A Perspective on life in Bologna by two Senegal men

Kathy and I had the fortune of meeting two polite guys from Senegal while out dancing one night. They were both nearly twice my height, one resembled a beanpole, the other the trunk of a Sycamore tree. They were both handsomely dark with trim cut black hair and profound eyes.

These two guys had kind, friendly smiles and invited us out for pizza after dancing. I was exhausted and ready to go home, but Kathy was curious. So we went to get a pizza. It turned out to be worth the forced insomnia.

We go to this pizzeria where the guys know the man who works there. They order two pizza margherita and grab a water. The keep asking if we want coke, but I am so dehydrated from dancing that the ONLY thing I want is to chug gallon after gallon of water (an impossibility in Italy as they use the metric system so I must content myself with chugging Liters). After what feels like ages our pizza arrives but not to be eaten quite yet. It is missing a key ingredient according to these guys: ketchup. I have never eaten pizza with ketchup on it. It was interesting. It gave it a kind of kick and added a little spice. Tasty. I was not quite hungry, but because there were four of us and two pizzas, it meant I had to do my part in eating. I kept trying to avoid the pizza--pretending I had eaten more pieces than I really had. It did not really convince them. I have never been force fed quite so much food by strangers before—by relatives, yes, but strangers, NO.

 As we sat there being force-feed slice after slice of ketchuped pizza and constantly asked if everything was ok, if we needed anything else, Kathy and I started to ask questions to learn more about these boys. We were all practicing our Italian in a way so hopefully we were all able to communicate what it is we wanted to say.

Q: So what do you do here in Italy and Bologna?

A: We work. I actually have been living in Italy for about two years. He (points to his friend across the table) got here just last year to join me. We have seen a lot of Italy because with our jobs we spend a lot of time traveling. We like Bologna a lot because it is fun to be here but also because it is a little easier to stay here.

--Though they never said what exactly it is they do for their work, it was often implied that they sell a variety of things, just as many of the immigrants do. It was rather sad to see how they were slightly ashamed to respond to the question of what kind of work they do. They mostly avoided giving a direct answer to the question. In fact, I think we never really asked because we did not want to make them feel uncomfortable. In Italy, those immigrants who spend their time traveling and selling are shunned by the Italian community. This makes it hard to approach them and ask them question, respond to their question, and so on. Because they are shunned, if you give approach them or show them that they are welcome to participate in a conversation with you, they can often take that opportunity to far or misinterpret your intentions. Luckily these guys were kind enough to keep their distance and just talk the whole night.

Q: Do you like Italy?

    A: Yes. But Italian’s aren’t very (pauses while he looks for the right word that perhaps is a little less vulgar than the one he would prefer to use) OPEN (he says finally). It is very difficult for those of us who immigrate here to enter their society. They are very closed, both socially and mentally. They are also prejudiced against foreigners and don’t really understand how to interact with us. But I really like the language. It is quite wonderful. It is not that hard to learn and having been here for a while, I have had no choice but to learn it.

--All the while Kathy and I were nodding and agreeing with them. We both mentioned that even for us it has been hard to truly participate in the Italian life. Many Italians still don’t know how to let us, two Californian girls, into their society. I cannot even imagine what it would be like to be such tall, dark, foreign men living in Italy and trying to live just as any other Italian and yet being so irrationally discriminated against. We also agree that the language is beautiful and absolutely wonderful to learn.

Q: Where have you been in Italy?

   A: Everywhere. We travel for our job so we have seen ALL of Italy. All the big beautiful cities, we have been there. I like Genova and Bologna a lot. They are really beautiful to visit and stay in. Also, Roma is nice because it is a little more open to foreigners.

Q: What do you think of the Italians? Like the girls?

   A: The girls are not that nice. They are not that (searches for the best word to describe the Italian woman) open (he finally decides upon. Turned out to be the key word of the night). I have not really had much of a chance to meet many women here because they don’t want to meet me.

In general all the Italians are rude and disrespectful. For example, they don’t respect the old people. Where we are from that is the most shameful thing you can do. You must respect those who are older than you. But here, they say terrible things in front of/and to their grandparents, parents, and older siblings. If I were to be rude to my older brother I would be in so much trouble. He would have the right to do many things to me for such disrespect.

Also, in our culture we respect women so much more than the Italians do. We cannot ever let a woman pay for something. We would never say anything disrespectful to them and we are not allowed to be rude or to do anything they would not appreciate. But Italians, they say what they want to women and act the way the want towards women.

--This was such an interesting response because they were many observations I had been making about Italian society in relation to that of the Californian and American society. There are some families in the US that allow their children to be disrespectful, but many will not tolerate it. I know that my family never tolerates when my sister or I are rude to our parents or grandparents, or even to each other. It is not acceptable and for such, we are punished. But here, working with Pietro, it is like the parents have just given up on disciplining their kids. And so, the kids are rude to their parents and thus to each other. I have even seen it while living with my Italian cousins. Sometimes they have absolutely no patience for their parents or their grandparents and they just start yelling at their elders to stop bothering them, to go away, to leave them alone. It is usually with harsh language and rough tones. Luckily, there is never any profanity within my Italian family when talking to parents, but it is quite uncomfortable to listen to cousins my age yell at their grandparents.

--The discussion about women is interesting, because women in Italy tend to be closed to all men. It is a defense mechanism because the men here are so straight forward and often disrespectful, sexualizing, misogynistic, and rude. Without a cold, uninterested front, a woman in Italy could be sexually harassed physically as well as the all-too-common verbally. It is tough but that is how it is. It does not help that Belusconi has openly disrespected and sexualized woman, or that every advertisement is a way to sexualize women. They are often pictured half naked in photos all over the city. And so, they are treated as if they are half naked as they walk around. This defense, paired with racial profiling and stereotyping means, that two large, potentially intimidating black guys will be avoided with the utmost care by nearly every Italian woman.

We wrapped up our conversation shortly after, mostly because I was nearly falling asleep in the pizza they were hoping to force-feed me. Luckily I was still in a state of mind to remember that wonderful conversation. 

I am curious to know what other immigrants would have to say about Italian life for them. However, in order to approach them, I absolutely have to go with another person, and usually a guy is better. Not because I want to perpetuate stereotypes, but because when all women ignore a male immigrant, the first woman that approaches him can often have her intentions be misinterpreted; this means, as a woman approaching a shunned immigrant, I have to take precautions. Frustrating, rather sad, but true.