anima-eng-blog

[anima-eng-blog]

Full circle. Anima Hotel Europa. Remember, remember always, that all of us, and you and I especially, are descended from immigrants and revolutionists. Full movie.

Ivana Dragičević and Dinko Cepak

[anima-eng-blog]

Ancestral

‘At dawn, one spring day the entire city of Hvar bid farewell to our seamen – fishermen wishing them a happy journey, great success and an even greater return. Thus, in God’s name they set forth the way of unknown islands....’ (Captain Drago Mikasović, ‘Adriatic Fisherman Newspaper’, 10 ed. 1937.)

The Jugo wind blows. The sun is setting over Stari Grad. We are at the end of our journey. Anima has come full circle. After many years I find myself marching through the island which is a distant part of my family history. My great-grandfather Frano left Hvar never to return.

We sit in the Stari Grad Museum. In the dark, Dinko carefully photographs a ship’s logbook dating back to the 19th century. ‘Ship Giuseppe Secondo. We are sailing towards our destiny. Verso il nostro destino.’

‘In the second half of the 19th century fishermen would regularly and seasonally leave Stari Grad to search for sardines on Lampedusa. They made agreements with local fishermen of that time from Tunisian Mahdi. They salted the fish and sold them all over the Mediterranean. It was Mediterranean island cooperation. Hvar islanders were technologically advanced; they organized the Lampedusians worked and lived with them. A brief time in history but what remains, is a relationship to remember.’ The entire time we keep company with the ‘good spirit’ of the city, museum director Aldo Čavić and continue our conversation ‘At Damir’s’ tavern which belongs to his brother.

‘Just as we sailed eleven years ago to the Greek island of Paros, whose inhabitants in antiquity first settled in Hvar our wish now is to go to Lampedusa. By way of old sailboat we want to reconstruct those connections as well as lend a helping hand, from one islander to another. They are faced with tragedy and help people in distress and despair. We want to tell them that they are not alone.’  We are waiting for the rain to stop. We cross the waterfront. A small boat is docked.SG666. In that moment, Dinko receives a message from his friend Aleksandra. ‘The shortest nautical route from Hvar to Lampedusa is 666 nautical miles.’

The owner Mario places a special bottle of brandy on the bar to be photographed. ‘Lampedusa.’ In the city, except in cafes, there are namesake lawn-bowling and soccer clubs. His sons are active there. An island which is so far from us lives for more than a century on our island.

‘The island is open of necessity; it lives of those who come and of those who go. It maintains balance.’ Čavić’s words echo in my head while we drive along the coast towards the city of Hvar. The sea is opening towards Vis. And beyond. Somewhere far, waves turn boats. In them Syrians, Eritreans. On the other side of the water, beneath the same sky they believe since Europe is promised.

PASKOJE

Can there be any work greater Than to lay one’s body in a grave and resurrect?

NIKOLA

Some do greater things with such wonders Who remove from themselves the deadly sins Giving the body of life less than what will be, Since it will disappear and die again. That someone will bury a soul and kidnap sin, Defending something that has no end.

(Hektorović, Petar. Fishing and Fishermen's Talk, 1566.) 

The night is descending. Summertime ‘Sodom and Gomorrah’ is now quiet. Calm. Empty. Somewhere behind the shutters echo the news. Twitter, Facebook, Bosnia and Herzegovina aflame. The Swiss referendum calling for immigration restrictions.

That evening, Hvar Benedictine nuns open their doors after being closed behind the walls of their monastery for three hundred and fifty years in prayer, making lace from agave.

Opera champion, Dinko Lupi, who was our host in Stari Grad bids us farewell at the waterfront with a song.

Magnificat Anima Mea Dominum http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fEzkj8v0fhQ

Ivana Dragičević and Dinko Cepak

[anima-eng-blog]

The Weekly Telegraph

It was a little bit strange and sad at the same time, sitting at my working table in Zagreb staring at the web page of World Economic Forum, waiting for the debate about the immigration to start in Davos. It is the key global issue of today, Peter Sutherland, Special Envoy of UN Secretary General on immigration and development, defined the immigration issue at the beggining of the panel.

Sad, because that drive that all the news reporters have is calling me. The drive that you want to be in the epicentre. The same day in Davos, Iranian president and Israeli prime minister, each of them at its own panel. My collegues from european media. Ukraine is burning. Its prime minister was almost boycotted in Switzerland. I'm chatting with my friends in Kyiv. Each e-mail or text message means a lot to them. At the same time in Montreaux, Syria negotiations. A collegue of mine, APTN cameraman Nicolas Garriga, shares his phone video of the syrian journalists quarrel via Facebook. Journalist against journalist.

