My name is Magdalena Volcan, I am 20 years old and I like to think of myself as a student in life, in general. I am curious to learn and know new realities, different ways of thinking and seeing the world. That is why I am a big fan of languages, our way of communicating with each other as members of a unique society, and travel, one of the ways to explore the world and learn about environments outside our daily lives. This thirst of mine for knowledge was one of the reasons I chose to leave with ASCS for the volunteer experience in Chile, on the other side of the world. In fact, I spent the last two months at CIAMI – Centro Integrado de Atención al Migrante, the Scalabrini Foundation’s migrant reception center in Santiago de Chile. CIAMI is a center that includes different services for migrant people in Chile: from the family shelter, to the parish, to the legal counseling for the migration path. I as a volunteer worked in the women’s shelter and in the bolsa de empleo, the job search office. It is difficult for me to collect this experience in one page of paper, because I think I am still not fully aware of what I have left here or what I have been given in these months. One thing I am sure of, however, is that this experience has left me with so many reflections and so many question marks about myself, people, and the world at large. Being placed in a completely different context than those I have known so far has given me the opportunity to see the world from a different perspective, to explore myself and my life through new lenses. My tasks were simple. Breakfast in the morning, with some bread and jam and café con leche; dinner in the evening, with cheese bread. During the week I was doing my best to help these women in untangling the knots of the new Chilean migration system, to make it easier for them to have the life they had longed for here.

They were simple and humble gestures, from which, however, thoughts and reflections were born. I as a migrant woman was helping other migrant women start a life in a new country, the same life that I was also trying to understand. Here in Santiago I felt like I was living on two tracks: the track of my experience and the track of theirs. The track of my life was a smooth, oiled track to an unknown but smiling future, whose engine is the hope of finding a pleasant and welcome life. This experience in Santiago is a stop on my train, which opened new doors, new possibilities and new visions for me and my growth. The track of these migrant women’s lives is completely different. Not only are the origin of their history and their roots different, but also their trajectory is being influenced by the world in a completely different way than mine. The way I am treated in Chile as an Italian migrant is diametrically opposed to the way they are treated as Peruvian, Bolivian, Venezuelan, or Haitian women. On their platform, I was an observant bystander, a girl who had smiled at them once in offering them what humble help I could give. At the end of the day, privilege makes the difference between these two tracks. A privilege that I had never experienced on my skin so much that I felt like I was living two parallel lives. Being included in this migratory context opened my eyes to my privilege: it made me feel on my skin how privileged I am to have the life I have and to be an Italian national. Things that I did nothing for, things that fortunately happened to me at birth, for which I cannot take any credit. As these two tracks recede, separated by the chasm of privilege, echoes the sound of the train engine gliding on the rails toward a vision of a better future. This echoing rumble is the sound of hope. Hope is the desire that moves our train on the tracks of life, the train of all migrant people. The ability to dream of a better future for ourselves, for our families, and the desire to see new possibilities in the present are the reason for the resilience of these women. My sisters, mis hermanas, they have great strength within, an almost spiritual internal energy, calm but resolute. My sisters are tenacious, resilient in the most difficult situations and persevering through the long process of acceptance and integration. I tried to assist them as much as I could in the most knotty and entangled situations, at times when the flame of hope shining in them grew dimmer. Helping them modestly, I was filled with wonder. I immersed myself in their energy, in the way they danced on the strings of the world, on street corners and sidewalk cracks. I found myself surrounded by the sound of a new language, a new perspective of seeing the world, and I was impressed. I was enchanted by their perseverance and energy, their ability not to lose hope, not to let the world extinguish their light, and to fight for the future they want for themselves.

This energy, which moves the trains of their lives, echoes in my heart when it throbs. When I hear the rhythm of the marinera, danced in the hall on July 27 for the Fiesta patria de Peru, when I hear the echo of their laughter on Saturday night at dinner, when I hear the sizzle of eggs frying on Sunday morning. The breath of hope reverberates throughout Malaquias Concha’s house: it can be heard in the walls and on the stairs, in the footsteps of women going to work, in the sound of chairs getting married as they wait for some job offer. It resonates in the silences, the sighs, the stories, the chatter and the laughter. This energy filled me too, filled my heart and soul. Now that I am living my last moments in this house, the only thing I can do is to absorb this energy completely, to the last and say, gracias hermanitas.

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