The “slave” who quoted Shakespeare

In Praça de Figueira people are walking fast. The lunch break has just finished and everybody must go back to their jobs. Everyone except for tourists, who are sitting in the cafés, a few birds pecking at crumbs, and some old men loitering in the park. We are here to speak to the immigrant community, to find out about the journey of those from African colonies, but the task is not so easy. We try approaching some people but most of them speak only Portuguese and are not so friendly with us - three white smiling students asking for an interview in English.

John Baley Wiston is a healthy man. His hands are really strong, but his eyes are gentle and his voice is pure. He has a lot to say and finally he found someone interested in the hell he lives in. He’s 43, but he looks older. Life hasn’t been easy for him. He arrived in Portugal in 1993, on June 6th. He remembers very well the day he arrived from Liberia, an ex British colony with a name full of hope. I ask him why he didn´t move to England instead and he simply replies: “ I came here by coincidence, I had no choice. It was during the war in Liberia. The only way to make your life safe was jumping in any wagon, so I came here by boat. It took two weeks ”.

Even though he has been a legal resident since 1997, John doesn’t feel like he’s Portuguese: “ Emotions, background and mentality are different ”. He works in construction, as a labourer, like many male African immigrants in Lisbon – women work as cleaners. “ Many labourers die, but if you refuse to do something, they fire you. These are only temporary jobs and it happens that we don’t receive any money for the works we have done ”. Supervisors are called “ gargados ” and their strategy is trying to shy away from their responsibilities: “ They have no respect, they intimidate you and abuse you, telling you any type of things”, says John, “They make you feel like a slave ”.
Labour unions exist, but they can’t work if workers first don’t speak out. “ Africans from Portuguese colonies never speak out. They are scared, they’ve never been used to it. Africans from British colonies don’t behave like this. But if we are divided, as workers and as Africans, we will never change things ”. Sometimes the government organises security checks, but they’re insufficiant.

John lost all his family in Liberia, and hasn´t been able to go back and visit his homeland, nor can he afford to move forward with his life and start a new family. He is stuck in time, a prisoner of a dreadful situation. If he had the opportunity to study and learn something, if Portugal gave him this chance, things would be different. He would like to have his own business, he would find his own way, anything which could make him independent. Than he would send money to his country. “ I’m forced to do my job. There’s nothing I can do here. It’s not question of liking or not ”.

If he could say something to the European Union, he would say: “ There are so many Africans who could be engineers, lawyers, because they studied, but they don’t have the opportunity. If you don’t want all these immigrants to come here without any role, you have to start solving the problem from the roots. You don’t have to think about Africans here, but you have to help Africans in Africa. They need technologies, schools and hospitals. Without money they can’t do anything. My generation has problems, forth generation will have more and more problems. Poverty is not a natural thing, it’s a man made thing, caused by capitalism ”.

John is charismatic, full of information, and is always smiling, even though inside he is sad: “I feel like I am handicapped by this senseless world”. But he trusts in the next generation of Europeans - maybe the future will be better. For the moment, he has to face reality. “ The most important thing is to find a form of relief for yourself. I find it in faith and in music: ‘If music be the food of love, give me excess of it that suffice the appetite’ : it’s Shakespeare ”. I ask him to write the quote on my notebook, because I can’t remember it. His hand shivers, the letters are barely legible.

Text: Ilaria Lonigro

Photo: 1) Zaza, 2) An-Sofie Kesteleyn