Nicolas Garriga - Video

Pope Francis announces: public television is important and serves the common good. Next day, a new headline from the Vatican, a tweet from @pontifex - internet is the gift from God. I retweet it. Lars Schmidt, the Ambassador of the Kingdom of Sweden in Croatia retweets my tweet. I'm still listening the debate on immigration in Davos. Just before its start, former UN Secretary General Kofi Annan shares the link on his Twitter. His opinion-ed from Project Syndicate.

Kofi Annan - Tekst  

Its title, the paraphrase of The Rolling Stones song.

I wonder, are "the others" for us, in Croatia, still the devils of different colours... European issues are our issues. I'm becoming boring to myself repeating this again and again in the abyss of ignorance around me. European elections are knocking on our doors. Its important. I tweet. I get a response from Danijela Barišić, PR of our Ministry of Foreign and European Affairs. She's inviting me to attend the panel on EU elections. It's important. The tweet goes down on my feed. The new ones are already there. On Syrian refugees, South Sudan, child molesting in Central African Republic. Rich but destroyed. European Union decided to send the army to CAR. Croatia won't. I get an answer on Twitter from our FA Ministry. Live from the meeting in Bruxelles. At the same time organizations who are dealing with unregistered immigrants in Europe offer their help to our project Anima.

I'm still sitting by my computer. At the next table, a collegue of mine talks on the phone. I'm putting my earphones on. The key global issue. A casual remark from another collegue of mine from the other day comes to my mind: "I still don't get it, why did you choose this subject?" In Davos, NGO's organize a simulation of "refugee scenario", for the rich and the powerful. Twitter audience discusses the morality of the play designed to awake the consciousness of decision makers. Panel on immigration lasts for an hour and fifteen minutes. Almost live from Davos. Facing my computer in Zagreb. Watch it and listen. Immigration-welcome or not? "Internet is a miracle", pope Francis says.

Davos - Panel 

Zagreb, Ivana Dragičević i Dinko Cepak

[anima-eng-blog]

The Mediterranean Year

That’s what the European Union calls 2014. A sailboat, symbolically made of EU initials was chosen as the logo which will navigate Greek presidency for the first six months of the year. In the second half of the year, Italy takes the helm.

Greeks want to change their image as the worst EU pupil. At the presentation of Greek presidency priorities in Zagreb, huge crowd. Ambassadors of European countries, Iran, countries of our region.

The media’s interest in Croatia is directed elsewhere, the expulsion of one man from a political party. Former vice PM of Croatia. As the Greek motto says, ‘Europe is our common quest.’

Migration and border protection are one of the priorities. It’s said that Greece is ‘under fire’ on its eastern borders and on the sea. The crisis is unabating with European elections looming in May. On the same day Greece also holds local elections.

The presentation ends. Sitting side by side in the front row are the Greek and Italian Ambassadors. 'Are there any questions?' I ask. Answer: ‘Illegal immigration is not just strain on national economies but also a major humanitarian problem. Europe needs a fair distribution of burden.’ says the Greek Ambassador. The Deputy Foreign Minister for External Affairs says that ‘Joining the Schengen is Croatia’s priority. Migration should be seen not only as a risk but as great potential.’

A glass of Greek wine and conversation post festum. After the tragedy at Lampedusa heads are no longer allowed to turn. The Greek Ambassador’s husband grabs me by the sleeve, ‘Does Croatia know what’s waiting?’ Ignorance is bliss, I think to myself. ‘Have you heard of the Golden Dawn?’ I exit, it’s sunny outside. Winter has not yet arrived.

 Demis Roussos - Forever and Ever

 Zagreb, Ivana Dragičević and Dinko Cepak

[anima-eng-blog]

HOTEL AND MOTEL

On the edge of town, along the tracks of a marshalling yard there’s a hotel. We’ve waited a long time to enter. It's built to accommodate 800 people, yet there are only 194 guests at the moment. It's called Hotel Porin.

In Slavic mythology, it is said that Porin is the son of Svarun, the fatherly–god, and Koleda his godly-mother. Lord of the sky, storms, lightening, rain, rainbows, air and clouds. He is the God of thunder, peace and freedom, justice and victory. He is the judge of souls; the keeper and executor of destinies. He is a spiritual protector, protector of honesty, friendship, peace, honour, truth, ships and their passengers. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.

