Journal Entry #3: Third Visit to “Il Ponte” on March 6, 2011
It’s a Sunday afternoon in Bologna and the sun is radiating over the city. Two days ago the streets were covered in white cotton candy snow. Today the cotton candy colors have turned into confetti on the dry cobble stone streets of Bologna- It’s Carnival Time! There’s a show of prancing princesses and roaring dinosaurs out on the streets. The sun is shining- Rebekah and I are sweating in our jackets on our speed walk to Il Ponte- the weather is finally warming up. I used to zip my red and black checkered jacket up to my neck and shove that hood right over my head- only my eyes can be seen. Today I unzip it and want to take it off. I’m sweating.
Il Ponte seems a little emptier than usual today- there is one young ragazzo who is “male’.” He is sweating. He has a fever of almost 40 degrees Celsius. The man working today behind the desk tells us that at 40 degrees Celsius you call the hospital. My sweat turns me cold- Why do I complain of sweat? I used to say it was too cold? Now I’m saying it’s to hot. Why? So many thoughts are running through my head, I don’t want to run away, I want to sit here and listen to this man. I need to stop thinking so much. Or maybe I need to start thinking more. I think and say I am grateful, but am I really? Reall, am I?
The man speaks to us only in Italian as he says we must “imparar” (learn) the language. I agree. I am full of questions today and am ready to start speaking in Italian. I want answers to my million questions- so I start by asking him whether or not the young boy would be seen at an Italian hospital even if he is not a citizen of the European Union. I don’t know whether I should ask questions like this—on boarding the aircraft yesterday form Poland to Bologna the stewardess commented on what a nice passport I had, because it was from the United States. Why do I think of this now as I ask these questions. I don’t want to make it seem like I think being American means I great and that I must question Italian ways. I’m just curious. I just want to know. I want to learn. Sto imparando.
The man replied that the young boy certainly would; phew. It does not matter whether you are rich or poor, Afghan or Italian, muslin or Catholic (although Berlusoni would probably preger you were female)- you will be seen and helped at the hospital. The ambulance would pick up the young boy at this center and one worker would go with him. It does not matter he is at a center and not an Italian home. This is his Italian home. A young lady working at Il Ponte came into the office where Rebekah and I sat in chairs. She came in just to say the sick boy was worried that he would not be able to “lavorar” (work) tomorrow. I looked down. How many time’s had I not wanted to go to work over the summer so that I could go to the beach- I put my head down. But then I smiled. This smile was from the thought of thinking of the young boys determination and passion for life- not even letting sickness get in the way.
It’s a Sunday afternoon in Bologna and the sun is shining- so as the Italian lifestyle insists, nobody works hard today, not on Sunday- all the young boys were out with friends. Today the men said there was not much we could physically do service wise so instead “noi parliamo un po.” Instead we shall speak some. We spoke about the differences in American and Italian health care, about my studies and my reasons for being here in Italia. This man challenged me to speak only Italian, and after a weekend away from the Italian language as I was in Poland, I was nervous- but he said I was “brava” and we continued to talk. I didn’t need the compliment, but it was nice to hear some encouragement. Sometimes thats all we need to give us another push. Maybe, I think to myself, that’s what “Il Ponte” does, it gives the boys a push, it gives them encouragement to continue on with their lives.
The man showed me what he called “La Biblia,” a notebook where he charted all the important day’s occurrences- he charted if one of the boy’s behavior was unacceptable, he charted if one of the boy’s was sick, and he charted mine and Rebekah’s visit today. We also spoke of “parola’s,” (of words.) He told me he spoke 10 languages- but 5 of them meant he only knew the “bad words.” He said the boys here pick up words on the street from their friends and teach them to each other- little things like these keep reminding me that these are regular adolescent boys; not that I need reminder that these boys are regular or real, but a reminder that these boys are here amongst us all and are trying to survive, like us all- and yet surviving very differently.
It’s a Sunday afternoon in Bologna and today none of the boys work cleaning or preparing meals in Il Ponte. Instead boys come in and out of the office asking for shaving cream and razors- today, one of the workers explains, is a day they all take care of themselves with extra time as they do not have to do the daily requirements around the facility. Yet, everyday- not just on some days- most of these boys pray five times a day. One of the workers showed Rebekah and I around and opened up one of the wooden bedroom doors just slightly- a young boy I had seen before had his head bent down in prayer, his hands folded and his eyes closed- He didn’t see us. He was deep in prayer. He didn’t have to go to a house of worship to say his prayers. He didn’t need to be in his holy land to keep his faith with him.
We went back to the office and the man at the desk asked me to spell check a document for him on the C’EIS- Centro di solidarieta (Centres of refuge for foreign minors). We spoke about the document, which he had written in superb English.
It’s a sunny Sunday in Bologna and the young boys of Il Ponte are outside discovering and growing in their new world. I merely walk into the Il Ponte doors to learn about their world- their past and now their present, which will lead to their prosperous future. Even with the simple cracking of a door- I can see the faith these young men have in themselves for a better life.
I leave the doors of Il Ponte, and like these boys I do not work today. Like these boys I am learning to enrich my life. These boys are my push, my encouragement.
Things I learned about the C’EIS while spell checking:
In helping this man spell check his document I learned that C’EIS has been active in the social field for man than 20 years to meet the changing needs of foreign minors by making most of their own abilities- these abilities have not been fully developed because of their problematic lives.
Since 1999 C’EIS has been operating in Bologna. This structure is made up of 12 accommodations and it can host male minors who are usually non-Europeans, stopped by the public security because of their nomadic state or because they have been caught conducting mugging activities. Usually, the centre Il Ponte host foreign minors either because their age excludes them from imprisonment, or because Italian courts have disposed that they have an impellent need to have guardianship.
The “Community of first refuge” meets minors’ primary necessities, such as nourishment, rest, health, cleaning- in the attempt to create a welcoming atmosphere, in order to increase their self-confidence as well as trust in other people and to overcome disorienting experiences and fear. In some cases, it is even possible to proceed to re-insert the minor into his family. In most cases this does not occur but the project still primarily focuses on building up his autonomy.
In the last case, after a permanence that may last up to three months, when the minor acquires the basic knowledge instruments, he can be inserted into an educative structure of second attendance.
During their first stay, the doors are open every hour of every day for the arrival of a young boy; the individuals receive a sanitary screening and enrollment to a course of “alphabetization”. The life in the community has been arranged to make the minors more confident in the new reality they live in- make them confident to build themselves back up and stronger.
If necessary a neuropsychiatry service is available to the minors. The C’EIS has also founded a football team signed in the provincial USIP championship along with other Il Ponte Communities. The young boys rooms were simple but decorated with football posters and dirty sneakers drying on the windowsills.
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