borrow from Clare Barison, a new piece on the separation and elastic on the heart of women and men who live in countries emigration, a beautiful piece.
but it is not only a matter of emigration, we are a migrant people, and we say "out of sight out of mind"
in Africa do not say, do not you think, this proverb does not exist.
[...] No, no country had held me down like Senegal. And it is here in this land that I thought about the separation. Selfish impose my joints but poorly tolerated those who love you. Live departures with pain, tears that heal slowly tearing. And my Senegal, made by special people that could not be without them. Yes, this really is the place for selfish minds. People can not leave. The Senegalese have the right to travel like us. In many cases they will be forced to imprisonment within their own borders. No. I'm not the only one selfish. There are a lot of Europeans here are selfish, fragile, with a strong possibility to leave at any time, but sure that the world will be built there, still, where it was built. Employee a sense of our presence or our absence. Then the Senegalese love, share, gioiscono, soffrono e poi vedono partire e tornare e ancora partire e poi tornare e ripartire e mai più tornare. Il cuore, diventato ormai elastico, si contrae e si rilassa. Qui non è permesso soffrire per una separazione, per un viaggio, altrimenti sei destinato a morire. Qui si vive la speranza. La speranza che tanto prima o poi chi parte tornerà; che la persona amata continui ad amare per tutto il tempo della sua assenza; che magari un giorno aiuterà anche l'amato a partire; che un lieto fine, cazzo, quello sì dovrà arrivare. Rimane il telefono e poi Skype. Gli appuntamenti sono di fronte ad un PC e sempre con il cuore in gola, troppa la paura che non vi sia corrente o che dall'altra parte del telefono la persona non risponda or to respond to say: "Sorry but it's better if you do your life." What an ugly twist of fate end up being born in a country where you are forced into captivity. And the Senegalese, as prisoners, looking out the bars and dream, imagine distant places and different lives and ponder endless escape routes free from the bondage of hoping, to discover, learn, hoping to find loved ones far away or, more simply, their themselves. And then, as in prison, there are visits, loved ones, free, arriving at times to get hot, time for a while and then off again. And waiting for the Senegalese daily and live apart. Anxiety and stifling sobs and tears in closed rooms with old wrapped in colorful veils that caress teen faces saying that this is normal, that sooner or later people will return. And 'no, fuck, this is not normal. There is nothing normal in this slow and prolonged pain.
Again, be selfish, I always wanted my own little world Senegalese remained unchanged over time, people and places to stay there where I left them on every departure because, after all, was not even saying that I loved in Senegal, but the people who I had met who had made this place magical and special. And yet, year after year, as a Senegalese, I was confronted with unexpected departures and separations and separations. And I did not understand anything at first. Joy of people to flee, preparing for a trip, often hidden, and the slow, grueling countdown toward that day when I would see from a friend knowing that maybe I would not see again. Those who leave often can not return, will be the fate for him to decide if and when. In the worst cases, no one says anything, just a phone call, like Aly, "Hello Chiara, I Aly. I am in Belgium. I wanted to tell you that you were one of the people that I wanted any more. Do not forget you ". And my astonishment, but how, Aly, one of my dearest friends, we laughed together yesterday and today as a Sandaga, how can you call me and tell me that you're gone and I never understood anything mentre tu stavi preparando la fuga? E' dura. E penso allora a chi lo vive quotidianamente, alle madri, ai padri, alle fidanzate. Che dolore maggiore sarebbe stato se Aly, invece che un amico, fosse stato il mio promesso sposo? Come avrei potuto sopravvivere la notte? Questo è il Senegal. E questa l'ingiustizia taciuta, quotidiana, normale che invece non è normale. E i senegalesi accettano e mandano giù e accolgono e covano la rabbia dentro il loro cuore, per chi viene ed è libero e che poi magari se ne innamorano pure, di chi viene, del bianco e sono costretti pure a dover giustificare il loro amore dalle paure paranoiche di chi pensa sia solo per interesse, dalla gelosia, dall'invidia, dalla partenza di chi si ama e che ancora, magari, preso dalla paura di una fuga dell'altro, scappa prima che sia troppo tardi. Tanti europei egoisti sono stati accolti in Senegal, uomini e donne che non vogliono liberare gli amati per paura di scoprire se l'amore che li lega sia vero o meno, accecati dalla paura che chi si ama scappi, finalmente liberato da un permesso di soggiorno tanto atteso. [...]
Dakarlicious è il blog di Chiara
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