I’m used to the sound of trains. I live near the rails. The head of the Ministry of Internal Affairs Department for asylum is standing next to me. ‘I’ve been doing this job for ten years...When you do something like this you cannot be indifferent. I had health problems. I took matters into my own hands.’ tells us Krešimir Perović. The screeching of brakes swallows words. ‘You need to speak, not be silent. You need to break down prejudices. The entire system should be maximally involved in this story. Most things generally go through us.’ It feels like an early spring day. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.

We walk the corridors. In front of the gym we meet a known group from Somalia; wide smiles, handshakes, hand to heart in salute. ‘You’re back! How was it on Lampedusa? Were there lots of our people there?’ Eyes wide open, I briefly tell them of who we met and what we saw. On the floor above us there is babbling. A table tennis tournament, residents of the Hotel Porin versus the employees of the Red Cross. We need to organize something for the people, so they can put their minds on other things, while waiting for the decision regarding their status. The others sit around the tennis table. The ball flies left to right, across the net. The Queen song on the radio. Thank God It’s Christmas. One gaze into the distance, a gaze into nothing. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.

News bulletin that day. A video from a reception centre in Lampedusa depicting naked people being showered with itch repellent has sparked a revolt. In a centre in Rome, nine immigrants stitched their mouth as a sign of protest against poor living conditions. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.

At the edge of town, along the highway, a motel. There are walls all around him. At the top of the walls is barbed wire. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.

‘The Confined Space Syndrome, it breaks every man...’ We are sitting in Josip Biljan’s office at the Centre for Illegal Immigrants in Ježevo. He has been the head of it for ten years. ‘Things function here, there is order.’ This is a closed centre. After confirming the identities, the fate of the people is determined. Either they are returned to their homelands under readmission treaties or they are moved to Hotel Porin if they apply for an asylum. ‘Some people come under great trauma and it is difficult to make communication. We have clearly laid out procedures, but the most important thing is psychology.’ In Ježevo there are 96 tenants from Afghanistan, Albania, Bosnia, Nigeria, Palestine, Syria, Mali, Pakistan, Tunisia, Myanmar, and France. ‘They carry different stories. I would not be a professional if they all affected me.’ We come to the dorms. ‘Once I worked very hard to connect one family; part of the family was in Germany and the son was here...there is so much personal satisfaction in doing something that is good.’ Dinko watches him from behind the camera. ‘So, this does affect you?’

In the common room, there’s a sound of scissors. Haircut day. A decorated Christmas tree. The sun sets. ‘After all these years, there is little else left. I dream of returning to the peace and solitude of my native region of Lika.’ The head of the Centre’s words loom in the parking lot. It feels like an early spring evening. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.

 The Eagles - Hotel California

 Zagreb, Ivana Dragičević and Dinko Cepak

[anima-eng-blog]

Dugave

Zagreb. St. Matthew’s Street. The Bible says he was a customs officer, tax collector on the border of Galilee and Syria. He belongs to a group of people often corrupt and unliked. 'As Jesus went on from there, he saw a man named Matthew sitting at the tax collector’s booth. “Follow me”, he told him, and Matthew got up and followed him. While Jesus was having dinner at Matthew’s house, many tax collectors and sinners came and ate with him and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?" On hearing this, Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners".' (Matthew 9:9-13).

A small group of people passes through the fog and buildings of New Zagreb’s neighbourhood called Dugave. Prince was standing at a crossroads, cell phone to his ear. ‘Straight ahead, yes, to the bus station, then left.’ He was navigating his friends from Nigeria, Somalia, and Mali all tenants of the Hotel Porin.

Youth and Child Welfare Home. Colourful lights flicker over the front door. I am standing with four wards. They are all from Čakovec, a small town close to the Croatian border with Hungary. They have almost the same story. "Our step fathers pressed our mothers. They said we're delinquents, that we have to come here. Our mothers agreed and signed..." one of them tells me. ‘Soon I will be getting out. I'm seventeen and this experience has helped me. I'm ok now, had I stayed home I would probably not have finished high school.’ It’s getting cold and they head inside. On the window pane there are drawings and inscriptions and one of them reads, ‘they don’t let you see yourself.’

