I’m 10, nose stuck to the window of the “doposcuola”.
Outside is cold, the day is grey and not at all like those Panamanian days drenched in sunshine and heat my little head remembers from Panama and behind me the nuns watch us. I don’t like the nuns in this doposcuola; they’re not fun like the ones my parents sent me to when we first moved to Italy. Those other nuns played ball with us kids and served us homemade cakes or bread with their very own thick fruit jams for our mid-afternoon snack whilst these ones just pass around sad looking pre-packaged snacks and apples. I miss the jam. These nuns also tell me off continuously for my spelling: they have no patience for the girl who moved across the world less than a year before. Continue reading “Castagnaccio – Chestnut Cake”