January 24, 2011
FUTBOL! FUTBOL! FUTBOL! I just played my very first Italian soccer game! Stefano and I versus Chelsea and Antonio! Due (two) games tied one win and one loss! After breakfast they asked us to play and after enjoying my nutella croissant and chocolate ferme, I zipped up my boots and headed down the stairs to the playing field- the rec center foosball table. Stefano and me dominated the first round and chinqu-ed (high-fived) at each score. CHINQUE!
SCUOLA! SCUOLA! SCUOLA! I am actually that enthusiastic about school, classes, here. As I have already said, I feel like I have a passionate drive, rather than a forced ruling, to learn. One class today and the rest of the day is mine- to continue learning. Social Justice taught by Vittorio Buffati, who will not respond to professor because he is not used to it.
About an hour into class I dozed out of the window…well, my mind did…
Simple Soul: Andiamo
The clouds move
But the blue stays
The birds fly
But the trees stay
My boots walk
The italian boot stays
The world changes
And I do not stay
Clouds, birds, boots
Let’s move, let’s fly, let’s walk
Andiamo
But do not worry blue, do not worry trees, do not worry italian boot
I will not forget you
You move with me
You move in me
Brewing Beat
Italian coffee, you beat in me
Beating me beautifully
Beat me beautifully
Heart beat
You are the heart of me
Beautifully
Italy.
I have a passion for English class and Italian class but I have a curious, eager feeling about this social justice class. Although my mind went for a walk, I ran back when our first speaker of the class walked in: NASIFA.
Nasifa is a beautiful young woman. Slender, with beautiful big pecan eyes and wavy black silk for hair- she has several strands of grey shining hair. She is wise, beautifully wise. She calls herself “lucky” to be here in Italy. She calls herself “a lucky Afghan woman,” those three words- Afghan, lucky, and woman- never supposed to be spoken together as they are never supposed to be related. Not to Nasifa. She is all three.
She is one of 3 or 4 Afghan woman living in Italy, “a growing minority” according to Vittorio Bufetti. She once again calls herself lucky to be meeting American students. We are the lucky ones, the blessed and privileged ones I begin to think…but, as she continues trying to talk to us while Vittorio serves as a translator, I realized all of us here are blessed.
She tells how Afghanistan is a sick country, the people are sick, there is war, “the people are living but they are not.” For a woman to go outside her home she must be accompanied by a man and hidden by her burca. A woman could not go outside without a burca completely covering her body- a symbol of culture NOT religion. (The Taliban imposed by force the wearing of the Burca for women).
Really,” she says, “really lots of difficulties for woman.” The majority of these women are in this situation and for 50 years there has been no progress, just stepping back for the woman. But not for Nafisi.
She says if a man or husband does not beat his wife “he is not man!” A woman should be perfect- and perfect means doing what her husband, father, brother wants. I don’t understand why she laughed when she said this.
I tell myself at this point, “Nafisi please don’t be sorry about not being able to speak English- you are telling me so much.” Yet, she wants to say more. I wish she knew how much she was telling me, how much she was teaching me, how much she was inspiring me…how much I wanted to tell her how brave she is.
She escaped to Pakistan with her family when she was 15 years old- 2 parents, 5 sisters, 2 brothers. (I should (for dramatic effect) say 2 parents, 2 brothers and 5 sisters because males come before females- but that is not how Nafisi said it). She studied in Pakistan and never imagined herself being in Italy until she arrived here.. kind of like me, yet not at all. She says she is a second class because male should be first. To me she is royalty- wearing a crown of self-mined gold.
She cannot believe she has this ability to be in Italy (like me, yet not at all)- now studying chemical engineering, what she really wants to study, although she lost several years of studying when she studied medicine- because her dad mandated her too.
“Non credevo I am in Italy”- Nasifa.
In Afghanistan a woman can go nowhere alone. In Italy I cannot either- but atleast we are free. Her father did not approve of her coming to Italy. Mine did. Thank you papi, thank you so much.
Women are thinking human beings with intellectual capacity, but are not recognized as so in Afghanistan. Here we can all see that Nafisa is beyond brilliant, beyond a regular thinking woman, beyond regular intellectual capacity.
Her second eldest sister was disobedient- brilliantly disobedient. Nasifa and her, she says, are very similar. Her sister was strong enough, brave enough, to find her way out of home. She is now married to a doctor and living in London. Her 2 other sisters married young and are now 17 and 20, married to the men of their fathers choice, living in Cabo. The eldest of the sisters saw Nafisas’ drive and told her father that since she could not go away and study- as did the second eldest who was only able to study to become a mathematics school teacher at her father’s demand- she told her father to send Nafisa to study instead,
90-95% of women are illiterate in Afghanistan. They do not even know what their rights are- and so goes their fathers and husbands to choose the outcomes of their lives. But not Nafisa.
What made her go, how did she know her rights? She was strong, like her older sister she was disobedient too and did not listen to her father. She wanted to study- but her father demanded she could not for the family would be spoken about if she did something women were not to do. Finally, Nafisa worked her gem and was able to study- only to become a mathematics schoolteacher for children. In secrecy she married a doctor.
Nafisa speaks to her father, but not like she used too. He tells her that since she is able to work and make money she must send her some. She visits for two months a year. But, it is not the same. Nafisa is not the same. Now, I am not the same.
No comments:
Post a Comment