As promised, I wanted to give at least a short description of mass at the St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City.  The day started out early, especially given our late night New Year’s Eve celebrating, but hey, seeing the Pope is probably a once in a lifetime event.  We met up with our trip coordinator who had valiantly arisen even earlier to get a good spot in line.  She was up near the front when we arrived around 7:45.  The plaza itself is breathtaking, and was even more stunning with the sunrise lighting it up.  When the security gates were opened to start letting people in, nuns and others were witnessed running full speed past people in order to get the best seats.  Jokes were exchanged about how this was the most excited to attend mass people had seen others in a long time.   Upon entering the Basilica, we secured excellent seats right next to the walkway where the Pope and others would be passing.  After securing the seats, we had plenty of time to look around and marvel at the exquisite detail and ornateness of the Basilica, as well as the sheer grandeur of it.  The Basilica is approximately two football fields long, and features beautiful seeming paintings of various biblical scenes, which we later learned are all actually incredibly detailed mosaics.  Waiting for the Pope to enter felt to me like waiting for a bride to enter at a very important wedding.  The crowd was like a giant sea of paparazzi–cameras, ipads, phones, etc. were everywhere!  I got a great photo when he exited, which I have included.  The ceremony itself was very long, and as it was in Latin, difficult to stay attentive.  Nevertheless, the experience was memorable and awe-inspiring.  Afterward, we listened to the Pope’s customary address from the window of the Papal apartments out in the square which was filled with thousands of people.  As I do not speak Italian, I did not follow most of the speech, but know that he spoke about the importance of “fraternite” (brotherhood) in this trying time in the world.  Of all the world events of this past year, I think one of the most hopeful and positive has been the work of this new Pope, so it was particularly special to have the opportunity to see him in person here in Rome.  Also, he has taken specific steps to show that the refugee situation is an important one to him, such as making his first visit outside of Vatican City to Lampedusa, the Italian island where near 300 refugees drowned last year in a shipwreck off the coast.  We also learned today that he visited the Centro Astalli organization’s shelter in the city, insisting on visiting during the breakfast peak hour when the most people are there, and personally embracing each individual in the line.  So not a bad start at all.  Stay tuned–more on the Centro Astalli visit today, and trip to the one women’s shelter in the city tomorrow morning.

It’s early Saturday morning here in Rome, and we are preparing to head back to Fiumicino airport for our flight to Malta!  The flight is only about one hour, and the weather is reportedly warmer there.   Time to go, so I will post more soon on our visit in the past few days to two other refugee centers here in Rome.

I am sad to say we are leaving Rome behind. Although I think arriving in Malta will make me feel better. The past few days have been a whirlwind of Roman ruins, Catholic Churches and tons of gelato. I’ve walked so much I’ve worn a hole in my shoe! One highlight was the Gesu, an important Jesuit church where St. Ingnatius of Loyola is buried. Another was the orange gardens, situated on a hill overlooking the city. We were there at dusk and had a picturesque view of Rome becoming lit up. It was the perfect way to spend our last night.

I have also learned quite a lot about the refugee situation here in Rome. We visited both a men’s and a women’s shelter and although we did not meet any refugees, we learned about their entry process into the country. As a natural born citizen of a country, I cannot even begin to comprehend how it must feel to be forced to leave everything behind in my homeland only to live as an unwelcome guest in a foreign country. This experience has made me realize how lucky I am.

Lots of catching up to do!

The visit to the Centro Astalli (Jesuit Refugee Services is the name of the international organization) was informative and eye-opening.  We first met with a representative who related some of the history of JRS’s origins, as well as the current workings of the legal processing of political asylum permissions in Italy.  The process can be very long and bureaucratic, which especially for a person coming to a country not speaking the language and with nothing is a very daunting challenge.  While an applicant is waiting for their case to be reviewed by a commission, which can take as long as a year-and-a-half, he or she is not able to do much of anything.  There are some shelters available through various organizations as well as municipally-run facilities, but these could be as minimal as tents with beds, and are normally only available to applicants from evening until morning, when they are compelled to leave.  After our orientation, we visited the soup kitchen where the Pope had recently gone, located in the basement of a building.  It was very basic and relatively small.  We also visited a men’s shelter farther away from the center called San Saba, also administered by JRS.  It was originally the movie-theater of an old church, now converted into a center housing 30 men.  We did not really meet any refugees here, but were shown around the building, which in this case was very clean and simple.

