Sample Chapter: Work in Progress

Sample chapter for book proposal

This is a sample, I'm writing the book around this chapter because I feel more inspired that way.

Things to know- At this point in the story I had been in Italy for almost 5 years off and on. In 2020 I was a victim of domestic violence, and he tried to elbow his way back into my life in 2022 so the references to the carabinieri are because I reported him and it will be explained in the previous chapters. I have also done a lot of volunteer work with refugees which is an import part of other chapters, and also the reason I came specifically to Calabria.

The day I got my carta di soggiorno

Town: San Floro (CZ)

    It was February 2023, not particularly cold yet as the cold bites hardest in March and in recent years it has maintained its grip until late May- the seasons have shifted causing chaos in the agricultural sector. Citrus season was in full flow and there were oranges, mandarins and lemons everywhere. Winter here is not easy for different reasons to a northern winter, the humidity is so insane that last year my sun-dried tomatoes rehydrated themselves- I don’t have the budget to fill my kitchen with hipster mason jars, in fact in recent months I’ve all but abandoned my kitchen because of the humidity. I tried to be scientific about heating my apartment and lower the humidity with my disco dehumidifier which managed to extract a half a glass of water from my wardrobe in one evening, but I’ve lost the battle. There is nowhere in this town to get warm unless you know someone who has a real fire and chimney. I’ve burned enough bridges to be without fire this year. 

    Calabria is a semi-good choice for people who suffer from seasonal affective disorder. The landscape remains green, and around Christmas everything turns bright yellow with these little flowers that taste like sherbet if you chew the stems, but for obvious reasons please don’t chew on plants unless you know what it is! It's better by the coast as places higher up in the mountains  are often haunted by drifting dark clouds that engulf the whole town. Some cold but sunny mornings will bring a surprise to visitors as it occasionally appear that the sky and sea have switched places. A phenomenon called “Lupa di mare” -she wolf of the sea. Basically the sun warms the sea enough to create a dense blanket of cloud that hovers over the sea and beach, sometimes it will drift inland and cover whole cities. It’s quite spectacular but unnerving as up close you can see both under it and over it at the same time.

 The view from the road between Borgia to San Floro was spectacular, especially very early in the morning. The mists rising, valleys and forests and small abandoned farm houses with the sea glinting and shimmering in the distance. If one was to wake up early they would see an incredible sunrise, something that inspires you to say “it looks like something from a fantasy” only then to realise that it is real and you’re incredibly privileged to be there at the perfect moment to witness the mist rising, catching pink rays of sun on its way upwards. Leading up to the village was a hill covered with prickly pear cacti, something about these plants fills me with happiness. I love the way they will grow anywhere and after collapsing under their own weight they refuse to die and grow again in the middle of the road. When the sun goes down and we’re left with shadows, these huge plants take on a new dimension where they appear to be talking and gossiping. 

 Winter 2022/3 was a strange winter because we were all too scared of the electricity bill to warm our houses. The war in the Ukraine had put up prices for almost everything, especially wood pellets for heaters. The price had risen from 5.99 to 18.99 leaving many of us without heat. 

It wasn't cold outside, not for an English girl anyway but inside my house it was so cold that I couldn't bear staying in. I passed much of the winter standing around on street corners (I know what you’re thinking!) chatting with local men about the wild boar hunt. That might seem rather odd for a woman to do, but one of the hunters is the brother of a guy I briefly dated in error. He's a good guy so I felt safe chatting with these men, although I never actually joined the hunt. How do I feel ethically about hunting? Let's talk about that another time. As a wannabe anthropologist I don't want to alienate people with my opinions just yet. How do I feel about guns?! I also cannot answer that right now. I used to be a pacifist but I've had a strange anger filled summer which changed me on a molecular level, but that's a story for another chapter.

    This story concerns my first job of my 7 jobs in 2023. I had been taking money from my family, less than 500 euros a month during the pandemic but my father thought that giving me financial support was stopping me from getting a job. The real reason I didn't have a job was that I needed my carta di soggiorno or I couldn't be paid. I was told about this job by a beekeeping neurologist and ex vice mayor of Girifalco. We met in a bar for an interview and everything seemed fine. I explained my situation, that I was willing to work in the black until my work permit arrived, then I would require a contract. He agreed.

