The irony of selling flowers.

It’s easy for me to find immigrants from Africa. In Sardinia. Where I’m living this winter. With my Italian true love. She’s been my main focus, of course. But lately, on my daily walks about town, I’ve been approaching the immigrants. Mostly from Nigeria and Ghana. They are street peddlers. Some might even call ‘em beggars. If one doesn’t buy their wares, they often ask for a little money. I give ‘em my loose change. Or maybe even paper currency. Especially if I talk to ‘em for a while. And get a sense of knowing someone. Like Alexander from Nigeria. He’s typical of the immigrants I meet. Fairly well-educated. Including three years of training, in Africa, in veterinary medicine. He’s 26. And would eventually like a degree in veterinary medicine. And to be able to pursue that profession. In a European Union country. But probably won’t happen in Italy. Jobs are scarce. Even for Italians. And Alexander has virtually no chance. Other than to being a street vendor. To earn enough to barely survive. He carries a picture ID card. Apparently obtained when he migrated from Libya to Italy. On a boat with other Africans. Says he’s allowed to go to a bunch of European Union countries. Legally. If he can find the means. But he can’t afford to move. Not enough cash to buy a  ticket on a plane or train. He’d like to end up in an English-speaking country. Alexander and others would happily settle for Canada. And they dream of the USA. They left Africa to escape poverty. But they are still impoverished. And now exist largely on dreams. In addition to nominal sums of money, I give ‘em words of encouragement. Knowing full well that they face a bleak life. Because the world isn’t structured to help the poor and destitute. Of course, a few find a way. Pull themselves up by bootstraps. And with a little bit of luck. Many of ‘em have skills. Such as Alexander. Or Moses, a Nigerian who’s been trained as a computer engineer. Yesterday, I met Brian from Ghana and a flower bouquet peddler from Bangladesh. Haven’t even caught his name yet. Because I was focused on the irony of him selling flowers. Just to earn a few coins to feed himself. He’s a skinny guy. Maybe he finds solace. By taking time to smell the flowers. Thing is, I didn’t see him carrying any roses. –Jim Broede