Tomorrow is International Migrants Day. With the help of his friends from the Centre for Peace Studies, Prince has set up a gathering. Mirsad Dalipi, a jazz musician from Priština, Kosovo, who lives in Zagreb, raises the atmosphere. Prince joins in and drums echo. ‘If you want to build a ship, don’t drum up people to collect wood and don’t assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea.’ Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Shy at first but slowly opening up, the guests start to mingle. Alternating drums; a group from Arab countries raise the atmosphere and people start dancing. I wander again and see the faces of wonderful people I have met in Brazil, Kuwait, Tunisia, Algeria, Senegal, and Palestine.

Food is served; African specialties. Local, Zagreb guests eat while the crew from the Hotel Porin sing and dance.

‘Well honestly, sometimes they really bother me, I listen to their language, how they speak, it's like someone is hitting at my head. I think once, one of them barfed on me at three in the morning when we were all drunk and waiting for the bus.’ One of the same wards is telling me.

‘And you, you have never barfed when drunk?’ I ask.

He looks at me and says ‘Well, I have, many times, but never on someone.’

‘You think this person purposely barfed on you?’ Silence. He looks inside toward the auditorium. "Do you know how many languages are spoken in Nigeria?" He shakes his head for a no. ‘Thirty-six languages and dialects. It is the most populated country in Africa. In other places people are attacked and pursued because they are "different" than others, like it was here in Croatia, in ’91. War, riots...’

He looks inside again. ‘Can you imagine what it’s like for them when they come here?’

We’re filming. All of a sudden a frenetic applause. One of the young boys from Čakovec comes out and sits at the drums. Two tenants from the Hotel Porin support him. His moment has arrived. Under the spotlight. He raises his hands and begins to dance.

We’re leaving. Latest news. After Croatia National Football team defender Joe Šimunić greeted thirty thousand fans with a fascist right hand salute, FIFA has fined him with a ten game suspension and a thirty thousand Swiss franc fine as well as a ban on entering the stadium for the duration of his suspension.

On a day like today, we unite our voices to recognize the invaluable contributions that millions of migrants across the world make daily to create better living conditions for everyone. Even though participating in our societies, the other side of the story is that simply for being migrants, millions are victims of discrimination, xenophobia and a myriad of violations against their human rights. It is because of this that today, on International Migrants Day, we reaffirm that human rights are rights for all persons.

Zagreb, Ivana Dragičević and Dinko Cepak

[anima-eng-blog]

The Lampedusa Experience

The afore mentioned title adorned a half-day event in one of Zagreb’s libraries. The panel consisted a europarliamentarian, a professor, a deputy police minister, a journalist with experience of Lampedusa. The auditorium was full and among eyes pointed at the panel, I see Prince’s.

On the day project Anima was announced on HRT main News Programme, Dinko and I were already clocking kilometres on the Italian Autostrada when the emails and phone calls began. The topic is so important, you're the only ones from Croatia who were on Lampedusa, we want you to be guests on our panel. Friday the thirteenth. Spring is on the 13th of December according to the lyrics of an old Croatian rock song.

They were talking about the professor’s book. It is important. It is being promoted. For the first time in Croatia, one scholar is writing about ‘foreigners and society’; They were talking about European and our own immigration policies. I agree with the europarliamentarian on most issues, but somewhere inside of me I keep thinking that this is an electoral year. They were talking about the future challenges. Future? I thought to myself- intervene-now, because who knows when they'll allow you to speak. I didn't know how to feel. Like a cherry on top of this discussion or a bull in a china shop? I'm used to public events, but my hand shook, my voice trembled. I looked around me. "It's not the future. It is today. Can't you remember the 1991. It's short way from what we all experienced in our recent past to 2013. Is our road to oblivion then - short or long?" The professor presents his thesis: Lastovo, the most distant Croatian island in the Adriatic sea, as the new Lampedusa. I'm showing our web site anima.hrt.hr and instead of Lampedusa, I use the word Lastovo. Imagine friendly local islanders who feel that their continental stepmother has forgotten them. They give a human hand to immigrants whose boats the tide crashed by the shores of their island. They give them food and clothing. There are police officers from Sweden there with full hearts who are human and solidary. The deputy minister grins "Oh please, don't make it seem as if the same destiny awaits Lastovo.’ I ask, why not? As the former British Prime Minister once said, "A simple way to take measure of a country is to look at how many want in. And how many want out."

