Piera, a resident in Poggio alla Croce In these last few years a lot has changed Things were different before, people were simpler They often came into the centre. Now they stay at home, the village is less lived in. Before we were all concentrated on my shop. Most of the world, most of life took place around it. A place to meet, to understand each other, maybe argue with different opinions but still have a dialogue. That was life, in my view that really was. Andrea, who conceived the welcoming project Poggio alla Croce could be defined as “a small Switzerland” Located in a beautiful spot between Chianti and Valdarno Residents are busy at work and like to collaborate. In summer a nice festival is organized attracting people from both valleys When problems arise, like with ice in winter, informations flow over the internet. Looked like and ideal place Then in April 2017 the “bomb” went off: thirty migrants to be hosted in the “palace”, a former hotel middle of village It sounded as if a spaceship full of little black men was about to land Piera Black men are coming. Black men are coming. We are all with our hairs raised, very worried, me too to be honest because you hear a lot of good but also bad about these youngsters Andrea The strongest reaction, intense and wide, was an immediate refusal, a “belly” reaction that caused an immediate decision to collect signatures against, in less than three days 230 signatures were collected Even though the Poggio’s residents are around 190. Attilia, a teacher in the the school for migrants A first meeting was held one and half year ago in summer before the migrants arrived, so we did not know them They had no face for us, they had no name I don’t live in Poggio alla Croce, I come from a nearby village During the meeting there were some very aggressive people, I guess they were sincerely scared Martin, parson of Poggio alla Croce Their reaction was not due to being bad. Behind there was also a reality that must be told. It must be told that none was pepared because none had been alerted that these foreigner, these migrants were coming Paolo, a resident in Poggio alla Croce Someone started collecting signatures, and I agreed only because I wanted to know where would these kids be hosted, what did they come for then it became clear that this was not the reason they did not want to welcome them So I said my signature was extorted and was not in agreement any more Luana, a resident in Poggio alla Croce They told us “in a year time we’ll remind you of this.. we are scared.. I have an 18months old little girl who won’t be able to walk the streets anymore” But I refused to sign in and became the black sheep Paolo They are black, and that may be difficult to fathom Integration is not easy, not easy. Also on their side Attilia There was a bad feeling around, a terrible atmosphere My legs trembled, truly. I recognized kids that I knew when they were little children. And now as grown ups they were scared and said they did not want the migrants because their life would change, it would not be possible anymore to go quietly around in Poggio. No more walkabouts but they shouted all this in a really aggressive way.. and I started to tremble and was unable to tell what I meant, that I felt very sorry to see children who had grown up together accustomed to sharing…and I remember there were also coloured children in our classes and they all played together And now I was frightened by what they had become Was more scared of them than of the coming migrants because I could sense a rage and violence that really frightened me Andrea When the spaceship with its little black men finally landed we managed to organize a first meeting in a room under the church that our parson Martin put at our disposal for the whole project. Sitting on chairs in a circle all mixed up some of us, some of them, we played a bit. We sticked a piece of paper on the wall and each and one of us started to write “Andrea Formiconi, italian, speaks italian” Then casually pointed the felt-pen towards one or the other and they wrote in turn Each and one of us wrote his name, which country he came from, which language he spoke,,, A simple exercise that opened a whole world, a universe because it turned out that with fourteen-fifteen of them there were twelve-thrteen languages spoken That some of them were illiterate, you could tell by the unlikely way they brandished the feltpen in their hands, In fact they did not write but drew their name. At the same time some of them attended school and to one exreme there was one kid that had escaped while in his fourth year of Mathematics at university. This helps understand the enormous fan of different human stories and situations hiding behind this stereotype that we call with just one name: the migrant.. which prompts the image of one little black man, the same, and his standard story. Absolutely not like that ! Malo’, a teacher in the school for mugrants Three of us that embarked in this adventure of the “little school of Poggio alla Croce” without really knowing what to expect. We felt the urge to do something to help these youngsters, and we thought that teaching them italian language was the thing to do also to improve their trust in themselves. As we are scared of them blacks, they are scared of us whites They are afraid of us. The funny thing is that a lot of people were involved who had nothing . to do with teaching. People like Marcie who is canadian with very little italian but she taught italian.. and Willy who is still with us who reads and does dictation and anything else with them I teach in primary schools on Tuesday when finished With my class, often very tired like last year when I taught in first I sit in the car and say to myself “why do you do it ? you should go home to rest or make dinner” then I close my eyes and think “if it is the right thing to do I'll find the missing energies” and there I go and afterwards I am happy because you get there and see happiness in their eyes… see they are thankfully waiting for you, see they can’t wait for you to teach them something.