Seven years ago, on 20 November 2018, something changed forever for Italians who visited or would visit Kenya. The kidnapping of young Italian Silvia Romano, mistakenly described as an “aid worker” but in reality a volunteer without any special permit or visa other than a tourist visa, who was working more or less on an expense reimbursement basis for a shabby non-profit organisation in the Marche region, shed light on the superficiality with which solidarity in Malindi and the surrounding area was (and in part still is) managed, and on the perception of danger when Africa is thought of as a land where, in contrast to the strict rules of the West, excessive freedom can be exercised.

The facts are well known: Silvia Costanza Romano, a 25-year-old from Milan, has been living for a few weeks in Chakama, in the hinterland of Malindi, about 80 kilometres away, on the road leading to Tsavo National Park. There she coordinates a solidarity project created by Lilian Sora, a woman from Fano who set up a non-profit association to help poor local people, especially children: to enable them to study and, through donations, guarantee them a safe meal and medicines.

The more cynical, and those who have seen many such “borderline” projects, say that thanks to these donations, the woman is paying for her “solidarity holidays” in Kenya, where she is engaged to a Masai man who, coincidentally, works on the project and, of course, provides food, accommodation and expense allowances to the volunteers who come and go.

On their continuous trips, young people who extol rural life among the poor, the “last” of Chakama, volunteers are loaded with luggage containing medicines, clothing and other products, in a tour that also involves a bar in Malindi run by Italians who have some problems with the Italian justice system. But that's another story, which many will deal with shortly after the kidnapping.

Silvia, who travels back and forth between Chakama and Malindi, has access to the charity's bank accounts and acts as field manager. She also makes friends and has “passionate” relationships with local boys.

On the evening of 20 November, a gang of eight people wreaks havoc in Chakama. Some of them are armed and storm into the village centre, shooting and injuring four people, including a child.

Two others break into the Africa Milele guest house and kidnap Silvia Romano.

I receive the news that same evening from a colleague who lives in Langobaya, half an hour away from Chakama, where the only police station in the area is located.

As always, I coordinate with the local authorities and the embassy before breaking the news, remaining as vague as possible. But the next day, of course, the kidnapping is public knowledge: in Italy, in Kenya, all over the world.

From then on, everything and its opposite will be said, and reporters, both distinguished and incompetent, will arrive in search of news or just self-aggrandising scoops. Our secret services will work as always in the dark, away from the spotlight, but there will be no further reliable news of Silvia until February 2019, when reliable witnesses report that she has been transferred to Somalia after being handed over to al-Shabaab terrorists.

From then on, nothing more will be heard of her for months, despite the arrest of a courier and two probable Kenyan captors, who are suspected of being linked to the Somali Islamic organisation.

A year later, the pandemic will descend on the world, making everything more difficult.

The outcome is also known: Silvia Romano was freed after more than a year and a half, on 10 May 2020, thanks to a joint operation between Italian and Turkish intelligence and the Somali authorities.

A ransom was certainly paid, but the amount will never be revealed.

As the only permanent journalist in the field, together with RAI correspondent Enzo Nucci, I visited Chakama several times and followed the trial of the alleged kidnappers. The trial is still ongoing, with the last hearing taking place in the spring of this year, but it is not getting very far, partly because the key figure in the Kenya-Somalia connection is on the run and who knows if he is still alive. In the meantime, the Italian judiciary, citing countless difficulties, has given up on the international letter rogatory.

Silvia converted to Islam, who knows whether as a token gesture or out of conviction, and has rebuilt an anonymous life for herself, probably never to return to Africa.

And as often happens, the African continent itself, which grows and ripens fruit and, if no one picks it, throws it on the ground to rot in the sun before taking it back and sprouting new plants, has forgotten almost everything.

What should not be forgotten is that solidarity, like no other practice, however commendable and often in good faith, is not a game and must be carried out with full knowledge of the facts, without levity or ignorance, relying on those with more experience, even if it means feeling “observed” and not being able to act according to one's own convictions.

Otherwise, the sweets that are handed out and do more good to those who distribute them than to those who receive them risk returning to the sender laden with poison.

Perhaps, in this whole story, it was Silvia who was the victim, and not only of a kidnapping.

As I wrote spontaneously in those days in a poem of mine that is now part of the book “Ti immagini l'Africa” (Imagine Africa) and which I reproduce here.

It is entitled Room 7, like the room in Chakama where Silvia Romano lived and from where she was taken.

(Photo by Leni Frau)

#ROOM 7

(for Silvia)

Africa does not close its doors

it has chains and padlocks if you want to sleep

moonlight if you want to think

a blanket of stars if you know how to dream.

Africa does not close its doors

it colours them yellow, pink or green

it stains them with sex or blood

and has no water to wash them clean

Africa shares its bathroom

with all the miasmas of the cosmos

the scent of flowers and boiled wheat

birds and insects in the background

Africa is everyone's home

those who buy it with deception

those who don't pay rent

and those who sleep on the ground in the mud

Africa does not close its doors

that is the world of others

those who no longer have hope

those who have been dead inside for years

Africa does not close its doors

it opens its heart to those who have one.