I continue. I finish. The audience applauds. I feel bitter. My mind drifts for a moment. Why am I here? Because I need to; I am back to reality again. The library, in centre of my home town. I decided to send one more email to Ministry of Interior with the request for filming at immigrant and asylum seekers centre’s in Croatia. After the panel I chat with the deputy minister, because we've waited for their answer for a month now, but still no answer. She says. "I know there is great media interest for the subject. It is popular."

There is only one Anima, I think to myself. The Lampedusa experience. Cristiano Greco, the head and soul of the reception centre for immigrants. Roy Rosario, a police officer with a big heart. David Miserendino, commander of the Finance Guard who told us ‘everything you need’. Ewa from the Frontex Warsaw office who wrote in each e-mail, ‘everything you need and more.’ But I still have faith. The faith in my country, its laws and institutions. Its path from a dark past to a bright future.

  U.S.A. - Dubioza Kolektiv

   Zagreb, Ivana Dragičević and Dinko Cepak

[anima-eng-blog]

Hotel Europa

Roy remained on the shore. A policeman from Palermo has been the guardian of the ‘Gateway to Europe’ for years. His mother is Sicilian and his father American, from Long Island. ‘Dugi Otok,’ he jokes, referring to the Croatian island of the same name. He is learning Croatian; he used to serve in a mission in Bosnia and Herzegovina and is interested in our region. Before boarding the ferry he shows me a video he made with cell phone pictures from his years spent in Lampedusa. It is dedicated to immigrants, fellow officers and islanders.

‘We are all immigrants. Some of us forget that. Without immigration there wouldn’t be mankind.’ His words echo whilst taking a final look at the old port of Lampedusa. His last name is Rosario; rosary. He was on Lampedusa in the worst moments of 2011, when six thousand people arrived from Tunisia after the onset of the Arab Spring. The population of Lampedusa is five thousand. They slept in nearby hills, in tents. Lampedusians brought them shoes, clothing and food. Fishermen rescued people despite laws which forbid them from doing so. ‘It’s good you’re going. Once the winds and the winter storms start, there is no internet and often no electricity. Once we begin to use our tomato sauce preserves daily with pasta, it’s clear that we are completely cut off from the world...’

"O," said I unto him, "through your domains I never passed, but where is there a dwelling Throughout all Europe, where they are not known? That fame, which doeth honour to your house, Proclaims its Signors and proclaims its land, So that he knows of them who ne'er was there. And, as I hope for heaven, I swear to you Your honoured family in naught abates The glory of the purse and of the sword. Alighieri, Dante. The Divine Comedy, Purgatory: CANTO VIII.

Laurana strikes off on the open sea. The sun burns, Lampedusa is only an outline on the horizon under the Italian flag. The ferry slowly cuts the waves and later we lead a discussion. Dinko finds documents which state that old Italian ships carried the name Laurana after Lovran, a small fishermen village in the Croatian Bay of Kvarner. I still stubbornly believe that we are on board of the ferry which was named after Francesco Laurana. Frane Vranjanin, the Dalmatian sculptor and architect from Croatian village Vrane near Zadar, whose most important works were created in the second half of the fifteenth century in Sicily. Mare nostrum.

On the ferry with us, fishermen from Lampedusa. ‘It’s hard especially in the winter,’ they say. ‘Fish markets, struggle, catch.’ We approach the volcanic island of Linosa where green, brown, black, and blue colours mix.

"The sun illuminates the spirit of the south, but sometimes it takes ones mind." Matvejević, Predrag. Mediterranean Breviary: A Cultural Landscape.

An axe is banging on a wooden board. Slices of tuna fall one after another. The fish market in Catania. The heart of Sicily.

Her breasts have been cut off and she was thrown into the fire. Saint Agatha, patron saint of Catania and the Knights of Malta. I think of the stories of African women who were brutally raped and tortured in ‘secret houses’ all over Libya. Some were mauled and finally received bursts to the head from an AK-47. Others ‘bought’ their slow death aboard wooden boats with smugglers at the helm.

