there was a smooth system of undocking, Graziella and I left with a few other Caritas volunteers to prepare food for the migrants. There was an underpass facility that housed multiple tents and emergency vehicles, which were ready to start the process of accepting these migrants. Waves of men, women, and children walked into this area. Some of them had mesh smocks because their clothes had been destroyed during the journey; others did not have any shoes. They sat down in long rows, waiting to receive food, drink, aid, information, and begin their identification process. We started at the end of the line and passed out food to each person. Although I had a mask over my face to protect me from any potential diseases, I tried to show my smile. I wanted to make these people feel like they could finally relax because they were safe. My heart felt full when they would smile back to me.

Once we finished the food, we walked around to the areas where families with children and pregnant women were kept. There were multiple infants, one of which was only eight months old. Graziella and I tried to make all of the babies laugh by playing with them and holding them. Some of them did not have proper clothes, so we fished through the Caritas donation box to find clean babies clothes for them.

One of the most beautiful sights was seeing a husband, wife, and newborn baby sitting together. They had survived the journey together and could rest easy. They were one of two families that had completed the journey together.

When we realized we could not provide any further help, we left the port, so the other international organizations could complete the identification processes. This was one of the most humbling and inspiring days of my life.

Later that evening, we met with three men who serve in the Royal Navy, one of which is a friend with a professor at the SHC Italy Center. Their ship would leave later in the evening, so it was imperative that we met with them for a few short hours.

Roger explained to me how difficult and, at times, scary it can be to handle a rescue mission. It is their responsibility to save as many lives as possible, while countless bodies are floating in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. As I’m sure you know, these boats are carrying over excessively large numbers of people, which has led to many boats capsizing. When these small boats are met by large vessels, everyone on board is frantically trying to climb the ladder to board the Royal Navy’s ship. Unfortunately, this puts more lives at risk. At times, these men must decide which people they can save and which people they cannot; I cannot bear to have the pressure that rests on their shoulders in these moments. 

Comparing these men’s perspective of being on a migrant rescue ship to what Graziella and I experienced and saw earlier that day was enlightening. We were two pieces of the bigger story. That evening, we created the link.

I will stop here, as my eyes grow weak from staring at this computer screen for too long (and, I’m sure yours do too). This week will propel me throughout the weeks, no matter how difficult it was at times. I am grateful for my friends and family who have reached out to me during this time. Hearing these men’s stories reminds me to cherish every phone call, to hug tighter, and to freely express my love and adoration for those around me.

Until next time,

the chameleon