When I first met Paul in my first month here in Jesi, all I saw in him was the homeless man. Wrapped in a thick, dirty winter coat against the cold, with a cap on his head, desperately trying to keep his dreadlocks together. Very poor of foot, sleepy eyes, unhealthy complexion. A friendly, open smile on his lips. When I met Paul for the second time, in the middle of my project, I saw the brother who had gone and wanted to return home. At first loud and wildly gesticulating, then suddenly withdrawn and silent. In this video call, they discussed with his younger brother whether Paul could return to his family. Shortly afterwards I met Paul for the third time. This time I recognised the migrant. What an impact two names have when you identify with the religious one but the other is your official, state one. At the embassy in Rome, they tried to apply for a passport for his home country. When I met Paul for the fourth and last time, I saw Paul. Ready to leave, ready to go to his homeland, ...
An European Solidarity Corps Experience