But Saccensi are racist? I will not conceal that the hostility of the reception center for immigrants in the district Isabella surprised me a lot. Sciacca has a long tradition of tolerance and acceptance, which is at odds with the collective hysteria that seems to have struck. But I remain convinced that the Saccensi not suddenly become intolerant. We are a seaside town has always been more advanced than the context of Agrigento, and I can not accept that what is possible becomes impossible Montevago by us (as he pointed out the praiseworthy ControVoce weekly).
certainly helped that the hunt all'extracomunitario seems to be the only social policy in the new government and the media bombardment that feeds it. The Saccensi not afraid of boys and girls of the district Isabella, but I am terrified of what television tells them. However m'illudo to know even my fellow citizens. Let's say that I like to delude myself. I am convinced that if they knew the guests of the center, instead of looking through the distorting mirror of the television screen, I mean if you know them personally, perhaps their attitude would change. I did. One day, my friend the painter Frank Gulino, I went to talk to some of these guys. I listened to their stories. And in the end I thought, if my Saccensi friends know them, listen to them talk, if they knew the plays from which these boys of 17, 20, 24 years have fled, I'm sure they would invite to dinner. We organize a schiticchio with them. That would not have no fear.
I spoke to a man from Niger. A Tuareg father's side. You know the Tuaregs of the desert? (Niger is a desert almost everything) were the stars of many movies and adventure novels, and comics, when we were children. Well, Abdulraman is a Tuareg. 17 years old and was born and raised in a desert country prey to years of intermittent civil war. Sometimes they shoot at times you are at peace. He lost his mother when he was a child, then the father in war, he had a brother who stayed for a while 'helped him, then his brother has suffered the consequences of yet another outbreak of civil war. He put one leg, and the only one that remained was the front of the churches to beg. Abdulraman found itself faced with two alternatives: a gun and join a militia or groped some luck in Europe. That 's what he did. You, instead, as you would have behaved?
Then I met a Nigerian guy (Nigeria, this time, not Niger). Tall and big but with a face that betrays his 17 years. With traditional medicine had tried to cure a skin disease (not a doctor, but it looked something like psoriasis). The sorcerers of the tribes had convinced her that the disease was the effect of a spell set on the Saint from the rival tribe of Pay. Result: a swollen leg like a tree trunk and so many scars on his stomach (cuts made with a knife). At Palermo's Civic gliel'hanno cured in three days at his home in danger of losing his leg. In the end, not to end up victims of tribal clashes, he fled to Libya. For six months, made a bricklayer to earn money with which to pay the trip to Italy, but like many others found hath been cheated: they had a guaranteed salary, they gave two mites. He speaks only English, just arrived in Italy he tried to charge the phone and who knows what button was pressed. Now have it to death with the Wind, which has cheated an entire charge. Then there
Mebrahtu. You know Harry Belafonte? Well, more or less as he has done. Eritrea is, speaks excellent English. Cultured, refined, elegant, educated and has a grace uncommon. Not many mothers had black skin of Sciacca participate in an auction just to have him as a son. However, his problem, at least in Eritrea, was not the color of their skin. It has a "defect", Mebrahtu It is a Pentecostal Christian. It seems that the thing in his country, not take it well. There are accepted only whether Catholic, Orthodox or Muslim, the three official religions. Alas, however, to be Pentecostal. It can happen to you what happened to Mebrahtu. One day she was with a group of friends to read the Bible. Secretly. A police raid and all in jail. He remained there six months. Yet the family has disowned. Release from prison and touches his military service. A serious matter, in those parts, where wars are rife. Here, too, is caught (terrible crime) and read her Bible Pentecostal. As punishment, the flap under the sun, standing there, immobile, Woe to you if you move. The sun Eritrea, stuff die of sunstroke. There he makes his decision. "You'll kill me" thinking, and cross the border with Sudan. For a few months working in Khartoum, the Sudanese capital. Does the bell boy in a hotel, carrying the suitcases. He has already said, speaks excellent English, in a tone of Cambridge. The police, however, the extortionists. He and the other irregular. Or pay protection money or there thrown in jail because you do not have documents. Mebrahtu must also escape from Sudan. The new destination is the civilized Europe. Go to Libya and from there get to Lampedusa. Finally, in the district of Isabella. Where he discovers that he's just so graceful and elegant, the people are afraid. But we really afraid of Saccensi Mebrahtu?
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