#117 All my friends business

Hello friend,

I've been thinking a lot about the art of making friends as an expat living in Italy. I've written before about my difficulties with making close friendships here in Italy, as I feel like most Italians have already created their friendship groups. Most people make friends through school and community connections established in childhood and adolescence. 

I can see the difficulties by observing my teenage son and thinking about my experiences. He has already started to make friends, but for me, my challenges are more about cultural differences than anything else.

Friendships seem to be different in Italy. It's easy to make basic friendships by socialising with Italians. Moving to Italy or a new place, it's pretty standard to insert yourself into the local communities by making small talk with the people you come into contact with every day, like neighbours, servers in the stores, and even the barista where you have your morning coffee can all be great starting points. 

If you have a kid in school, it's easy to get involved in parent groups, volunteer at school, make small talk, talk about the weather, food, what's happening at school, gossip, etc. Then there are things like English language group meet-ups, gyms, yoga, dance classes, church groups, sports clubs and volunteer groups.

The strange thing about living in a small town in Sicily is that even though I may not have made a lot of close friends, I seem to have seen everyone; while I don't know all of the names, the faces are familiar, and I find myself saying hello to everyone I meet.

I'm sure my husband and his family know everyone in town; they know their names and faces and a lot about them. After all, they have all lived and grown up in the same area, so often they will know of their fathers and grandparents too. The gossip mill is powerful in these towns, as in other small towns worldwide.

The other day, I was talking to a lady I had known since moving to Sicily, who is now over 20 years ago, and I realised that even though I would consider her a little more than an acquaintance, I know a disturbing amount about her life. Living within the community, you become a part of people's lives, and they, in turn, are part of yours, whether you like it or not.

I don't consider myself a gossipmonger, but the conversations around me are well-oiled mechanisms of the local society. So I know all about my acquaintance's family, how her first husband left her after a ten-year engagement for another man, only a few months after their wedding, and how she was depressed and embarrassed for months. I know how she remarried, has a five-year-old, and now has twins.

And, of course, I'm sure she knows just as much about me. This strange kind of intimacy exists in being a part of this community. Your dirty washing is very much on display. I know all of my friend's business, even though I may not want to.

 Everyone knows each other's parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers and sisters. They are familiar with everyone's tragedies, love affairs, happiness, wealth or lack of wealth.

In these small towns, everyone sees each other daily and gets to know each other's personalities. They know who is hardworking, who isn't, who is a snob, who is a drunkard, who is a criminal, who is honest and who is all talk and no action.

This underlying social shorthand creates a healthy sense of belonging and protection. Everyone knows one another's voices, and people outside the community are spotted immediately.

It is not only a complex network of gossip but also a secure interconnection strengthened by family, religion, and cultural ties, a strange double-knot that, in turn, increases the common bond in the extended family community that has always existed in Sicily.

Small-town Sicily has no skeletons in the closet, as a distinct soprannome or nickname identifies everybody. These simple and often coarse caricatures have existed for generations and can pinpoint members of a particular family, distinctive physical features or personality traits, or are earned after a significant event. 

A nickname is very quickly gained as Sicilians are extraordinarily observant and judgemental. Don't dare try to tick them off, or you will be christened and branded behind your back with a name your children will most likely inherit.

The soprannomi are the secret code of a small town's collective social knowledge. People are identified more frequently by their nicknames than by last names. Some are proud of their soprannome, and others are embarrassed and downright peeved, so they are used behind people's backs even if they are hardly a secret.

A whole world of these ingurie, as they are called in the local dialect. These names label every part of the social landscape, from the nobility to the working class. Some indicate the profession a particular family has worked in for generations, such as fulgiare (blacksmith), tamburinaro (drummer) and u ruccaloru (stone carter).

Other names refer to class differences within the town; for example, the Cardaci family was once a wealthy clan at Sinagra. Those who didn't maintain their prosperity became known as the Carddidi (literally a belittled version of the original Cardaci family name). Some nicknames are superficial, speaking to a particular physical feature like la pillusa (the hairy lady), friumentina (literally hair the colour of wheat, i.e. blonde), menzaricci (half ear) and nasolungo (long nose).

These creative pet names have their sense of musicality and are a language unto themselves. It is not uncommon for them to be handed down from father to son, and, as such, many have lost their original meaning through time and with the evolution of the Italian language and people's lives. Names like giatman, puranca, callido, parasacco and sgaddati all have remained in use without anyone knowing their true meaning.  

A small list of names plucked from everyday conversation creates a wonderful menage of words. Aside from those of obvious provenance of Africano, Filipino, Americana I can only imagine how on earth these enigmatic names were earned: la boldgiadina (the flying hen), settecappelli (seven hats), la boccia (the jar), cafetteria (coffee percolator), biscotto (biscuit), sautafosse (jumping trenches), zilipudo (chameleon), papa (pope), vescovo (bishop), storto (crooked), cernega (hunting dog), spinoza (terrier), scanata (slaughtered), sgaramulo (wasp) and u rizzu (the hedgehog). 

These soprannomi can be entirely satirical but precisely identify people in society. Not everyone has the honour or curse of having one, depending on your point of view. These names illustrate the unique relationship people have with one another and how Sicily has created its own concise and impenetrable social dialect.

It seems I, too, have earned a nickname, which I discovered rather clumsily one morning at the local markets while negotiating a crowd scrambling around different stalls. I often see faces I recognise yet cannot put names to. Passing in front of an older man whose face seemed familiar, yet I couldn't place it, I heard him say Australiana under his breath. I kept on walking, pretending I didn't understand him. Hearing someone identify me as 'the Australian' felt like I was being ridiculed. I thought I wouldn't mind having a soprannome, yet being pointed out as a foreigner by people who don't know what it means to be an Australian felt humiliating.

At least he didn't call me Americana. I suppose it's a step in the right direction.

This is all from Sicily for now, sorry this week’s post was a little late.

from Rochelle

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