Post by account_disabled on Dec 25, 2023 23:56:37 GMT -6
Kehinde had been in Italy for six months, spent wandering from one city to another, until she arrived in Rome. She had left as she was already expecting her baby, the result of a rape that occurred in her town. Hamidi, on the other hand, had arrived two weeks ago, but he understood almost nothing of Italian. At the construction site he managed to stammer "work" and had mixed lime for several days. They had paid him very little and that paltry salary had been spent almost all on sharing an apartment that smelled of piss and sweat with ten other immigrants, all African. “We can try Caritas, it's not far away,” the woman said in Swahili.
Hamidi didn't know what Caritas was, but she followed the woman along the sidewalk to a traffic light. The two waited for the green light and crossed. They reached via Marsala in about ten minutes, walking along it until Piazzale Sisto V. After passing the sixteenth-century arch, they saw a long line of stragglers waiting. There were people of different nationalities, although Kehinde couldn't say which ones. She recognized someone from her Special Data own town, however, who smiled shyly at her. An old man approached her and told her that there were more people than usual asking for shelter that evening. He was Italian and no longer had any teeth in his mouth. He wore a wool cap on his head and the deep wrinkles on his face darkened by time told stories of suffering.
The woman preferred to try anyway, she had no other choices, not that evening, not when the whole world seemed to stop running after a commercial party and everyone was gripped by a sense of urgency and excitement. They lined up behind the sprawling pile of destitute people when two men approached. “There's no room,” one of them said. From his accent he seemed Eastern European. Hamidi didn't understand what the man said, but he understood that there was trouble ahead. "We want to wait, if there's no room we'll leave," Kehinde replied calmly, although those two scared her and the man's tone had been too clear. «You go away now! There's no room, I said!' The man was altered and his gaze revealed nothing human.
Hamidi didn't know what Caritas was, but she followed the woman along the sidewalk to a traffic light. The two waited for the green light and crossed. They reached via Marsala in about ten minutes, walking along it until Piazzale Sisto V. After passing the sixteenth-century arch, they saw a long line of stragglers waiting. There were people of different nationalities, although Kehinde couldn't say which ones. She recognized someone from her Special Data own town, however, who smiled shyly at her. An old man approached her and told her that there were more people than usual asking for shelter that evening. He was Italian and no longer had any teeth in his mouth. He wore a wool cap on his head and the deep wrinkles on his face darkened by time told stories of suffering.
The woman preferred to try anyway, she had no other choices, not that evening, not when the whole world seemed to stop running after a commercial party and everyone was gripped by a sense of urgency and excitement. They lined up behind the sprawling pile of destitute people when two men approached. “There's no room,” one of them said. From his accent he seemed Eastern European. Hamidi didn't understand what the man said, but he understood that there was trouble ahead. "We want to wait, if there's no room we'll leave," Kehinde replied calmly, although those two scared her and the man's tone had been too clear. «You go away now! There's no room, I said!' The man was altered and his gaze revealed nothing human.