IN THAT DREAMED CITY

Few days ago I took a walk in the center of Rome together with my friend. On our way back home, walking along the street right beside the northern part of the Victor Emmanuel Park, few kilometers from Central Station Termini, on the entrance gate to the park, an elderly woman was sitting on the floor. In front of her there was a small box containing some coins. Beside her we saw a small bag full of her bilongings. She was just looking at the passers-by hoping to have mercy on their hearts for her. She is a beggar. It ain't nothing! It is usual in the big cities! People would utter those phrases when it comes to looking at those kind of people. Yeah...along the streets of Rome we would find many of them. But no...no...no...this elderly woman is so diffferent from many beggars I've met in the public places, in piazzas, on the train, or on diverse streets of Rome. I have been here for more than three years and for the first time I've seen an asian woman begging. What a pity!

I and my friend stopped there for a while. I bended down and threw some coins on the box prepared by her. I looked at her face. She was in her fifties. She looked ashamed as she raised her head up to look at us. "Grazie!" sincerely she said to me. "Niente", I responded. "Can I make some questions to you?", I implored. I was aware that it could be a stupid question a stranger could do. However, there was nothing else in my mind on how to begin a conversation with here. I was driven by a strong desire to crack a conversation. She was moving her head up as a sign of consent. "Where are you from?", I asked her immediately. "Vietnam", she responded. "May I know your name?". She eagerly mentioned her name. For my short memory, I could not memorize her name for so long. Forgive me for not being able to put well in my memory her beautiful and unique name! I began to see her face illuminated as I have tried my best to be with her and to talk to her. We were smiling to each other. "How long have you been here in Italy?" "6 years", she responded. Then, she continued, "6 years...and I don't speak Italian well. I hardly speak and understand italian". I could notice it on the way she was struggling to convey to me what she wanted to say. "Yes, Italian is a bit hard to learn but I tell you that I understood well what you said to me because you express it well and you pronounce the words well", I affirmed her. She was so happy to hear that affirmation. Her eyes were illuminated. After taking some pause fixed her eyes on the ground, she continued to recount her story. "I have worked before...recently I lost my job and I don't find any job anymore. I want to buy a ticket to go back to Vietnam to die there...I don't find any other ways except this one". She looked down again as if she was just ashamed in what condition she ends up. "Signora, I hope that every wish, every dream and every need you have right now will someday come into reality". We shaked hands and we departed in our own way. I wanted to stay there longer but perhaps it would block the way for those good souls who want to offer her some coins.

I took the bus 105 to go back home. I was sitting on the window side. The image of that elderly woman was so clear in my mind. It also recalls me of the many migrants all over the world, especially my countrymen whom the goverment calls "devisa hero". More than 5 million Indonesians are looking for a greener pasture in foreign land. Many of them have told beautiful stories of their adventure abroad, a salary on foreign currency, eating a new kinds of foods, encountaring new experience, seeing famous places around the globe, and so on. Unfortunately, there are also many others who end up their dreams in the big cities striving to survive. Perhaps some would end up their dreams like the vietnamese woman I've seen on that small angle of Rome. Those who don't choose to live that life "begging on the streets" but simply not finding way out. It came to my mind some news of the Indonesian migrants who have undergone the worst experience in their life; the story of Nirmala Bonat from Kupang few years ago who was abused by her employer and whose body filled with iron prints, the tragedy of Nunukan on September-October 2002 where 350 Indonesian migrants were deported from Sabah, Malaysia, in a worst condition and 80 of them died. Few months ago (on June 23,2009) another girl from Giava told her story. She was abused by her Malaysian employer, being beaten and dosed with boiling water and caned. There are still many other dark stories of our "devisa heroes".

The experience that day with the vietnamese woman opens my heart with all the migrants around the world who left their lovely countries to seek for a better life. Some can make it while many others sadly end up their dreams and wishes in unwanted situation. Perhaps many also want to have the last wish, "to die in their own land". I look up to heaven presenting to the Lord all this people in this pilgrimaged world.