Roland

You know that saying “There’s no one you couldn’t love once you’ve heard their story”? I call bullshit on that. There are plenty of people I dislike just fine after hearing their stories. Mostly though, when we take the time to learn someone’s history we open ourselves up to being touched by it. In Roland’s case, learning his story has also given me an unlikely friend.

I used to be scared of Roland. He’s a big guy with a big presence and I found him intimidating. He spends a lot of time at the cafe just below our apartment and I would dread having to walk by him because I was afraid he might give me some kind of trouble. And he was everywhere. I’d see him in town, then half an hour later I’d walk into a restaurant in a different town and he’d be there. He seemed to be in every bar, every restaurant, every square. I called him “That Guy Who Is Everywhere All The Time.”

One night our family was out with some friends, dancing and just being silly at the only establishment in town that is open past 9pm. Of course Roland was there because he has the magical ability to be in five places at once. But instead of sitting with his buddies drinking beer he was standing in the doorway dancing to Britney Spears. It was a ridiculous sight that already had me laughing and then he looked me right in the eye and said “Hit me baby one more time.” It was in that moment that I decided there was more to him than just being scary.

It wasn’t friendship at first Britney lyric, but it was the beginning of getting to know Roland. Friendship between men and women can be super complicated, especially when there are language and cultural barriers, which abound in this case, not to mention spouses. I have been very guarded about letting this guy into my life not knowing exactly what his expectations and intentions are. But now I think we have an understanding and a growing respect for one another. We are close to the same age, but we have almost no shared experience, which makes it both difficult and rewarding to get to know him. It is fascinating to me, the different circumstances that bring people together in the same place.

Roland grew up in Communist Albania, in the mountains, near the border with Macedonia. It sounds like a harder life than most of us in the U.S. can even imagine. Albania was one of the 15 poorest countries in the world during that time. There were shortages of jobs, food and other necessities, and the fear of persecution by the communist regime. Roland had to leave school at 12 years old to take care of his four younger siblings and help his mother work in a chromium mine. There was a father but for reasons I’m not very clear on, he was only around some of the time. Roland left Albania to find work in Italy when he was 19.

There was mass immigration from Albania to Greece and Italy during the late 90’s. From what I read, the desperation of the people was not unlike what we see here in the U.S. with immigrants from Mexico and Central America willing to risk everything for a chance to work and provide for their families. There is a large population of people from Albania and North Africa in Italy and they often do the jobs that are hardest and least appreciated, but necessary for the functioning of society. I had no idea before spending an extended time in one part of Italy how similar the social structure is to that of our country, with Italians often looking down on the immigrants and the immigrants having a culture of their own. Being an outsider who is both curious and naive to the social hierarchy has been a blessing, in that I don’t fit into any group, so I am free to embarrass myself with everyone.

Conversation with Roland is challenging. He speaks Italian fluently, of course, but writing is not particularly easy for him. Unfortunately, written communication is necessary for me when I’m trying to translate something, so we struggle through. He has been extraordinarily patient with me and doesn’t seem bothered that I speak like a two year old, and I have gotten better at understanding sentences with no punctuation I them.

I have slowly learned the basics of Roland’s past, but before I sat down to talk with him about this project, I didn’t understand how few choices he has had in his life. He didn’t have a choice when it came to his education, or his occupation, or where he lived, things I have taken for granted in my life. When I asked him about how he met his wife, he talked for close to an hour and his story broke my heart. He was in love with a girl named Megi. They had known each other since they were three years old. Una bella ragazza, he kept saying, a beautiful girl. When he left for Italy he asked her to wait for him and she said she would. But his family wanted him to marry someone else and they told Megi that he had found another woman in Italy and she eventually moved on. The lady Roland is married to now was his neighbor growing up and her father and his father essentially forced them into an arranged marriage that neither wanted. She was 14 when they got engaged and he was 22. Roland kept working in Italy and she joined him when she was 18 and old enough to get married. It’s a heart wrenching tale and honestly I ache for everyone involved when I think about it.

Roland’s story has made me look at my own privileged life in a more reflective way. I know, and have always known, that being born in the place and time and family that I was is like winning the life lottery. But it is one thing to know that consciously and another to feel it in a way that stings. My ability to use commas has nothing to do with my intelligence, and everything to do with the education that was just a given for me. I have never once had nothing to eat but potatoes with vegetable oil on them. I didn’t spend my childhood caring for twin infants so my mother could work, or extracting chromium from ore. I have been free to follow my heart – in relationships, in work, in creativity and in place. Choices have always been abundant for me and that is a luxury I have not fully appreciated.

This man has a life full of complications. He has problems with his health, problems with his wife, problems with his car. But he is smiling 90% of the time and a truly generous person. I saw him pull his son aside and ask him to include Felix in his game (which the son very graciously did). I saw him quietly set all the money in his pocket next to an old woman on a bench and walk away. He brought in my garbage cans when I forgot to collect them before leaving for home, just because he noticed them. And most generous of all, he doesn’t seem to resent me for the life I have had. I am lucky to learn about friendship and humanity from a person like this.

Last meal

Like with Marcela, it was hard to get Roland to think about his last meal. He said it didn’t matter, that he would eat anything. That is another humbling lesson for me that I feel ashamed for not understanding earlier – that when you have grown up with not enough, it isn’t your habit to think about what you want to eat.

After I asked Roland to tell me about some special Albanian dishes he got into it and it ended up being a really fun and interesting conversation. He came up with a huge list of things he would want at his last meal. While we were talking, he told me that when he was growing up, meat was so expensive that his family only ate it on Christmas. So it makes sense that this menu is mostly meat and desserts. I love the mix of things that are super foreign to me and universal comfort foods.

Lamb roasted over a fire

Veal stew made with meat from the animal’s head (this had a name in Albanian that I didn’t catch)

Cervello (calf brain)

Another thing that I didn’t get the name of, but it’s a dish cooked in a terra cotta pot and brought to the table pipping hot. It has meat, ricotta and pieces of liver in it

Eggplant stuffed with tomatoes, peppers and cheese

Tiny leeks with vinegar, ricotta and butter

Baklava

Ravani (walnut cake soaked with syrup)

Halva

Sultjash (rice pudding sprinkled with cocoa powder or cinnamon)

Qumështor (egg custard made with new milk)

Raki (Albanian plum grappa)