‘Our island is like a mosaic’: how migrants are reshaping Sicily’s food culture
Shapoor Safari left Kabul in 1996 after the mujahideen knocked on his door and tried to order him into their ranks. He fled first to Pakistan, then to Iran where he washed cars and learned to solder metal, then to Turkey, where he worked in a bread factory, putting mini brioches on the conveyor belt to go into the ovens. Two friends told him there was a boat going to Italy. He paid $3,000 for his place.
“It was 2002. It was the first boat to go to Italy,” he told me without pride. “There were 150 of us. Afghans, Pakistanis, Iranians, even a few Iraqis. Men, women, families, children also. On the second day, food and water ran out. The crew gave some biscuits to the children. On the third day, the captain began to sell bottles of water for $100.”
On the fourth day, there was a storm and the engine stopped and the boat heaved violently in the waves for three hours, until they got it started again. On the fifth day, they were rescued by the Italian navy and taken to a camp in Calabria. In those days, the numbers of migrants and refugees was far fewer, processing was faster. In two or three months, Safari had documents allowing him to work.
For seven years, he travelled all over Italy: Milan, Turin, Rome, Venice. He took jobs in supermarkets, as a dishwasher, making pizza; one summer, he picked olives, another tomatoes. But he never managed to
