Market places are the foundations of society. Marketplace is synonymous with survival. It's a place where people sell the things we need to survive in order to be able to buy the things they need in turn.
A market place.
A place where smells and sights and sounds come together and intertwine.
A place where cultures clash.
A place where things like merit, value, and worth trump qualities like skin color, intelligence, and social class.
Loud. Colorful. Musical. Chaotic. Messy. And very organized.
The Esquilino Market was like disneyland for us hungry, eager Americans. It was a place where we could stare in awe at produce we've never seen before and imagine all the dishes they could combine to create. It was a place filled with beautiful and incomprehensible languages. And it was a place that welcomed us.
At a marketplace, the only thing required to find acceptance is the ability to consume. At a marketplace, the consumer is not only accepted, but he is sought after.
As soon as we walked in, the vendors waived us to them and showed us foods so bright and beautiful that our mouths began to water. All kinds of food. There were Indian vendors, Chinese vendors, Italian, Romanian, and unrecognizable vendors. I met a young man from Bangladesh, a couple from Rome, and three men and one woman from Romania.
A market place.
A place where smells and sights and sounds come together and intertwine.
A place where cultures clash.
A place where things like merit, value, and worth trump qualities like skin color, intelligence, and social class.
Loud. Colorful. Musical. Chaotic. Messy. And very organized.
The Esquilino Market was like disneyland for us hungry, eager Americans. It was a place where we could stare in awe at produce we've never seen before and imagine all the dishes they could combine to create. It was a place filled with beautiful and incomprehensible languages. And it was a place that welcomed us.
At a marketplace, the only thing required to find acceptance is the ability to consume. At a marketplace, the consumer is not only accepted, but he is sought after.
As soon as we walked in, the vendors waived us to them and showed us foods so bright and beautiful that our mouths began to water. All kinds of food. There were Indian vendors, Chinese vendors, Italian, Romanian, and unrecognizable vendors. I met a young man from Bangladesh, a couple from Rome, and three men and one woman from Romania.
Here are their stories:
The cheerful man from Bangladesh:
A man with beautiful red tomatoes smiled at me and said buon giorno. All the vendors say buon giorno, but not like him. He didn't follow up with a gesture towards his produce, nor with an attempt at a seductive nod. He just smiled. Pleasantly surprised, I said buon giorno back in my confused romanian/american accent. He smiled a little more at my attempt. He asked "Di dove sei?" ...where are you from? And thus began our conversation. I found out he is from Bangladesh and has been living in Rome for six years. He likes it but he misses home. He is twenty three years old. He is alone.
We didn't talk about much...there wasn't much to say. I didn't even get his name. But he took the time to talk to me and let me practice my Italian. In turn, I talked to him and asked about his home. It was one of the best conversations I've ever had in my entire life. I will probably never see him again. But I hope I never forget him. Our conversation was insignifcantly significant. The simple ability to communicate was an incredibly satisfying feeling.
There is something innately refreshing in talking to a stranger and finding out his story. It reminds us we are all connected in some way. It reminds us to live in the moment. It reminds us to be happy and thankful for what we have. And yet, it happens so rare.
The Roman Couple:
From across the market, I spotted these gorgeous, exotic-looking red oranges. I love oranges. I love grapefruit. The red orange is a cross between an orange and a grapefruit. The sign had something "Sicilian" written on it. Sicilia has been following me on this trip. Ever since I met the young Sicilian boy and heard his legend of the Mafia, Sicilia turns up wherever I go. I hope to visit some day. Perhaps they'll have these beautiful red oranges everywhere in Sicilia!
I had to taste one. I went up to a middle-aged jolly man to ask him for an orange. I did my best to speak Italian; "vorrai una aranciata per favore." I thought he would be angry that I only wanted one... but he wasn't. Instead, he laughed and corrected my grammar, "un arancio," or something like that. I asked again the correct way and he gave me an orange for 13 cents. I peeled it right away and tasted it. He and his wife laughed at my eagerness. I shared the news of the amazing oranges with everyone around me and they all ended up buying some. The couple was nice, grateful, and patient with us all. They told us they are native Romans. However, they were so eager to learn about us that they found out infinitely more about me than I did about them. Before I left, they made me promise to come back, gave me three oranges, and allowed me to take a picture. I've been dreaming about those red oranges ever since. I will remember the Roman couple and their kindness whenever I eat a red orange from now on.
The Romanians:
If I'd happened to run into Romanians a week prior, I would have been ecstatic. I wanted badly to find somebody I could talk to and connect with, and to find my place in this city . I would have jumped at the opportunity to meet Romanian speaking Italians! As it stood, I had finally started to find my place in Rome without them. I learned a little more of the language and the culture. I no longer felt quite as alone or out of place. Still, I was very excited and curious when I discovered Romanian vendors in the market. Their signs were written in Romanian: one banner read 'Romanian Bread' and the other advertised all kind of meat. It would be nice to know what I was buying, but I refused to purchase food from them and take the easy way out. Instead, I stood back and listened to them speak for a while. Eventually, I said hello in Italian and asked about their lives. I would have tried to speak Italian the entire time if one of them hadn't asked me if I spoke Romanian. Reluctantly, I switched languages.
If I'd happened to run into Romanians a week prior, I would have been ecstatic. I wanted badly to find somebody I could talk to and connect with, and to find my place in this city . I would have jumped at the opportunity to meet Romanian speaking Italians! As it stood, I had finally started to find my place in Rome without them. I learned a little more of the language and the culture. I no longer felt quite as alone or out of place. Still, I was very excited and curious when I discovered Romanian vendors in the market. Their signs were written in Romanian: one banner read 'Romanian Bread' and the other advertised all kind of meat. It would be nice to know what I was buying, but I refused to purchase food from them and take the easy way out. Instead, I stood back and listened to them speak for a while. Eventually, I said hello in Italian and asked about their lives. I would have tried to speak Italian the entire time if one of them hadn't asked me if I spoke Romanian. Reluctantly, I switched languages.
I told them I was a student from the USA studying immigration and social issues. I asked about their lives in Italy and how they feel about the immigration problem. They answered in jest, like most Romanians do, saying "what immigration problems?" I laughed and tried again. I asked them about racism and how it is in Rome compared to other places. One winked at me and answered, "my dear, to answer that question, one must have first been other places." It was a joke but it is very true. He was reminding me not to stereotype and make uninformed judgements. He may have been hinting that my question was innapropriate and too bold. He was also avoiding the question.
I was getting annoyed at this vagueness. But I got little more out of them. It was so strange that what I thought would be the answer to my problems, turned out to be no help at all. I was sure that if I could just find someone able to talk to me, that they would be willing to do so. I thought I could find out something meaningful and deep if I could just communicate well. But the conversation I had with the Romanians (the largest migrant population in Italy by far) about immigration was definitely the least stimulating and most unsatisfying conversation I've had in Rome thus far. It's interesting how sometimes those with the most to say, who are able to communicate the best, can be the most unwilling to speak. The only thing they said was that "Italians have always been racist." That statement, vague and without any kind of proof, is not even worth discussing. Disappointed, I walked away.
On my way out of the market, the Roman couple waived goodbye. I waived also. The man from Bangladesh smiled and waived goodbye. I smiled and waived to him as well. He had such an infectious smile. I left the market beaming, filled with confidence and hope, and with a desire to meet as many people as I can and learn their stories.
Until next time,
Ciao!
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