The following day, we traveled all the way to the last stop on the metro line, in order to visit one of JRS’s few shelters for women.  The long distance immediately struck us as much more isolated and less convenient for those seeking work or assistance in the city.  It housed approximately the same number of people as San Saba, and was tucked away off of the road in a very beautiful and quiet environment.  We met another worker here who informed us about the shelter, facilities offered, what kind of work the women do, countries of origin, etc.  Though both of these meetings were very informative, it felt somewhat awkward to be intruding into their personal space.  We were not introduced formally to any of the refugees, and it did not seem as though they had been forewarned of our visit, as opposed to JNRC, in the case that they may not want to be present.

The flight to Malta was about an hour and a half, and it felt wonderful to step off the airplane into warm air and sunshine!  Malta has a very unique and amazing history and therefore combination of many different cultural influences.  For example, the Maltese language is a combination of Arabic and Italian.  As they were most recently colonized by the British, English is the other official language.   Last night we met representatives from Malta’s JRS chapter, who showed a documentary called “Mare Chiuso,” or Closed Sea.  It was about some of the refugees who had attempted to seek asylum in Italy by traveling across the Mediterranean from Libya by ship, which is a major passageway for asylum-seekers.   Because this was in 2009, the year that Berlusconi made an agreement with Quaddafi to prevent any refugees from escaping Libya to Italy, the refugees were intercepted by the Italian coast guard and handed over to Libyan authorities, after which they were thrown into prison and only managed to escape (s0me, that is) when the war in Libya broke out.  This is a violation of the international law of “non-refoulement,” which says that people seeking political asylum cannot be taken anywhere that their life or freedom might be threatened.  Some of the refugees who made it to a camp on the border of Tunisia were later allowed passage to Italy or monetarily compensated, but this was a small compensation for the tribulations they suffered due to this “Pushback” policy.

After the documentary we went to a local restaurant/community center for mainly Eritreans and Ethiopians and enjoyed some delicious food and drink over conversation of politics in the Horn of Africa since colonial times, human-trafficking, etc.

More on the visit to a Jesuit Community Church of mostly Nigerians this morning to come.

Part of our coursework is to keep a field journal recording observations of our visits to refugee centers in detail, and reflecting on our personal experience.  Thus, please forgive my over- or under-reporting of events, since I am essentially keeping two different journals with two different purposes and intended audiences.

On Sunday, we attended Catholic mass at the Jesuit Community Chapel near the University of Malta.  This was quite different than the Papal Mass we attended on New Years’ Day in Rome.  There were approximately 35 people in attendance, mostly originally from Nigeria.  We soon made friends with the children in attendance, even having the opportunity to hold and pass around several adorable babies.  We were surprised at how the mothers did not seem at all anxious or worried that their babies were being passed around by complete strangers for quite a long time.  During the mass, there was a lot of singing, and at the end one man even got out a drum and everyone was clapping and swaying back and forth.  After the mass, we headed downstairs to the “reception” of sorts, where tea, coffee, and sweets were offered.  Everyone went around the room and introduced themselves and their country of origin.  Then, to our complete surprise, one of the leaders of the group stood in the center of the room and asked all of the newcomers to stand up one by one.  A sort of friendly interview then took place, where he would ask a series of questions such as “what is your favorite food,” “what is your hobby,” “what is your favorite color,” etc.  He was very playful and would repeat the answers to his “audience” over his shoulder or make jokes about the responses.  Though I was nervous about being put on the spot in such a way amidst a room full of strangers, the process was very welcoming and by the end we felt like part of the community.

Over the past few days we have heard presentations from a number of individuals involved in different aspects of the refugee situation.  Some of these include: the director of Jesuit Refugee Services Malta, the Refugee Commissioner responsible for determining whether or not an applicant receives refugee status, a Police official who handles arriving “boat people” (as most Maltese refer to them), the head of Maltese Emigration Commission (ironically established to assist Maltese emigrants to other countries post WWII, but converted to assisting migrants in the 80’s), inhabitants of the Balzan Open Center where migrants are transferred after detention, the director and a psychologist social worker at Marsa, an NGO-run open center, and inhabitants of Balzan and Marsa.  It has been useful and important to hear from all of these different perspectives, and to try to fit them all together into one concept of the process as a whole.  There is a great deal of fear, ignorance, suspicion etc. on the part of the Maltese, including some who fear that the Africans are coming to “take over” their island, others who have, according to a few of the migrants we spoke to, sincerely asked them if they have a sky or water in Africa, etc.  But there are also many Maltese who provide clothing, shelter, donations, or most importantly, their time to refugees and migrants.  It has been hard on a number of levels to speak to migrants.  Many are understandably suspicious of us, fearful, or perhaps angry with foreigners in general.  They have risked their lives, been through unimaginable hardship, and have been treated as criminals upon first arrival to Europe.  We have tried to be as respectful as possible in our visits, but on a certain level, no matter how good your intentions are, there is no way to communicate that to a person who does not share your language, has been through such turmoil, and is in a foreign and seemingly hostile place.  We have mostly seen and spoken with young men, most from Somalia.  Given their experience, I can say that I have been amazed at their spirit of optimism and if not outright “friendliness,” at least openness to speaking frankly with us and answering any of our questions.  The discussions that we have had have also been hard on a personal and emotional level.  It is challenging to know what to ask and how to respond to the answers that we get.  For example, one of the young Somali men, when asked about family, told us that his older brother was “slaughtered,” and that because of this his mother encouraged him to flee Somalia.  It is impossible to find any appropriate words to respond to something like that.

