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What I am about to
tell you really happened. Looking back now
it seems like a nightmare. It is one of
the reasons why I chose to develop ItaliaPlease,
our new Portal dedicated to Tourism.
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June, 1997. Silvia was five month's pregnant. "The
baby's due in September," she said, "if we want
to go on holiday, now's the time. The girls have
finished school for the summer and it's still not
too hot. If we wait any longer I'm afraid I'll get
too tired.” As always she was dead right. Silvia
went to the doctor for a quick check-up to make
sure she was fit to travel then we packed our bags
and headed off. “A week in Paris is just what we
need.”
Paris is such a wonderful city. It was the children's
first visit, and exploring it with them was like
discovering it all over again. The bookstalls along
the Seine, la Villette and all its attractions,
the Eiffel Tower, the street artists at Montmartre,
Beaubourg . . . our week's holiday was flying past,
like holidays should. Then, while we were at the
Louvre, Silvia asked us to wait while she went to
the toilet. We waited as she had asked, in front
of David's "Consecration
of Napoleon". But there was no sign of Silvia.
No sign. Then we saw her. She was in tears: “I'm
in labour, I'm in labour.” “You can't be in labour,
you're only five month's pregnant. It's too early.”
We headed for First Aid where we were whisked into
an ambulance and off to hospital. Silvia lay on
a stretcher in tears. There was blood on the sheet
under her. The girls asked: "Daddy, is the baby
really dead?" She was examined by doctors. "We've
stopped the contractions, but the baby is still
in danger. Your wife will have to stay here, confined
to bed until the baby is born. Until the end of
September.”
I had to go back to Italy, bring the girls back
home, gather all the papers and certs for Silvia's
long stretch in hospital. I had to leave Silvia
behind in France. She couldn't speak French, she
couldn't move from her bed, she couldn't count on
anyone.
What could I do?
On my way back to Italy I got an idea. I could ask
the Associazione Bellunesi Nel Mondo - Bellunese
around the World Association (ed.) - for advice.
Okay, so I'm not an emigrant but I am from Belluno,
maybe they'd be able to help. I went to their web
site [ita], then made a quick call to explain
the situation and voilà: “No problem, the President
of the Associazione Bellunesi e Veneti in Paris,
Mrs Giacomina Savi, will be able to help you. Part
of our job is to help Italians in difficulty abroad,
even is they are only on holiday. Anyone who has
emigrated knows what it's like to be alone in a
foreign country, without knowing the language. Give
her a ring, she'll be delighted to help you.”
This aspect of Italians abroad was a total surprise
to me. An effective support network that reached
throughout the world. A life line with their home
country. Living as an Italian abroad is much more
than celebrating national holidays or traditions.
It is about making an active cultural and social
contribution to both your host country and your
homeland.
While I was in Italy Mrs Savi visited Silvia in
hospital. She kept her company, comforted her and
taught her some French. Stuck in her hospital bed
Silvia had never eaten anything quite as nice as
Mrs Savi's peach tart. Francesco was born safe and
sound two months earlier than expected.
Thanks Giacomina!
Giacomina Savi Tramontin, President
of the Associazione Bellunesi e Veneti in Paris:
There are three things lacking in Italy before
we can create a climate of togetherness: a tradition
of hospitality, the awareness of diversity, proper
laws for integration. For example, in France migration
is regulated by the rhythms of retirement and
people choosing to come back. There's no need
to force people to integrate. Integration happens
when individual differences are perceived as enriching
the entire community.
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