From stranger to local

by Marija Gojsović (Serbia)

Making a local connection Italy

A little girl was standing on the balcony of a building in the center of Belgrade, staring blankly at the sunset disappearing behind a meadow, that lay in the distance. Every time she saw an airplane disappearing beyond the sunset, her face would light up. She pensively stared in the distance and for a moment she looked like a bird in a cage... We landed in Sicily and immediately got into a taxi. I have always loved observing taxi drivers and I relized that there are two types of them. There are those who fully adapt to their customers, try speaking English and playing commercial English music in the car. Probably so that you wouldn’t feel like a stranger, but actually, you would even more. The other type of them would sometimes be in the mood, but mostly not. They would only communicate in the local language and only play the radio with the local music. They would gesture something with their arms, open a window whenever they want and drive too fast. But, still, I like the other ones more. And like that was our Italian driver. In the back seat I felt the wind in my hair while some Italian music was playing. I caught a smile on my face. He took us to our destination, helped us to take out our bags, said „Arrivaderci“ and disappeared behind the corner of the street. We buzzed on the intercome and our host, an Italian woman, welcomed us warmly. She didn’t speak English very well but we managed to undrestand each other. On the third day of our stay, my boyfriend gave me the keys and started to explain to me how to open the doors. I told him „I think I know how to open the door“ . He headed to the store and I went to the building. The first door was easy to unlock. When I entered the building I couldn’t find a light switch, but I was convinced that I would unlock them when my eyes adjust to the darkness. I felt the door and put the key in the lock. It seemed like they weren’t compatible. But I didn’t want to quit, until someone behind the door didn’t open. In front of me appeared a middle-aged man with tousled hair, in an undershirt and shorts. He looked astonished when he saw me and I looked confused. After a moment I said „I’m sorry, wrong door.“ I headed to the next one and tried to unlock it too, and then I relized I probaby should have listened to what my boyfriend wanted to tell me. The man was still standing there, watching me. That put even more pressure on me and I was just thinking „Please God, just let me open this door.“ A man approched me and took the keys from my hand. The door was open in a second. He patted my shoulder and smiled. From then on, every time we would meet in the hallway we would smile at each other. Older people have always claimed that language can be an obstacle in the communication with other people and that some of them won’t speak with strangers, even if he or she understands your language, because you are not one of them. What does affiliation mean? Why did that little girl, who was actually me, get so pensive when she realized that there is a boundary where her view ends and that the only way to cross it was to get on the plane, and that was for a little girl elusive? People are those who create boudaries and remove them. Today that little girl gazed from the balcony in Italy and her only view was the building in front of her. She saw the true in that building. There were also two Italians sitting on the balcony, a man and a woman. They smiled at me and waved and I did the same. They couldn’t have known who I was, what language I spoke, what I did for a living or from where I was. They just waved to another human being, enjoying a warm Italian night.