Camel from Kyzylkum

SHORTLY AFTER CHRISTMAS, we were transferred to Italy by train. The transit train stopped for 15 minutes at the Vienna railroad station, all the time available for our group of twenty to thirty people to get into the train car with our heavy suitcases. People were not polite or courteous to each other. The families with strong men went to the train car first, while the old and weak were behind. I watched in disbelief. The train car was too high from the platform and I knew I could not lift my suitcases by myself, yet no one was there to help me. I was the last one still standing on the platform. I was ready to cry. I thought I needed to leave my suitcases on the platform and get into the car or I would stay there in Vienna, forever. At the last minute, Irma’s teenage son, Daniel, jumped out of the train car and helped me with my suitcases. I will always remember his kindness.

My first impression of Italy was that it was quite dirty and noisy. After I got used to the spotless cleanliness of streets and places in Austria, it disappointed me to see trash on the streets and in public places, along with graffiti. For the first time, I saw homeless people sleeping on rags on the marble floor of the subway in Rome. I also noticed how Italians get pretty animated when they talk, compared to very restrained Austrian people. But with time, my opinion about Italy changed—I fell in love with the country, and I grew to love the warmth of Italian people. I came to love Italian bread. The Italian language was like music to my ears, and I even learned how to speak some basics.

For the first two weeks in Italy, we were stationed at the bungalow summer camp south of Rome. It was January, and even during the day it was pleasantly warm outside, but at night it was cold. These bungalow houses did not have heat and were not equipped for the wintertime. I remember I was sleeping in my warmest clothes and even covered myself with a mattress from a spare bed in my bungalow. Nevertheless, I got very sick with a cold, so sick that I thought I would not survive it. During the day I walked to the seafront and sat there for long hours—the warm Mediterranean sun and fresh, salty sea air helped me to slowly recover.

After two weeks in the bungalow summer camp, we were told that we needed to rent apartments for ourselves in the nearby city of Torvaianica, a city south of Rome that was founded in the 1940s and is best known for its beaches. It has a population of about 12,700 inhabitants and extends for about eight kilometers along central Lazio’s coast. The refugee organization, HIAS, gave us money to cover rent and food. I do not remember the exact amount it was per person, but it was just enough for us not to be on the street dying from hunger. Later on, when I was already in the United States and working, I was required to reimburse HIAS for what they’d spent on me. I paid it back gradually, a small amount each month.