My boss, Luciano the only upholsterer for miles around, for the first week paid me with mandarins from his land which was not ideal, but I never complain when I'm paid in citrus- it's not the first time and the citrus here is the best in the world. Luciano was a short man, a bald man unable to let go of the days when he had long curly hair so he always wore a cap. He complained incessantly about women but not in a hateful way, and demanded daily to know the reason why they don't love him. At first he seemed like the type of person who could have been intelligent were it not for the circumstances of his birth which denied him the opportunity to develop a larger sense of the world. He often asked very philosophical questions but lacked the education, courage and curiosity to follow up on the necessary research to find the answers. "The only book worth reading is the Bible" he told me after I mistakenly told him he might enjoy reading if he tried. FACEPALM. After that I no longer considered him to have potential intelligence. He seemed to be like a lot of the other men of his generation here, they've lived lives dictated by fear of leaving the village and their lack of courage is notable. Vito Teti a Calabrian anthropologist - argues that staying can be an act of courage but in this case it would be the exact opposite. Men like him don't leave broken marriages when they're young enough to give each other the possibility of trying again. Men like him won’t travel because it's scary, not even to see family members in North Italy. During a break one day he confessed that he hadn't seen some family members for over 20 years simply because he was too scared to travel to Turin alone. Thinking out loud whilst digging holes to plant a chayote (cucuzza spinosa in dialect) he decided that we could go together as I have more experience of flying.

I've met a few like this here, men who could be persuaded to drive to another nearby village for the first time, if I was there too- but they would refuse to get out of the car for safety reasons.

    San Floro is a small semi-abandoned village in the hills and mountains near Catanzaro. The view is impressive, breath-taking really. I haven't been there at sunset but I can imagine that due to a gap in the mountains that block the afternoon winter sun, it would be beautiful. Catanzaro Lido is often lit up with a pink glow as the golden hour comes to an end. It is also home to a group of 3 young people who have continued the tradition of raising silk worms (Nido Di Seta)- in the past year this has really put San Floro on the map as Gucci have begun to invest in Calabrian silk. I had hoped to participate as a translator and tour guide, but 2023 had other plans.

I started working as an upholstery assistant in January, but I wasn't convinced by anything as I was experiencing a huge lack of trust in everyone I met. I agreed to try out for a few weeks, there were red flags immediately- but not having anything to do I decided to take a chance. I doubted our ability to work together almost immediately as he wasn't really doing any upholstery work, his son and daughter in law did most of it and he would disappear for hours leaving me alone with no tasks. It seemed rather that my main job was to listen to him complaining about how no one loves him. He would often go into his fields and fall asleep in a sunbeam and forget I was waiting in the workshop. One time we just did some gardening and called it day after he'd removed the weeds.

I had a few things to complete like pulling all the staples and nails out of an old fake baroque sofa. I cleaned the filthy workshop but my efforts were not appreciated. During these 3 weeks I did learn to sew leather around a steering wheel which seems like a skill I'd never need again, but I have employed this sewing technique to fix my broken shoes, so not all was lost.

    I was sitting there for hours some days writing in my journal and trying to figure out a way to contact the very professional and attractive carabiniere (Italian military police who helped me with a DV issue from a previous chapter) I'd met at Xmas but without reporting or committing any crimes. I called the station at one point but he wasn't there. I showed up at the barracks with a bag of artichokes one morning to subtly suggest that I can cook... He wasn't there. Periodically the ex wife of Luciano would walk past and yell at me for being useless, although she never actually spoke directly to me. I can use a sewing machine, but this was a huge industrial machine and due to lack of maintenance and tidiness it was broken. His attempt to fix it involved opening the machine front, stabbing it repeatedly with a screwdriver until a metal spring fell out. He tossed it in the trash and then decided the machine was fine. It was not fine.

I explained to him during the third week that my carta di soggiorno (work permit, necessary after Brexit) was available for collection in Catanzaro and I needed a lift to go and get it. (This will be explained in more detail in previous chapters). He agreed to help me, mostly because he didn't feel like working. We agreed to meet the next morning, Thursday at 8am in the bar, and we would go to Catanzaro, not into the city but to the huge state police complex outside the city. 

I still act like a Londoner even after 6 years so I arrived at the bar around 8am and he arrived after 9am. I got in the large blue people carrier he used to transport sofas and I explained clearly that I needed to be in Catanzaro before 11am. He assured me that everything would be fine and drove to Borgia to do some work. At this point I realised he wasn't taking me seriously, which was my fault- I should have known. He had to collect some car seats for re-upholstering and this took a while. Eventually we were on the road again, to San Floro but after arriving at his workshop he started to wander around doing nothing, which is a protected activity in south Italy. As he often would vanish for hours I was very insistent that we get moving because I didn't want to be late, even if it is an Italian tradition. 

