conversation with a Senegalian

While I'm writing about the subject, I recently had a bit of a conversation with a fellow immigrant in Via Dante. He was one of the Senegalian booksellers who pound the pavement in the wealthier areas of Milan selling books about African culture. I've always wondered how this works, where the books come from and where the money goes. I've never bought one of the books, but the sellers are always so cheerful that I frequently end up talking to them.

Last Thursday I had sat on a bench in Via Dante to listen to some street musicians, and I knew in sitting down I would attract the booksellers, if I was lucky also a couple of rose vendors and the guys that want to tie bracelets to your wrists. After a few minutes a bookseller approached me, said hi, and asked if I had ever been to Africa.

"Yes," I said.
He looked up, surprised, "Where?"
"Kenya, a long time ago."
"Ah, I'm from the other part."
"Senegal?"
"How did you know?"
I wanted to say something like everyone who has ever tried to sell me a book has been from Senegal but then I thought that was inappropriate, so I said, "I guessed!"

He tried for a bit to sell me a book but I told him I didn't want one. He tried to sell me a children's book, but I told him the children in my family didn't speak Italian. Then he got interested and asked me where I was from. He started trying to speak a little English, and I listened and helped him (I am a professional, after all).

He said he had been in Milan for a year. I asked him if he wanted to stay and he said that if he makes enough money he'll go back to Senegal and if not he'll remain in Milan. He said he missed Senegal, its ocean and la gente allegra. In Milan everything was different. I agreed with him there, the people here are grumpy and rushed, and that day I had been feeling a bit down about the milanese atmosphere.

He said he was trying to learn English. I asked him what languages he knew, and he said French ("Because they were our colonizers, but here no one speaks it"), Wolof, Italian, and a little bit of English. He introduced himself then, but I, being forgetful, let his name slip out my other ear. He told me he was always in Via Dante, so I should come back. I said, Maybe. He said, "Thank you," and I asked him how to say your welcome in French, and he said "De rien." Then he said, "If you come back to Via Dante, I will teach you French and you can teach me English." This set my imagination whirling with all sorts of fantastic scenarios, but I said, "Alright, we'll see."

So that's my story, two extracomunitari having a conversation. I'd like to know more about what he thinks of Italy and its gente, who he knows here, where his family is, where he plans to go if Italy doesn't work. I'd like to know what drove him to come here, to this place that puts up posters saying that he's a thief and a criminal. Mainly I'd just like to talk, because I think it's the best defense against prejudice, especially my own.