Lido Verde, an endless sandy beach on the south side of the second largest city in Sicily. ‘There are beautiful moments when Etna erupts and you are in the sea. It’s a priceless advantage to living in Catania...’ Alessandro tells me. We are standing at the site of another tragedy. In this same spot in plastic bags, in the middle of the tourist season laid six lifeless Eritreans. Alessandro Puglia is a young, smart, temperamental journalist at La Repubblica. Tears well in his eyes; he was the first in Lampedusa after the cataclysm in October. His words were quoted on front pages. ‘I am ashamed to say what our colleagues were doing at that time. Ashamed. Scavenging. Lampedusa overwhelmed me. I worked like never before; soulfully. My story became an immigrant’s story.’ He was the only journalist at the meeting of survivors with officials from the European Union. ‘I remember a beautiful woman from Eritrea. She looked them in the eyes from across the table and asked: Do we not deserve to be treated equally? To be human? We ARE human...’ Every immigrant tragedy in Sicily and Lampedusa is accompanied by Alessandro’s text. It is his wish to go to Eritrea.

"Each one talked of his own trouble to comfort the Malavoglia and show them that they were not the only ones that had trouble. " Troubles old and new, some have many and some have few ;" and such as stood outside in the garden looked up at the sky to see if there was any chance of more rain that was needed more than bread was. Giovanni Verga. The House By The Medlar Tree.

Aci Trezza is a mystical small harbour that got its name from the unfortunate peasant who fell in love with the goddess of the sea. This is the setting of Verga’s work which was put on celluloid by Luchino Visconti in ‘The Earth Trembles/La Terra Trema.’ The view has three unusual rock formations and legend has it that those are the rocks that Polyphemus threw at Odysseus when he escaped.

‘A small rock holds back the great waves.’ Homer, The Odyssey.

My eyes are closing. I drive the last part of our journey: Trieste-Zagreb,Croatia - the new European border. In a few days we will continue our story...As we arrived in Zagreb we hear the news on the radio. Nelson Mandela has died.

Saturday afternoon. A live press conference from Paris on CNN. African Summit. Francois Hollande has an opening remark: "Africa is the continent of the future. It is essential for Europe. Next year we will begin negotiating economic agreements."

I'm drifting back in time again. It's 2010. Senegal, Thiaroye-Sur-Mer beach. I am standing with Suma from Bamako. He tried three times to illegally reach his European dream; the first time his father sold two oxes to pay smugglers. Suma got onto a boat in Morocco only to have the engine die in the middle of the sea. ‘We were lying under a tarp, no one was breathing. You could only hear the sound of the waves and the cursing of the smugglers trying to fix the engine. All at once there was a flash from reflectors. Spanish or Moroccans? Moroccans. We were caught.’

He returned to his home town. ‘Europe? It doesn’t cross my mind anymore. Maybe I would like to go there as a tourist. I want to help develop my Africa. Rich, beautiful and impoverished, destroyed.’ Not a year later, war breaks out in Mali.

"... Before me nothing was created if not eternal, and I eternally last. Abandon all hope, ye who enter. " Alighieri, Dante. The Divine Comedy, Inferno.

La voce dei sommersi Enio Morricone

Zagreb, Ivana Dragičević and Dinko Cepak

[anima-eng-blog]

"The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea." - Isak Dinesen

[anima-eng-blog]

No words…

[anima-eng-blog]

Over the Rainbow

Davide has a deep, sharp gaze. He has spent three Christmases on Lampedusa. Before that he was one of the youngest officers on the Frontex Poseidon mission in Greece. Wind is blowing and we are standing on the Favorolo pier. Disembarkment point. These stones has seen death. Sadness. They felt tears and fear. Hope.

'One boy from Tunisia, after I had pulled him out of the water, kissed my hand', Davide recalls. Next to us there are life preservers, thermofoil, and empty food cans.

'It’s sad. You work 24/7 saving people, then journalists write that you are like this and like that. Every life is precious. Since the beginning of the war in Syria, entire families arrive. To take a child in your arms, to wrap him up and hand over to its mother who is safe, well I am the happiest in the world then.'

We are next to the maritime patrol boat of the Finance Guard. Sign familiar from television screens; all scenes of maritime immigrant rescue footage happen on this boat. Time doesn’t ask. They are always ready.

We are sitting in the cabin. Captain Rocco makes an excellent espresso. The crew is from Otranto and Taranto. They know the sea well. The wind is getting stronger. ‘There will not be any calls today.’ they say. At the same time Operation Mare Nostrum continues. Army ships are near the waters of Libya and Tunisia. I discuss the situation in Africa with Davide. 'I’ve seen and heard lot of things. When Pope Francis was here he told me: "Pray for me Davide" I looked at him in amazement and asked that he in return ‘Holy Father, you should pray for me and for all these people.’ At dusk, we come to the command centre building. I leave him a chocolate which has been driving with us from Zagreb.

