Posted by katiep on Wednesday, May 24, 2017 in 2017 Blog post.

Around noon on May 24, 2017 I took to the streets of Cefalù with Cynthia in search of a Sicilian native to interview for our class. My anxiety over speaking to strangers had prevented me from tackling this assignment as early as I should have but I was determined to push myself outside of my comfort zone in order to find a unique interview subject. Upon arriving at Piazza Duomo Cynthia suggested we split up so that we would be more motivated to speak to people. I sat on a bench and pulled my laptop out of my backpack and nervously waved goodbye to Cynthia, afraid that without her around to help me I would be too afraid to speak to anyone. Within several minutes a group of middle-aged Italian women sat down on the bench beside me, gelato in hand. I sat glancing between them and my laptop screen for what felt like years, telling myself “Just ask if they speak English. They’re nice ladies. They sat down right beside you it will be so easy!” When I finally piped up the courage to squeak out, “Do you speak English?” The only English they knew was, “No, I don’t speak English.” My disappointment only lasted for a split second because, instantly, they turned to the rest of their group and asked, “Parli Inglese?” An older gentleman with them shook his head sadly and said, “No I don’t speak English. Where are you from?” I told him I was from the United States and we stumbled through a conversation about what I was doing in Sicily. During this interaction, another gentleman with them came over and looked over my shoulder at my computer and began to read: “Interview Questionnaire…” I shyly asked him if he spoke English and if I would be able to interview him for class. He made a slightly confused face and said, “A little” and continued to read the interview questions on the screen. “Where are you from and where do you live now?” He read out loud and then answered, “Milan…” I quickly turned on the voice memo recording on my phone, realizing that he was going to help me with my assignment. Despite his not being a Sicilian native, and his little knowledge of English, this man sat with me for about six minutes and did his best to answer my questions. Upon finishing the interview, I called back to him because I had failed to ask him for his name and occupation. He came back, told me his name was Emilio and asked me for mine. I felt like I had stumbled upon a group of new Italian parents, doing their best to help their lost child find her footing in the world. When their entourage finally finished their gelato and stood up to leave Emilio turned back and waved, “Ciao, ciao!” I yelled out, “Grazie!” and watched them walk out of the Piazza.

This brief encounter helped me branch out and speak to someone I would not have normally spoken to, and while I am sitting in the Piazza Duomo typing this blog I am still anxious about having to find another person to interview who is a Sicilian native. But, thanks to Emilio I am confident that someone else will see how much I am struggling and be just as kind and willing to help me out as best they can. While it would have been much easier to speak to a stranger in America (because I would have been confident in them knowing the same language as me) I have never come across such a large group of Americans as willing to help out a struggling young person as this group of Italians. Too many Americans these days seem to be too preoccupied and rushed to take several minutes out of their day to answer simple interview questions for a stranger’s school project. I know that this is a generalization about Americans and I likely could have had a similar experience in America, but the group effort demonstrated by Emilio and his family and friends to help me was unexpected. Strange as it may be, this brief interaction reinforced my perception of the strong sense of community and warmness that I have experienced during my stay in Cefalù. Despite our differences in age, ethnicity, and language, Emilio and I were still able to have a friendly conversation. His kindness felt like a breath of fresh air, much different from an American who I can clearly picture waving me off and continuing on their way. As our stay in Sicily approaches its end I am already becoming homesick for Cefalú and its people.
Now—off to find a Sicilian native to go through this entire process again! (Wish me luck.)