Roma Soup Kitchen - BRACE YOURSELF... its a long one!

    I've always adored doing community service from the time I got to St. John's University and St. John's Roma is no exception. In fact, today may be one of the best experiences I have had doing community service thus far in my life (I have done a lot! trust me!) The soup kitchen St. John's brought us to is located in what many may refer to as a "poor" section of Rome, right outside of the metro station stop Termini (the main train station). Going from Lepanto (where campus is located) to the Soup Kitchen is like venturing into a different world. The area around campus is clean and safe, you do not really see many homeless people at all. Walking directly out of Termini station you cannot walk five feet without walking by or next to a homeless man or woman. It reminded me a lot of NYC. You walk into Time Square or Rockefeller Center area and you may run into one or two homeless people, but for the most part the Police are constantly shooing them away. Yet, if you walk a few blocks down towards Central Park or dare venture into certain parts of Brooklyn, Queens or the Bronx it is a totally different story. Soup Kitchens in Brooklyn have lines going way out the door, men, women and children alike on street corners with their cups out begging for change. In New York City you can walk down Wall street and see one of the worlds millionaires wearing his Gucci suit and carrying a briefcase, but walk a few blocks in the opposite direction and you will see a man covered in blankets his only comfort his labrador retriever. Rome is no different. By campus we see men and women hurrying on their way to work or to grab a nice lunch, we go a few metro stops away to Termini, and we see people on the streets barely surviving.
    The soup kitchen in Rome is designed to feed dinner to several hundred people a night. The people have to have proper documentation (they cannot be in Italy illegally) and must sign in before they get their food in order to be sure they do not eat more than once. Some actually stay overnight in the facility, which is located in a different part of the building and those people will wake up in the morning to get breakfast at a different shelter, before many of them spend the day searching for jobs. The majority of people in the soup kitchen getting dinner tend to be middle age men, some women, some elderly and few children. I learned today a lot of the people are immigrants from other countries such as Peru, Morocco, Africa and Sri Lanka. Most all speak fluent Italian and many also know English.
    The last time I was at this soup kitchen in Rome I was put on tray duty. In other words, I handed the trays to the men and women that came in to get dinner. I had little interaction with the people, but I could tell I was making a small difference and to me that was worth it. Tonight, Nora, Anthony, Adrian, Vanessa and I were put on water duty while Ricardo and Danny were put on door duty and Nicole was put on desk duty. Some local Italian High School students were doing to food serving and a few helped us with water and translation. Our task was to fill the water jugs and replace them at the tables the people were sitting at when they were empty. At first I was pretty bummed. I was convinced the only way to interact with the people was to serve them food directly. Well, I was very wrong.
     To detail every last experience I had myself or the group of ten or so people had today would be impossible. Each of us, at least the ones on "water" duty had at least one story to share about their interaction with a local Italian. I am mostly going to touch on Nora and I's experience because those were the experiences I saw first hand and impacted me the greatest.
     Before starting our water duty, we learned a few Italian phrases. "Ciao" of course is a casual hello. "Buenos Sera" is a more formal hello. "Grazie" is thank you. "Prego" is you're welcome and "Tuti Bene?" Is everything okay? We were all encouraged to interact with the locals if they wanted to and if they asked us to sit down to sit down and talk with them. For some, it would be their only positive interaction with another person all day. I was extremely excited about this and did not waste a minute trying to jump right in.
      For anyone that knows me, I do NOT excel at other languages! But I was able to master these few phrases and they seemed to go a long way. I actually did not realize how much Spanish I have picked up from Adrian always speaking it to me (and teaching me little phrases) until today when some of the people were saying Spanish phrases to me or when I understood what people were saying in Italian because of the little Spanish I have picked up from Adrian. In fact, one of the first persons I spoke to knew Italian and Spanish, but not English. He asked if I knew anyone here that spoke Spanish or  did I speak Spanish myself and I quickly said "Un momento!" and ran to get Adrian. The man ended up being an immigrant from Lima Peru (the same place our friend Eduardo is from) where his native language was Spanish. The man lit up while speaking with Adrian and though I could only understand a little of what they were speaking about, it was a beautiful thing to watch their interaction. I could not help but wonder how long that man had gone without speaking his native language and the impact Adrian was having on him without even realizing it.