The center that we visited today in Marsa currently houses approximately 400 people, mostly young men between the ages of 18 and 22.  Because the administration of this center is contracted out to a private NGO rather than being run directly by the government it is reportedly one of the best centers.  If this was the best center it is painful to think of what the others are like.  We will be visiting one tomorrow which is run directly by the government and reputedly very bad.  Today’s center has 16-22 men to a room, who are each allowed one bunk of a bunk-bed and a gym-sized locker for belongings.  There are language and other classes which have recently been made compulsory, as well as other services designed to assist the men in integrating into the society and becoming “self-sufficient.”  If I have not already mentioned it, it is important to note that any individual caught entering Malta “irregularly” is immediately detained in what is essentially a prison, where they cannot do anything except await the decision on their application for asylum.  The decision can take up to a year, and when it is made they are released to an open center.  So there is essentially no point of detaining them in such conditions for so long, other than to try to deter migrants from coming to Malta.  So back to the conditions at Marsa: the men are allowed to come and go as they please, but there is a security gate and pretty foul-smelling canal surrounding the premises so that only those who are registered can enter.  At night, the area in front of the center, which is right across from a shipyard in what seemed like a pretty shady area even by day, is a notorious red-light district (a couple Maltese guys driving by tried to pick us up while we were waiting for the rest of our group).

The experience here in Malta has been very eye-opening, but hard to stomach.  Most agree that the migrants do not really want to be in Malta, many Maltese do not want them here (or are at least wary of their presence), and yet they are here, and for many of them there are no legal means of changing that fact.  As an American living in America, surrounded by a network of friends and loving family, fueled by a sense of having the power to improve my situation and the means to pursue what I desire, I cannot even begin to imagine what it must be like to be in their shoes.  The end of the conversation with the migrants has been the hardest and most indicative of this contrast, as I cannot think of anything better to say than simply “goodbye.”

Tonight is our last night in Malta.  We had a final dinner with our professor and new friend, Edward Zammit, and his wife Carmen.  It was sad to say goodbye, as they have been wonderful travel companions.  We have now become honorary family members.

Today we traveled to a government-run open center in Hal-Far, which was very far (relatively) from the more densely populated areas of the island.  It was previously an abandoned army barracks, and basically consists of row upon row of shipping containers sitting on cement platforms.  Six people live in each container.  We walked through the area and spent some time talking with some of the inhabitants, most of whom are Somali or Eritrean.  It continues to be surprising how optimistic and good-natured the people are whom we speak to, despite the conditions they are living in and the hardship they have seen.

We also visited another open center nearby where the majority of Syrian survivors of the boat which capsized several months ago are living.  Approximately 100 people of the 400 on-board perished while awaiting rescue.  There were reportedly other boats nearby, but did not come to their aid due to the complicated international issue, instead waiting for Italian authorities to negotiate with the Maltese concerning who would come to their rescue.  We met one Syrian man who had lost his wife and two of three daughters.  He passed around his phone which had their picture while a crowd of other inhabitants looked on.  It was uncomfortable to be sharing in something so personal with this stranger, and heart-rending to look at the photo of his beautiful wife and smiling daughters, knowing that they had drowned.  The Syrian man was eventually overcome with grief from remembering, and retreated inside his “container” with tears in his eyes.  We we all silent as we left the center.

The second half of the day consisted of meetings with representatives of the UNHCR (United Nations High Commission on Refugees) and IOM (International Organization for Migrants).  These both deal with the processes of resettlement and repatriation, respectively.  The majority of persons resettled go to the United States, and I was somewhat surprised to hear the figure that in 2012 the United States accepted 80,000 refugees worldwide into the United States, 350 of whom came from Malta.  That may seem like a small portion compared to the whole, but for Malta it is a lot, considering that the United States is thus far the only country to participate in resettling the large ratio of migrants arriving in Malta relative to size and population density.

I feel as though we have now gotten the full perspective on all aspects of asylum seekers coming to Malta, how they are processed, where they live, where they come from, their hopes and concerns, and their future prospects.  This course has been thorough, eye-opening, and emotionally trying, all in one.  I am so thankful to have had the opportunity to take it.

