Cultura
I spent the entirety of Italy ’ s first national lockdown in a dusty old Palazzo in the centre of Palermo .
At the primary school where I was working as an English language assistant , ‘ il Coronavirus ’ was something that the children were vaguely aware of and often joked about at first . It was a farfetched concept and to all of us , surely one that would never touch Sicily . During one of my year 5 English classes , a boy called Marco marched up to my desk , dragging his chair and sat down . He shuffled his chair towards me , leant in and asked me if I knew about the virus that he ’ d heard about on the car radio on the way to school that morning . I nodded and we proceeded to discuss how , yes , Coronavirus was tearing through China , and no , it probably wouldn ’ t reach Italy , let alone Palermo – so he needn ’ t worry . Three weeks after mine and Marco ’ s discussion , Italy was in full lockdown – even outdoor exercise was forbidden . Cases were sharply rising in Palermo . My main memories of the lockdown consist of tiresome two-hour long supermarket queues mixed with endless hours in the winter sun on my wrought iron and marble balcony that wobbled with the weight of more than two people . Most days at around 4pm , you ’ d hear a solitary police car with roof speakers that bellowed out ‘ stare a casa ’ as it crawled along barren streets below us .
Photo by Anna Kell
Cultura