       Adrian engaged in about a twenty minute conversation with the Peruvian man, learning about why the man was here in Italy and his culture back in Peru. A few minutes later, a group of four other Peruvian men, none in which knew each other from back in Peru, sat down at the table. Adrian was able to engage in conversation with all of them. It amazed me the connection knowing the same language can have.
      The first man I personally spoke to called me over and asked me to sit down at his table. He spoke broken English so I had to listen closely and try and figure out what he was trying to tell me via hand motions and gestures. He drew me a map on a piece of paper and slowly explained he was an immigrant from Sri Lanka. I have heard of Sri Lanka before, but knew nothing other than the name of the country. He told me it is near India and his people have been at war since the 1950's. There are two groups in Sri Lanka he explained and they fight constantly, his wife was killed a mist the brutal attacks. He took his daughter and they fled the country, but eventually he ended up in Italy and she ended up as a refugee in Australia. He said his daughter and him had no choice but to be separated. Australia would not take him as a refugee and though they wanted to go to the United States, they were unable to get papers. His daughter is twenty-four now and has been in Australia working for almost two years. She does not have enough money to buy her own place or to pay for her father to come to Australia. For now, this man lives on the streets of Italy and until his daughter can afford to pay for him to go and live in Australia, this is where he will be. He is all alone and will probably die on the streets of Italy.
      A common theme among the poor and homeless here in Italy is their goal is to get to the United States. I felt so torn between ultimate sadness and pride in my country today. So many immigrants and poor Italians said to me or to Nora they have always dreamed of going to the United States, New York City in particular, but it is impossible. Nora had an especially eye opening experience with a man from Africa. He was a little older then us, grew up in Africa near Nigeria, and ended up in Italy in order to escape the social and political violence of his home land. He told Nora he was obsessed with American politics (Nora actually called me over to engage with him in a political discussion). Nora said one of the things he said to her that she will never forget all her life was, "I follow American politics because when America does bad, we all do bad. America is the center of the world." He said he has tried to get his papers to go to the United States for years, but it seems quite impossible now. He hates it in Italy and said the people are not accepting of him. His favorite country visiting so far was Germany, he said the people were the most welcoming. He had also traveled to Spain, Morocco and Switzerland. Italy is the only place he can afford right now, but he hates it here because of the way he is treated. He explained many Italians and French despise any English speaking countries and most definitely America. He said that the French in particular hate America and everything it stands for.
     I asked him his thoughts on President Obama and he shook his head no. He said he liked him at first, but the economy in America has taken a turn for the worst. "What do you think about the Tea Party?" He asked me. I was stunned, a majority of my friends in college are clueless about the Tea Party. "Very conservative." I smiled and laughed. "I am a democrat..." I joked with him. "Me too" he responded. "Democrats stand for freedom." I laughed again and told him he was very well spoken. He knew all the GOP candidates and even asked me what ever happened to Sarah Palin. He questioned the fact there are not any women still in the race for the upcoming election and I joked back..."Well, it might be America, but women are still not always considered equals to men!" Nora laughed along too... knowing I am a extreme feminist.
     Nora spoke with this man for much longer than I did before I got there. He told her a lot about Africa and said he dreamed of going to Los Angeles since he was a little boy. He finished High School in Africa, but even if he came to America as a college graduate of Africa, he would never find a job. If he wanted to ever be successful in America, he would have to get into an American University, but he has no money or papers anyway. It was emphasized more then once that we are BLESSED to have been born in America.