Finally around 10.30 am we got back into the car and started driving out of San Floro. It’s a high up village with a steep and winding descent into a valley full of fields and forests. You can see everything all the way to Catanzaro from the bus stop.

Now if you're from South Italy you can probably imagine what happened next... Goats. The road was blocked with goats. This is very common across the Mediterranean and usually it's my favourite thing because I love goats. But this particular morning I was regretting my decision to ask him for help and feeling really on edge. The huge Maremmano dogs, side eyeing the car started reluctantly to move the goats out of the way, but as Luciano started to move the car forwards there was a bang underneath us. He said something to do with the brakes was broken. He started panicking and saying we need to turn around and go back. Thank the gods it was easier to go forwards, forwards was downhill and to return to San Floro would be an impossible ascent due to the steepness. He kept driving, descending into the valley and eventually pulled into a mechanics workshop in Caraffa, an Arbëreshë village near Catanzaro. Arbëreshë people are the descendants of Albanian refugees who fled Albania 500 years ago and settled in Italy. The old village of Caraffa is beautiful full of untameable mountain sides and dense forests and hills covered in succulents with huge pink flowers, but this section was more like an industrial park.

For 10-20 minutes Luciano and the mechanic tried to fix whatever was broken whilst I sat in the car trying to practice calm breathing. At least it's a good story I told myself and began practicing the narration for this moment now, everything is for my book. I live my life for the cinematic value. Everything is a story I told myself.

We started moving again, but immediately he drove into a traffic jam on a tight corner and refused to give right of way to an oncoming truck in a cramped street. This nearly led to a fight as the driver of the truck was gesticulating furiously and cursing. I was trying to be nice but I was so angry with Luciano. I maintained my calm and started imagining myself going alone the next thursday- the immigration office was only ope for document collection on Thursday morning.

We got closer to Catanzaro. I had explained clearly that I needed to go to the poly-functional state police complex building which was not inside in the main city- I had made this mistake once before and had no intention of making it again because its a chaotic windy city in the mountains, broken into sections and impossible to reach on foot and it’s also impossible to find a parking space if you have a car. The famous Catanzaro bridge is not a bridge you want to cross by accident and Catanzaro is the type of place where one needs a helicopter rather than a car.

Luciano decided that he knew better than me where to go. There was a big winding road, many lanes of traffic and an underpass that we needed to follow to get to the Police building. It was dangerous to walk there, and it was rather strange to put such an important building so far outside of the main city as most immigrants don’t have cars, there was no bus there. It was very dangerous to walk on the road as there was no pavement/sidewalk but it was the only option without a car. Luciano, whilst talking non-stop about his failings in love, took the overpass instead of the underpass. I started to shout in a frustrated panic that he had missed the turning and we were supposed to go under the bridge not over, I pointed backwards at the huge building under the bridge. No no no, he corrected me. The questura is in the city centre, he mansplained. "I've seen lots of coloured people there" he said. In a restrained raised voice I explained that I’ve already been there 3 times so I know where to go. He still didn't believe me but I was furious so he started driving to the main city to turn around and come back. Catanzaro is on a mountain and made up of awkward sections and bridges across deep valleys- the approach to the city reminds me a bit of the Spaghetti junction in the UK but with more opportunities for a scenic suicide. I was losing my fucking mind at this point and didn't think anything else could happen that hadn't already happened. How wrong could I be? 

As we drove over another bridge that seemed to float around the edge of the mountain his phone rang and he answered the call because driving and using a phone is not a crime unless you get caught. His daughter had literally just given birth in the hospital in Catanzaro. He had briefly mentioned something about her possibly going into labour in the morning but without the important details. So as I was trying to explain the directions to the police building he was both driving like a maniac and chatting on the phone to his son in law about the new baby and his daughter. As we turned around to head back to the underpass he started sobbing. "I don't care about the baby, but I'm glad my daughter is ok, you know, she's all I care about" he said as he sobbed and sniffled and corrected the comment about not caring about the baby. I was trying to connect with my normal empathy levels but I was very confused as to why he had agreed to help me knowing that his daughter was in labour. It was a bizarre situation. A normal father would cancel everything and go straight to the hospital no? I was annoyed that he hadn't just cancelled our trip to Catanzaro. Maybe that seems weird but I felt like he should have prioritized his daughter. If he had just told me the truth I could have gone alone or another day, I would have understood.

