Almost four years ago, a North Italian woman warned me against moving to the south of Italy. “They’re closed-minded in Puglia! For a black woman like you, it’ll be impossible to fit in!” While I also had my concerns about moving from cosmopolitan London to an unfamiliar place, I didn’t let her words deter me: it’s hard for dark-skinned black women to fit in anywhere in the world. Though I’d later acquaint myself with the region’s bays, beaches, grottoes and gorges, my first stop was the mini-market in Sammichele di Bari, where a curly-haired cashier went out of his way to guide me around the tiny aisles. He then eagerly showed off his English skills in order to say, “welcome to Apulia!”
This cheerful hospitality wasn’t unique during my time in Italy, there were the kind strangers who helped me carry heavy bags and boxes home and the nurses at the local hospital saw me so often they lovingly referred to me as ‘nipotina’. My blackness was a curiosity at times and people would ask questions about my hair or my family’s history. Hints of exoticism also crept through, but I was relieved to never see the hateful and racist graffiti that sullies the walls in some of the cities further north. That didn’t mean bigotry was non-existent. In fact, visits to town halls, government offices and banks filled me with dread. When I shared my anxiety with white immigrants and even locals, they claimed it was the same for them too. However, there was an indescribable coldness, an unwillingness to assist me, that immediately changed to friendliness as soon as they learnt I was born in the UK, nominally European rather than part of the country’s overlooked and scapegoated African-born refugee population. The sneers became apologetic smiles as soon as they saw my Brexit-blue passport. In order to avoid this xenophobia, I began to say, “sorry if I don’t speak Italian well, I’m from England” at the start of every official appointment.
Not every person of colour in Puglia can rely on a connection to Europe in order to be treated with kindness, and it’s not right that I had to do it either. As time passed, I began to notice the warmth I was welcomed with was becoming more uncommon. The pandemic made things worse: I found myself educating (former) friends on why it’s never been okay to mock Asian facial features or make anti-Asian comments. In the same week that Giorgia Meloni, leader of the right-wing party Fratelli d’Italia became premier, I received abuse in the street for the first time. I spotted market traders started proudly selling Nazi merchandise and my landlord made multiple xenophobic comments. With the bigots becoming bolder, I no longer felt safe enough to stay.
There’s immense beauty in Puglia and I hold a special place in my heart for the days I strolled along the lungomare, sun on my face and a panzerotto in my hand. I’ll never forget the summers I spent in Salento nor the views across the Valle d’Itria. That’s why I hope the many open-minded and welcoming Pugliese people continue to outnumber those with prejudice in their hearts — Puglia is one of Italy’s prettiest regions and the ugliness of xenophobia has no place there, or anywhere else in the world.
A special thank you to my colleague and fellow writer Letitia Jarrett. Excellent guest blog that makes you think about another person's life and perspective. Stay tuned for more guest blogs.