Right across Italy, when you talk to a local they feign ignorance of the language. No English. No English. Not easy at all! However by a strange coincidence 99% of non Caucasian people largely hawkers selling water, flowers etc are Bangladeshis. Needless to say one made a beeline for them to get answers. The momentary nostalgia of a familiar tongue was delicious.
The Sunday I was in Rome was a mini disaster. The Giro del Italia , a national bicycle race was on and all traffic was diverted. My efforts to get onto the Hop on Hop off bus came to naught. I tried wending my way back nearabouts the hotel had me hopelessly lost running around in circles . No Bangladeshis on these routes I found. Walked almost 15 Kms before I reached a familiar place.
Our bus parked in the bus station in Sorrento as we looked for an eating place. A man sitting on a bench with a bunch of roses by his side spoke on the phone. Relief! He was a Bangladeshi and he happily guided us on routes and available cuisines. My compulsive desire to talk had me chatting with him instantly.
Badal had come to Italy 12 years ago. Interestingly on foot from Bangladesh. Through India, Pakistan, Afghanistan. Turkey, Russia, France and finally. Each of these places he was jailed as a paperless immigrant. He wished to return to his wife whom he wedded online . Finally he would leave this alien land with 50k Euros he had managed to save. He wanted to return home, buy a plot of land and start a business!
Home sweet home! After a long wait! A better life!