Today I learned what the term political refugee. I learned that 3-year universities, newspapers and news I had never been taught.
My ears have heard (and hear) stories of horror that even Tarantino's imagination could conceive.
are so full of disgust that I do not know what to think or say or write. I can only listen and nod and try to understand but I can not because my life has taught me not gold What is the fear of death. Today I learned what the term refugee and I felt useless.
First day of "work" in Rixensart. 40 minutes by train to get to Pleasantville (I think there are no real towns like Rixensart ... is nothing but a meticulous reconstruction of a small town in the heart of American-Cinecittà) 15-minute trail straight ahead (it is Pleasantville!) To reach the center domandeurs for asylum. Thanks Roberta for taking me (the partnership between Italy and Romania Stainless steel is ... especially when we ask, where are you from? Romania! Ahiahiahai ... and you? Italy ... oh la poubelle! Yeah Italy, Romania, a face, a race ... oh ... I'll create a group on feisbuc). Henryk M.
I accept, the literacy worker who knows more or less thirty languages, introduces me Sorina, the officer in the service after-school, Italian-Romanian now living in Belgium who hates the rain and clouds and regrets Padova . I'm told that everything must be kept under key: office, bathroom, playroom, dining room, library, computer room (I wonder residents are keeping them under key?!? Oh no ... it is Ramadan, a fly does not fly).
I get my fork, my knife, my spoon and my bowl and my cup. Short (short?! Cerese is as big as this center!) Tour of the center ... many ... too many handshakes, kisses on the cheek!
Yes, yes I'm the one who replaces Julie and I'm here one year. I come from Italy ... yes, we are full of waste.
Brief blah blah with all (Have you drank Belgian beer? Ah yes, even in Albania I've got an intestinal virus! And little things like that ... and finally, the mess! Much better than I had said! Maud good cook! )
Afternoon of billiards: Because the kids return to the three school Oualid for two hours patiently tried to teach me how to hit a billiard ball ... with poor results ... and its huge disappointment ... and once I even did win!
Here come the kids ... playing pool or watching TV ... then a little 'DIY with Monsieur Bricolage (the kids call it that!).
My head smokes: the males are called Muhammad, Mohamed, Ahmed, Madou, Hisham, Achid, Hassan, Hosein and Hussein (find the seven differences between these names) and no one guesses it ...
Sorina departs to station (he lives in Liège!) I follow (if not get lost among the meandering gorges and corridors du Centre). I wait 20 minutes the train arrives very punctual and I almost get emotional (but then I am truly at Cinecittà and everything is possible!) And after 40 minutes during which I wonder if that child was called Hashim Hisham or arrival at the Gare du North that is straight in the red light district of Brussels. All
straight and come home, shove a lot in all my dirty clothes and I ran to the laundromat where I do not understand absolutely nothing about the machine but I try and tries again and eventually moved to pity a woman comes up and tells me how the various buttons. Wash, wipe and go back home wondering where the St. Josse Josh Hartnett (who in this film Mohamed Abdul to call it) ... going from my greengrocer / pasta maker / baker / butcher / fishmonger / newspapers / electrician was a great buy mango juice with subtitles in Arabic, but as he closed the door of the fridge I dropped the cans on a bottle of coke glass of water causing a movement of anger evident in the grocery / pasta maker / baker / butcher / fishmonger / newspapers / electrician who greets me with a friendly at all au revoir.
Et voila.