      Some people came into the soup kitchen well dressed, in suits and ties. While others looked and smelled like that hadn't showered in days. One woman had a baby in a stroller, another man from Bangladesh spoke about his wife and child to me. That same man told me, "You are not American. No one is American. You are either German, Irish, Italian, Mexican, etc...No one in America is American." I just listened, afraid to respond. He then began to speak about Iraq and Afghanistan. "You don't know Iraq, Iran and Afghanistan." he said. "Um, yes I do sir." I responded. "No, you fight war with them, yet you do not know them." He insisted. "I know we are fighting a war with them sir." I responded politely. He chuckled, but I could tell he was angry. "You do not know Afghanistan and Iraq." he said sternly. I did not argue. "Okay." I said. It is true, not everyone loves America.
     Another man named Thomas spoke to me about how he visited New York City when he was younger and it was beautiful, but no one spoke Italian. He was frustrated that he could not communicate at all while in America and therefore never wanted to go back. He said Little Italy and Times Square were his favorite parts of New York, but the food in little Italy was disgusting. "Your pizza is too much. Too thick. Ew!" And here I spend everyday complaining that their pizza is too thin and crunchy! Nora spoke with a man that was a painter and he showed her some of his sketches. They were amazing, I caught a glimpse myself.
    I could have spent all day in this soup kitchen, observing and chatting. In fact, the hours flew by. Before I knew it it was 8pm and we had to go. I got so much out of speaking with the locals.
     I was not so much proud of America, but proud of where I come from. I thought about my Grandparents and Great Grandparents a lot today. My mom made a comment to me last night how proud my Nana would be that I am in Italy...going from 15th Street in Troy New York to Rome, Italy. It is the American dream...and I have had the pleasure of living it. My Great-Grandparents for the most part came over here on boats from Germany or Ireland. Most of my Grand-Parents were first generation, children of at least one immigrant. My Grand-Parents made something of themselves in America so that their children could have a better life. In return, my parents made something of themselves so I could have a better life. And in return of that, I need to make myself a better person to honor their sacrifice and handwork. Many of the people in the Italian Soup Kitchen tonight were immigrants. Their dream was to go to America, to bring their kids to America and to break the cycle of hunger and poverty.
       Most of them, will never see the day that cycle is broken. And here I am, in Rome Italy. Going to a fabulous University, studying for my dream job. No, I may not ever be a millionaire or be making six figures, but I will never go hungry. My family worked their butts off to get me here. I cannot help but think about the man from Africa I spoke to about American politics. He spoke four languages and seemed so driven, but could not find a job because of where he comes from and the color of his skin. What if instead of being born in Africa he was born in Upstate New York? What if he had the chance to go to the High School I went to and study the things I have been able to study? Would he still be in this soup kitchen? Would he still be on the streets?
      I despise when people say the poor are lazy or useless. Yes, some poor people are. BUT there are some people out there that NEVER had a chance. These people were never pushed, were never encouraged and were born into this way of life. I was born well-off. We are often times products of our circumstance, yet we continue to abuse our privileges and overlook our blessings. I got frustrated tonight at the end of our soup kitchen experience because I was not sure if everyone in our group got that message.
    You are not holding that iPhone or typing on that MacBook because you earned it.. you have these luxuries because your PARENTS or Grand-Parents earned them and you were born in the United States of America. I was born with everything at my fingertips and it is easy to forget not everyone was born that way. If I sit and really look at my life...the problems and arguments I have had with my parents over the years...its seems REALLY dumb. From the day I was born I have had it all...and the people at the Roma Soup Kitchen tonight were not given that same gift. I cannot help but think WHY? Why Me? Why am I so lucky?
     I believe that should probably be my mission in life. Figure out WHY I am here and frankly, how I can help those who have not been given the same gifts that I have. Some of the people at the soup kitchen tonight were businessmen and women that lost everything in a tough economy. Others, had nothing from the very start. If I were to lose everything tomorrow who would I be? And at the end of the day....who would be there to catch my fall?
     Well, this turned out to be a lot longer then I expected. I hope I did not bore you too much. I have a lot to think about tonight and if you get anything out of my Blog I hope you get this....Be thankful for all of your gifts and never forget where you have come from..... and most of all... who has sacrificed and worked hard for you to have gotten where you are today.
      Thank you all for reading. I hope you had a lovely day!

XOXO Shann