Start Hibernation

It's chilly here. And not much is going on here, but I will sally forth with this new blog entry, as I don't want to leave my few-but-faithful readers out in the cold. So to speak.



The past few weeks have been totalllyyyy consumed by my attempts to navigate the bureaucracy that is the Italian immigration system. It looks like I'm going to be spending some more time here, so it's the season to re-start the process, which is a nightmare. My activities have taken place in three different spots:
The Questura, which is the police headquarters (Italy has a bunch of different types of police, but these are the ones who control immigration). This place is miserable. I'd call it worse names but I'm worried that some Questura spy will find this and refuse to let me stay in Italy, so I'm just going to say that this is a decidedly not-fun place. The Questura can take someone like me - basically smothered in privilege thanks to race and nationality - and make me feel confused, overwhelmed, disrespected, and anxious. Entering the building is like getting a zoomed-in view of real desperation - I may not feel it, but it's written all over the faces of everyone else in there, most of whom are in Italy because of dire economic or political circumstances.
Then there's the Prefettura (Prefecture), which is some kind of official governing body. They should technically have the expertise to answer lots of questions about immigration, and have all sorts of labyrinth-like hallways in which you can have the privilege of a 4 or 5 hour wait before even seeing an official. You go to the Prefettura if you need to figure out what you have to do at the Questura. They used to be connected (like, in the same building) but about a month ago the Questura was moved to a godforsaken spot, basically on an isolated dirt pathway, outside the city. Luckily for us, however, the Prefettura hasn't moved an inch.
The CGIL, or Italian General Confederation of Labor. This is one of Italy's three major unions - it's the Communist one. For various reasons, they have the most detailed, efficient immigrant support system (including free Italian classes). There is an extremely chaotic office that manages work queries for immigrants, including legal stuff, and this is about to become my new home: I have been advised to visit every day until the first week in December, because work quotas will be released without warning, and it's a first-come, first-serve situation. They already know me. The cool thing about this office, which makes me a little homesick, is the fact that the staff members come from all over the world - as they should, because they need to communicate with the workers who come through the door. It's one of the rare places here that employs a diverse staff - people from North Africa, Ethiopia, Eritrea, the Middle East, Asia, South America, Eastern Europe. Yay! (I may not be cheering for them once they start despising me for my constant presence.)



Aside from all of that stuff, which is really stressful, it's nice to know that I want to be here for a little while longer. Or a long while longer? Well, who knows. But when it came to make this decision, about a month ago, it dawned on me that I've been here for a year. And despite all the tough parts, it's been worth it - I really do feel as if I've created a life here, and I'm pretty proud of that. I'm not ready to give it up yet, either! So I'll be back at CGIL tomorrow. And the day after.



If you've actually made it through all of that nonsense, here's an anecdote from my day today. It's become a regular joke at work that I should just marry one of my coworkers to end all of this immigration-related stress. Of course, the big question is WHICH ONE I'd marry. Amid all this joking, Massimo (one of my favorites - hi, Massimo!) decided to give me a lesson about love and relationships. It's called, "La Legge del Cornuto Contento" - the law of the happy betrayed person. It is as follows: Everyone betrays sooner or later, regardless of any discussion of true love or whatnot. The secret is to make sure that your boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse never finds out - making him/her BETRAYED, yet HAPPY, at least in ignorance. And the final secret: deny, deny, deny, even if the evidence is in full view.
Keep in mind that this was related to me at a lunch table full of coworkers, male and female, ranging from about 25 to 60 years old - and everybody agreed. (Except the American, of course, Puritan Emma: "I don't know if it's always that way." Massimo: "It doesn't matter what you know or don't know. Your thoughts are irrelevant in this case. It's a law, and it's always true.")

Oh well. The cultural learning curve is long.