He sobbed and sniffled all the way to the police complex and we agreed to meet in 2 hours. 

It was nearly midday, which is a VERY risky time to start anything bureaucratic in south Italy because they usually go for lunch at 12.30. The immigration office was full of people from all over the world. I heard Mexicans, Ukrainians, Nigerians, Serbians. Of course I was the only British person. I wasn't fully focused on anything at this point due to the drama causing me to spin out. I stood awkwardly in the corner watching a Ukrainian kid play with a stuffed toy. I realized I knew one of the lawyers in the room, I'd met him at a live radio performance as he was in a rock band. I recognized a restaurant owner from Girifalco, he was getting documents for a worker.

I was very spaced out by the time they called my number and thankfully a fellow immigrant helped me figure out which queue to wait in. The police told me to go to the main complex after announcing my presence and handing them some documents. 

I walked into the main building and it was almost empty. I was sent to another part of the huge complex where I couldn't find anyone at all and I sat there in a corridor reading domestic violence pamphlets in 5 languages until a really young guy in civilian clothes appeared and took me into an office labelled *Forensics* to take my biometric data. Handprints and fingerprints, photos and some other stuff. I went back to the main office and the police prepared my carta di soggiorno. I remember hearing one police officer laugh and mention the name of the carabiniere I'd been trying to contact (refer to previous chapter). I was curious to know if my life drama was officially on record but I have never found the opportunity to ask. (That's a whole extra telenovela)

    As I was walking to the exit I started chatting with the guy who had helped me find the correct queue. He was tall, brown and roundish with long curly hair tied back and a black beard, ethnically ambiguous. I swear I had heard him tell the officials that he was from the Ukraine which seemed unlikely considering his Mediterranean looks. I asked, and honestly the answer left me feeling really sad. He was originally Palestinian, a refugee from generations of refugees, but he had been studying in Ukraine when he was forced to leave because of the war. How many times can one person be a refugee? Thankfully because Ukrainian refugees were treated a bit better he had been able to quickly transfer his medical studies to a university in Calabria. I would have liked to know more, but as I was feeling a bit shaken by the chaos of the day I didn't continue the conversation. I do regret that, he would have been an interesting person to know.  

I went and sat by an unused bus stop to wait for Luciano, the view was an impressive mix of dramatic beautiful horizons, endless skies, ugly buildings and stray cats. Obviously it started snowing and he wasn't responding to messages. I waited there for almost an hour, sitting on my hands or pacing up and down, watching the polizia come and go before I finally walked to a bar for a coffee. Eventually he arrived after two hours and we had a very awkward lunch in the bar. I was not in the mood for the conversation I needed to have with him. I told him we should cancel work for the day and that he should be with his daughter in the hospital. He took me back to Girifalco and returned to Catanzaro,

The next day we were in his small dusty workshop and he was trying to fix the sewing machine he broke a few weeks earlier. He was still adamant that I didn't know how to sew even though I had made a collection of samples on a functioning machine. The machine foot was no longer connected to anything as he had thrown away the spring that connected it. Dressed in my overalls like Rosie the riveter but with a panino in hand, I decided to broach the conversation, asking if this job was a real job and would there be a contract. He laughed in my face and said there was never going to be a contract, half his business is in the black (doesn't pay taxes) and he had no intention of paying me a decent wage. I was both shocked and not shocked as I explained everything that I needed from an employer in the job interview, he had agreed to my request and he had been recommended to me by someone who I trusted, he was also very well known in the area, well known also to the Carabinieri. He continued to argue that I can't sew and there was no point in paying me. There was no point in arguing. Why am I here then? I asked... I didn't really get  much of a response but the answer was obvious. He was lonely and wanted company. That was why he often didn't do any work and just talked and talked and talked... Ana Rosa, the free therapist. Plus it creates a bit of gossip to have a pretty assistant. He reluctantly handed me 50 euros with a bitter laugh, the laugh of someone who has been caught out. I went outside and called a friend who agreed to help me rewrite my curriculum in Italian.

I quit and went home. By the beginning of March I had managed to find a job in the bar where I was a regular... a new chapter.