Davide’s words ring in my ears. ‘Lampedusa is special’ The clouds hang over the harbour. It’s cold. Quiet. Still. Legend has it that residents of Lampedusa are the descendents of two hermits from the island and two Sicilian women from Palermo who were shipwrecked here.

From the airport, in November and December there are two commercial flights a day, for Palermo and Catania. We are with Ilkka the pilot, who is just the few yers older than Davide. He is the father of eight. Comes from the vicinity of Turku in Finland. 'I don’t give my children a lot of details. I just tell them – daddy saves people." His unit from Finland in conjunction with Frontex air patrol monitor the sea around Lampedusa so that boats are dispatched on time for rescue. This is Ilkka’s last day in Lampedusa; tomorrow he flies home with two rest stops in Bratislava and Gdansk.

'Lampedusa residents feel that the rest of Italy doesn’t understand them, that they do not share the burden along with them. Mainland.' Tells me Cristian Greco.

We are the only journalists on the island, says Greco, the deputy head of the Reception Centre for immigrants as he escorts us around. Apparently, we are the only ones that have stayed inside for more than half an hour. The centre is run as a civic cooperative and  this forty-two year old, offers immigrants psychological support.

'Lampedusa has changed me. As a man and as a psychologist. Every person here has their own story with its own context from whence they came. All differences should be taken into account. Respected. How many fates have I listened to...', he says to me staring at a metal fence. Green-blue stone benches. Here they give people energy drinks and chocolate. Medical examinations. Accommodation. After seventy-two hours, people are moved to the centres in Sicily, Calabria and other parts of Italy depending on their status. It’s winter and in the centre there are currently thirty-six people from Syria and Eritrea.

Ali is twenty-seven years old. He is from Aleppo. He arrived by plane from Damascus in Tripoli, Libya. He paid smugglers thousands of dollars. 'My boat was a five star hotel with a glass bottom and there were just thirty of us on it. On the other hand, there are others who are not that lucky. They get on boats crammed with two hundred people, one on top of each other. I’m not complaining. In my life, I always look ahead.'

Dogs are jumping all around us. Ali is happy. 'From this moment on my life is a white, new clean page. Now I can draw what it will look like.' How can you be certain that your future will be bright? I ask him.  'I watched as people killed one another every day. In Syria, in Libya. What am I missing now? I wouldn’t complain if I stayed in Lampedusa but Sweden is my dream. Inshallah (God willing).' 

Tomorrow we are supposed to be leaving. Again, we aren’t sure if the ferry will be leaving or not. Time is not on our side. Or is it?

He didn’t want to leave the beach. The most beautiful in the world, they say. The beach near the Island of rabbits.

At the southernmost point of Europe. Where turtles lay their eggs. The only house in the bay is his. This is where he wrote his music. This is where he wanted to die. This is where he died. His heart stopped. Nel blu di pinto di blu.

Domenico Modugno “Volare”

“The hammer of the gods will drive our ships to new lands, To fight the horde, singing and crying: Valhalla, I am coming!” (Led Zeppelin)

Lampedusa, Ivana Dragičević & Dinko Cepak

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Hotel Europa Beaches

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No words….

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The Boat for Lampedusa

I thought about Prince. How, with such an open heart after one conversation during lunch, he agreed to be the face of Anima. How did he feel when he ventured across the Niger River? In Zagreb when I asked him what was going through his mind when he left Nigeria, he went quiet and replied: 'You go. You just go. You don't think...'

It's night. The ferry rock stomachs. After three nights of waiting in the port, we set off. Anchors are raised. The lights have gone out. We stood on the bow in silence. A starry arched sky above us. The wind started. There is a television at the bar on the ferry. A small group watches the news. A child cries. At the bar his parents and brother, an Italian soldier, police officers from the Frontex mission. Dinko and I toast with whiskey. There are problems with the internet. Someone you should be able to rely upon has failed. They call us from the radio in Australia. They follow Anima on Twitter. We discuss the issue of immigrants for ten minutes.

A decorated Christmas tree stays behind us in a small hotel near the beach in Porto Empedocle. A bus full of pensioners arrived that evening.

Beach soccer. Our new friend Omar from Mogadishu meets there every afternoon with his team from Somalia. You should dispel bad thoughts. While you wait for papers. The Al Shabaab militia cut Abdjia’s hand off with a machete. He’s not playing. He is looking out at the sea with me. Lampedusa. He says and goes quiet. 'When there would be peace," he tells me in broken English, "I would go home.'

