A few days ago I found myself on the way out of Sardinia, an Italian island. I was taking the bus to Cagliari, to take another bus to Alghero, to take a plane to London. A little trek. Anyhow, I walked up to the first bus stop, seeing maybe 15 people waiting… strangely slightly up the street. I took my own seat right under the bus stop sign, not wanting to miss my chance to get back to London. As I sat there, a few people started grinning at me. Not everybody. Just the Africans actually, all waiting in line with their bags of goods unsold from hawking on the beach. I half avoided the glances.
I had just finished a chapter of Nudge dealing with crowd mentality, and how people tend to do things that others do. Like stand in a line 20 feet away from a bus stop. So I was a little proud that I was sitting apart, but the glances were playing with my confidence on the issue. Finally one of them walked over and pointed at my shirt. I looked down and realized that I was wearing my Senegalese football jersey. By chance. And they were all Senegalese. Nice. More arrived, eventually enough for a whole team, then another. I chatted with several of them about life, Senegal, Italy. I admit, I love the credibility (and rarity) that comes with saying, ‘I lived in Ziguinchor (a small town in southern Senegal). Twice.’ And I love being able to speak French, every chance I get.
On the long evening bus ride, I sat next to Arham. She was a little tired, but we managed to talk. She had arrived in Italy 4 years ago, with her husband. I asked her if she had gone back to visit yet, and she replied that she had not, on account of a young child. I asked if she liked Italy. ‘Ca va un peu’, a Senegalese way of saying, ‘not particularly’. She missed family, of course. She did hair braiding along the beaches. She had had a good day (it was a July Sunday – high traffic), doing 4 sets of braids for 20 euro each. As she left, she mentioned it would be nice if I was staying longer. I agreed.
In fact, I would have loved to have a day or two to get to know these folks. Rocking the right jersey, having lived there, and showing obvious appreciation seemed to give me a great in to several conversations. They were worthwhile conversations to have, with Senegalese Diaspora in Italy, and I would have enjoyed delving further.
[update: it occurred to me to point you all at a great initiative from Teddy Ruge -> Project Diaspora. I'm hopeful about this one.]
B
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Why do so many Senegalese end up in Sardinia?
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Brendan Reply:
August 6th, 2009 at 6:34 pm
I really don’t know. Almost all the Africans on that bus must have been Senegalese. I think there are geographic reasons why so many end up in Southern Europe, but why Italy, and why so few others? I don’t know. There are often pockets of diaspora though - people go to where they know people. Like Senegalese in Cincinati (I think), or Ethioipans in Denver or DC.
B
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Brendan Reply:
August 6th, 2009 at 7:15 pm
Of course, my sample size was pretty small as well!
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You’ve inspired me. I need to find myself a Flames (Malawi football team) jersey and wear it around to see who I connect with. The random connections are usually the most interesting. You should try wearing a Canadian hockey jersey in Ethiopia and see if it has the same effect (although I imagine it will have the adverse effect on your pride).
Beatiful post. I can picture your social defiance of standing at THE bus depot (not with the crowd). It makes me laugh.
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I wore a tourist-y, souvenir Swahili t-shirt (hey, it was laundry day) to the MoMA in New York. As I was absorbing art, an attendant asked me where I got my shirt. It turned out he was originally from southeastern DRC; we had a fantastic chat. He, too, had lived in New York for four years and has never gone back.
I always feel self-conscious when wearing my African clothes outside of Africa; but that conversation sure was cool.
Colleen: a Leafs jersey in Uganda; a Habs jersey in Zanzibar. As an expat, I know my eyes certainly lit up when I saw Canadian apparel.
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Perhaps the Senegalese you met were less than thrilled by their new home because of the racism and xenophobia that greeted them upon their arrival. When I read your post, it reminded me of this video I saw on MediaStorm. http://mediastorm.org/0010.htm
‘Kingsley’s Crossing’ is a heart-wrenching story about the journey of sub-Saharan Africans who wish to make it to Europe, where they believe a better life awaits them. Kingsley, who comes from Cameroun is just one of thousands who make the difficult, life-threatening escape across most of Africa.
After more than six months of statelessness, and cheating death, he makes it, but the Europe he encounters is not the one he or his family imagined.
I was really moved by this story because my dad was able to immigrate to the U.S. legally from Nigeria. If he didn’t have papers, ‘Kingsley’s Crossing’ might be his story as well.
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Brendan Reply:
August 9th, 2009 at 9:52 am
Chikodi,
I agree completely. Although I didn’t probe that during the conversations, I suspected it to be the case. At very least, it’s a segregated community, but possibly worse. Not my area of expertise, but yeah.
Your comment reminded me of migration within Senegal as well. So many people were leaving my more rural area for Dakar, hoping to work and send money back. What they found in Dakar was a more difficult (and often desperate) situation than they had imagined.
Great comment.
B
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