Now back to Rome early tomorrow morning, a trip to the Vatican Museum, some final enjoying of cappuccinos, gelato and pizza in the evening, and then we are off to Chicago, America!

What a trip!  I’ve been back for a week now, and it already feels like a dream.  But the people that we met and things we learned about human rights issues and the refugee situation will not be forgotten.  Here is a link to my photos: https://plus.google.com/photos/101050359093516642141/albums/5970312231126176625

These are mainly from the sightseeing aspect of the trip, as it would have been rude and intrusive to take pictures inside the many centers we visited, and I was too busy taking notes during the meetings, presentations and lectures to take photos!  Plus, they would have been rather boring anyway.

Thank you for reading!

17/1/2014 7:20am (Chicago Time 12:20am): 

I’m here. The promised land is upon me. All these months of paperwork, emails, packing, and research have finally culminated in my arrival to Amsterdam. The airport is just like any other airport when you look at it. You really don’t realize the difference until you sit down for some coffee and hear the difference. Language is invading my senses. It’s different, it’s all around, and I have absolutely no idea what it all means. I’m like a kid in a candy store who can’t read any of the labels. I make my way past customs, which seemed a lot more intimidating a process when my parents warned me of it, and collect my baggage. Amsterdam isn’t my final stop though. I head to the train station and spend my first euros on a one-way ticket to Den Haag Centraal station. There lies my new home, The Hague University of Applied Sciences. I feel like some sort of attraction as I board my train with all my bags. For a moment I see everyone look up at me as I drop my bag in the aisle, staring in intrigue, like some circus animal just got on and they don’t quite know how to handle it. A kind local suggests a place to stow my cargo in a hushed voice. I thank him and quietly take my seat across from him on the train. All is quiet. You’d think it was empty on that train, you could hear a pin drop.

9:45am (Chicago Time 2:4oam):

That’s the first thing I notice about the Netherlands. It’s quiet. The train is quiet, the countryside flying past us is quiet, it has an aura of peace to it. The kind stranger bids me a good stay and departs the train ahead of me. That’s another thing you’ll notice. People here either are friendly or stoic. I can’t even count the number of people who greeted me in Dutch my first day here. At least I think it was welcoming. It’s a tough language to pick up on, I usually just nod and smile.

I spend the next three hours wandering. This includes the wandering to my hostel. I think I may have illegally boarded one of the trams here, but luckily no one said anything. I get to the area where my hostel is supposed to be, but I can’t for the life of me find it. I walk in circles a few times while traveling bicyclists stare at me before I finally see the hostel’s name “StayOkay” across a tributary. I can’t check into my room until that afternoon I’m told. Sleep, I need sleep. I stow my luggage in a little room they have and do the only thing I can. I wander. I walk a few miles down one street, take a left and walk a few more. It’s not easy to get lost I feel, the street layouts are like smaller Chicago streets, but somehow more traffic. Yet somehow the city remains quiet. No sirens, no talking, no honking. A silent stroll through a foreign country. This is what all the romantics dream about right? My feet would beg to differ though, all this walking is hell.

4:30pm (Chicago Time 9:30am):

One of my roommates just arrived at the hostel. Her name is Emily. We sit down in the lobby and get to know each other, trading stories from home, and sharing our marvel of this strange land. She proposes we nap for a few hours and then meet back up to go explore. I’m unable to protest, and my legs drift me off to my bed.

When we rise, we meet up with a girl named Laurence that Emily met. Laurence is from Quebec. She speaks with a rough French accent, but is one of the nicest people I’ve met. We head to The Hague and meet up with the International Student Office. We enter the office and realize that The Hague has the best International welcome program ever. I’m handed a beer and told congratulations on making it to the promised land as I gaze around in awe at the gathering of students from all over the world. I students from France, S. Korea, Germany, and even some from Wisconsin. We soon leave the welcome party and are led to a magical place called Club 7, where one of the student ambassadors works. It really is a magical place, I mean honestly it is so much better than any American bar you might visit. People are smoking cigarettes inside, the DJ’s on each separate floor are playing fantastic House music, and everyone is very friendly. Not to mention the house beer is Heineken. I mean, come on, Heineken? You only see young businessmen and wannabe young businessmen drinking that back in the States. Everyone looks at me like a loony when I say we mainly drink Busch at the bars in the States. It’s just that kind of place I guess. You have to pay for the bathrooms here. It’s 0.50 euros per trip to the royal throne, which is strange, but it makes sense in a way I suppose.

It’s an interesting place, this Netherlands. Only my first day here and already I can feel a looming sense of discovery ahead of me. Which reminds me, I need to learn the Dutch word for “hello”, I really feel like a rude American just smiling and nodding all the time.