I try to fall asleep in the cabin but I can't. My teeth are chattering. I put on double socks, sweaters, a winter jacket, a hoodie. I close my eyes. Prince, I can’t even begin to imagine....

Disembarking, typical island fashion. Trucks full of meat, relatives from the mainland sending packages and mail. On the waterfront – police. The coast guard, military van.

Martello, a hotel overlooking the harbour. When one of my colleagues, an Italian cameraman, recommended this hotel he said that it has: 'a great position to capture the pier where the immigrants are brought.'

The smell of the sea. Smiling sponger. The most delicious salad of fresh tuna, tomatoes, olives and capers.

Ship graveyard. With memories. Shattered hopes for something better. Or is it just Oz. A dream during the storm.

Toto is here. This time big and black. Smart eyes that follow me around the waterfront sit in front of the doors to my room and watch over them for a while.

'I cry, when no one watches.' Francesca tells me in the twilight of our first day in Lampedusa. She heads the Italian Red Cross mission here. She was standing on the pier during both tragedies in October. She was standing in the same spot when Pope Francis arrived for his first visit outside the Vatican.

'Hey sis’, we’ll be fine', are words always spoken, she says, by people from Nigeria which she met standing on the pier. 'Your smile is the first I have seen after eight months.'

Fred BUSCAGLIONE Guarda che luna

The world wants to be deceived - Sebastian Brant Ship of fools (Basel, 1494.)

Lampedusa, Ivana Dragičević & Dinko Cepak

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Thanks Vakula! We're going tonight!

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Mazzarini's Honor

Southern Sicily. Province of Caltanisetta. We pass through Riesi. During the time of Arab conquerors, eight centuries ago, they referred to it as ‘futile’, an abandoned place.

Notorious mafia boss Guiseppe Di Cristina was born here. His nickname was the ‘Tiger’. The year I was born he became the head of Cosa Nostra of Caltanisetta. He succeeded his father ‘Don Ciccu.’ On the day of his father’s funeral, citizens of Riesi passed out photographs of the deceased, depicted with a halo around his head. Underneath was written: ‘The enemy of every injustice. Through word and deed he showed that the mafia isn’t evil but fully respects and honours the law.’

Vincenzo d’Assaro. Mayor of Mazzarino. The nicest town in Caltanisetta. He greeted us in front of city hall which was once a Carmelite monastery.

‘I don’t know why others didn’t react...’ he tells us whilst grating parmesan cheese onto Dinko’s pasta and beans dish. Mazzarino is a twin town with Halabja in Iraqi Kurdistan. In the final days of the Iran-Iraqi war, Sadam Hussein’s forces killed more than three thousand people there with chemical weapons. With the local mayor, d’Assaro initiated the action ‘Mayors for Peace.’ After the tragedy in Lampedusa in early October, he brought thirty survivors into town. Eleven children bodies are buried in the local cemetery. We talk the whole afternoon. ‘It’s true. My right wing European colleagues do not want immigrants. Europe couldn’t give a care. We here are solidary people. We’ve learned to help those in need. First and foremost I am a human being. I have a soul. These are all my children, brothers, sisters. Would you take them into your home?’

Oday Ahmed Moussa. The lifeless body was found in the waters off Lampedusa on October 12th, the day before he was supposed to celebrate his first birthday. This was the first identification among other nameless child victims buried in a crypt of Mazzarino cemetary.

A Palestinian. In a photograph with his mother. On a beach which leads to a better life.

‘Your names are written in heaven’ says the inscription above the graves of other nameless victims. Dried flowers. A wreath from the president of the Chamber of Deputies. Eritrea, Syria, Somalia, Palestine. Countries where they set out from. With parents. Family. Maybe they are together again, in some better place.

One night Europe had a dream. In it, two continents in female form were arguing about Europe. Asia was persistent. If Europe was born unto her, then it belonged to her. The other unnamed continent said that place of birth is not important. She will receive Europe as a gift from Zeus...

We are still in the harbour. The horizon is blurred. Lampedusa.

Noir Desir, Le vent nous portera

“Jupiter Almighty, if only in an earlier time Attic prows had never touched Cretan shores. “ - Katul

Porto Empedocle, Ivana Dragičević

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Zeus and Europe