March 1, 2010
So I went to the Anagrafe for what seemed like the hundredth time and entered the Office off Stranieri. The terse woman who I had already seen all those times previously then shooed me onwards to the office of the Municipal Police, where I stood outside with another 6 or 7 men, all Indian, Bangladeshi or Pakistani.
After about an hour being chatted up by one of the said men and feeling incredibly exasperated, the door to the office finally opened and what I assume was a policeman exited. I was the second last in line. He exchanged brief words with the other men before setting his eyes on me and heading over to ask me what I needed. I explained in my terrible Italian that I had applied for residency three months earlier but had not heard anything of whether it had been approved or not and was anxious as there was an expiry date for the request. The man took my request document, went back inside the office briefly, then told me to follow him and two other men. Feeling nervous but not wanting to question anything that might hinder my residency being approved, I followed.
We left the Anagrafe building and walked a short way down the street to a small bar. We entered. There were about 4 or 5 people already in the bar and the head policeman ordered four coffees, as I stood nervously picking at my fingernails. Another policeman approached me and started questioning me “Who do you live with?, Do you pay rent?, What is your job?, What is your relationship with your flatmates?”.
Innocently as possible I informed him that I was the girlfriend of my flatmates brother and she was kindly hosting me for free in her apartment, as we were practically family. It was only a slight twist of the truth, I had justifed to myself. Mirella was like my family. He looked at me straight in the eyes for a few seconds and I thought he was about to call my bluff. Then he quickly turned and exchanged some hushed words with the head policeman, who had been busy drinking his coffee and joking with the barman. Even though I didn't drink coffee, I skulled the espresso that had been bought for me, and continued to wait, nerves growing by the second.
Somebody produced another official form, which was filled out in a matter of seconds on the counter of the bar, next to the cornetti. It was signed and backdated by three days. RESIDENCY APPROVED.
So I went to the Anagrafe for what seemed like the hundredth time and entered the Office off Stranieri. The terse woman who I had already seen all those times previously then shooed me onwards to the office of the Municipal Police, where I stood outside with another 6 or 7 men, all Indian, Bangladeshi or Pakistani.
After about an hour being chatted up by one of the said men and feeling incredibly exasperated, the door to the office finally opened and what I assume was a policeman exited. I was the second last in line. He exchanged brief words with the other men before setting his eyes on me and heading over to ask me what I needed. I explained in my terrible Italian that I had applied for residency three months earlier but had not heard anything of whether it had been approved or not and was anxious as there was an expiry date for the request. The man took my request document, went back inside the office briefly, then told me to follow him and two other men. Feeling nervous but not wanting to question anything that might hinder my residency being approved, I followed.
We left the Anagrafe building and walked a short way down the street to a small bar. We entered. There were about 4 or 5 people already in the bar and the head policeman ordered four coffees, as I stood nervously picking at my fingernails. Another policeman approached me and started questioning me “Who do you live with?, Do you pay rent?, What is your job?, What is your relationship with your flatmates?”.
Innocently as possible I informed him that I was the girlfriend of my flatmates brother and she was kindly hosting me for free in her apartment, as we were practically family. It was only a slight twist of the truth, I had justifed to myself. Mirella was like my family. He looked at me straight in the eyes for a few seconds and I thought he was about to call my bluff. Then he quickly turned and exchanged some hushed words with the head policeman, who had been busy drinking his coffee and joking with the barman. Even though I didn't drink coffee, I skulled the espresso that had been bought for me, and continued to wait, nerves growing by the second.
Somebody produced another official form, which was filled out in a matter of seconds on the counter of the bar, next to the cornetti. It was signed and backdated by three days. RESIDENCY APPROVED.
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