Interview with Valentina Geraci

Alexia and Arianna interview Valentina Geraci, migration and African Studies advisor, policy consultant and researcher, specialist in diaspora, transnationalism, and Italy–Senegal Relations. Valentina holds a bachelor’s degree in Political Science and International Relations from the University of Messina and a master’s degree in International Relations and European Studies from the University of Florence’s “Cesare Alfieri” School of Political Science. Today, she is a researcher at the Archivio dei Diari, a cultrice della materia (Subject Expert) for the History and Politics of Contemporary Africa course at the University of Florence, a legal consultant for Arci’s immigration desks, the head of communication for ItaliaHello, the coordinator for the Sub-Saharan Africa and Sahel observatory at AMIStaDeS APS. She’s also a freelance journalist for national and international newspapers, and she regularly participates in academic conferences on such themes as lecturer.

In the history of Senegal, how has the country positioned itself within the Pan-African movement? What is the contemporary conception of modern Pan-Africanism, and in particular, what role do the diaspora and Afro-descendant communities play?

Pan-Africanism is an extremely complex and central theme in the political, cultural and academic debate. In order to analyse its scope, it is necessary to take a step back, not just in history, but in memory as well. It is from this perspective that we can understand one of the most salient topics today, that of restorative justice. Not surprisingly, 2025 has been named Year of Restorative Justice for African people and descendants through reparations. What does “reparation” really mean? What forms can it take? And above all, who should take responsibility for it, and through what tools?

“To answer your question, we should remind ourselves that Senegal is one of the main intellectual laboratories of Pan-Africanism and decolonial thinking. Among its most influential figures, Léopold Sédar Senghor, the independent Senegal’s first President, is best known for his poetic stance on the concept of Négritude — an important cultural movement aimed at valuing Black identity and culture.

The other great pillar of this movement in the country was Cheikh Anta Diop, with his scientific and historical rigor. By overturning Eurocentrism, which traces back the civilization’s origins to Greece and Rome only, Diop demonstrated the influence of Black Egypt (hence, African civilization) on the history of humanity. Unlike Senghor, Diop embodied a clear political and intellectual break with colonial France.

Along Senghor and Diop, however, many other important figures contributed to the construction of Pan-Africanist and decolonial thinking, but rarely had space in mainstream narrative. One of them is Alioune Diop, a Senegalese intellectual and politician, who founded the famous magazine and publishing house Présence Africaine, which became one of the main spaces of elaboration of anticolonial and Négritude thinking. Furthermore, Diop promoted two different events which were destined to deeply mark the intellectual history of Pan-Africanism: the first Congrès des écrivains et artists noirs, held in Paris in 1956, and the Second Congress, organized in Rome three years later. The first one was meant to compile a comprehensive inventory of Black cultures, while at the same time examining the role of Western culture and colonialism in their marginalization. That experience also gave birth to the Société Africaine de Culture (SAC), which contributed to the consolidation of an international network of African and Afro-descendant intellectuals. Instead, the Congress of Rome, focused on the theme “Unity and responsibility of African culture”, represented a decisive moment of collective reflection, by reuniting writers, artists, and thinkers coming from Africa, Europe, the Caribbeans, and the Americas. Among others, on the poetic front, stood David Diop.

While there is certainly this whole poetic, historical, and cultural side, there is another that is less poetic and cultural. That is Pan-Africanism which turns into community outreach, embodied by spiritual, religious, and social leaders during the years of colonisation. In my opinion, in a certain sense, if we wish to look at the domestic level of Pan-Africanism – at the regional level – the founding figure of the Murid brotherhood, Cheikh Ahmadou Bamba, could be an example. He led a nonviolent resistance movement against the French presence on the territory. In spite of his ethical stature and the political activism which derived from it, which cost him seven years of exile in Gabon, Western handbooks tend to ignore him in the field of nonviolent politics, while preferring the study of equally relevant figures, such as Gandhi. Yet, Bamba’s heritage is alive today and it still mobilizes millions of people. Just think that every year, Touba’s Great Magal commemorates his return from exile. In my opinion, this can be somehow considered as a Pan-Africanist act: perhaps it does not succeed in uniting a continent, but it certainly unites in the scope. The nature of Pan-Africanism, however, changes just as society, geopolitics, and relations change; but in some weeks, this Magal – which in the Wolof language spoken in Senegal conveys the idea of “paying homage” – undoubtedly will play a fundamental role, even at a symbolic level.

Similarly, the struggle centered on economic sovereignty and human rights. I’m thinking of Ibrahima Seydou Ndaw, who led historic union battles against French monopoly on peanuts’ commerce; or of Lamine Senghor, who reported the exploitation of Senegalese tirailleurs, i.e. soldiers recruited from French West African territories and deployed on the fronts of World War II. Many of them suffered severe discrimination, were deprived of their salaries and retirement benefits and, in some cases, paid their requests for an even treatment with their lives. The Thiaroye massacre in 1944 still is one of the most emblematic episodes of such violence, and it plays a central role in the calls for remembrance and justice.

Today, I believe Pan-Africanism follows the same path, having shed the confines of literary theory alone to draw inspiration from reflections – and actions – as well. In Western Africa, for instance, this debate intertwines with relevant – and not for this less complex – political transformations, like the creation of the Alliance des états du Sahel (AES) between Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger; but also with the increasing protagonism of movements, research centers, civil society organizations, and activists, who, even though with different orientations, claim new political and cultural independence for the continent. Contemporary Pan-Africanism, indeed, is not a unitary movement, but rather a collection of different – sometimes opposing – perspectives, which are marked by many complex questions, multiple interests between parties, between geographies, etc. A new element, compared to the past, is the role of digital spaces. Online platforms multiplied exchanges between intellectuals, researchers, activists and members of diasporas, thereby creating transnational confrontational networks which contribute to the circulation of ideas, experiences, political practices, and new linguistic styles. Let me make an example. During my research in Senegal, I had the opportunity to participate in some of these moments of online education and debate, and it was an interesting chance to understand how Pan-Africanism is continuously reinterpreted by new generations.

In Senegal, such reflections translate into very substantial matters, such as the debate around the future of the CFA franc, the promotion of their own language, the strengthening of local cultural productions, and, more generally, the pursuit of greater autonomy from France. In this sense, the withdrawal of the last French military bases from the country, completed in 2025, also takes on a symbolic meaning. At the same time, it is important to avoid simplistic interpretations. A gradual distancing from European influence does not automatically lead to more balanced relations with new international partners.

I believe that one of the most significant challenges concerns, above all, the younger generations. Africa is the world’s youngest continent by average age, yet in many countries it continues to be governed by very elderly ruling classes. It is within this tension that civic movements, associations, cultural collectives, youth entrepreneurship, and diaspora networks are increasingly emerging, experimenting daily with new forms of participation and citizenship. The year 2026 is seeing several political elections take place in multiple African countries.

Perhaps the deepest truth lies precisely here. Today, the most authentic expression of Pan-Africanism seems to be found not only in programmatic manifestos but also in a myriad of small-scale actions, ideas, and projects that arise in everyday life and that often do not explicitly define themselves as “Pan-African.”

What are the strengths and weaknesses of the collaboration between Italy and Senegal? Do any political and cultural limitations emerge, particularly linked to the redefinition of relations between African and European countries?

I’ll start right where I left off a moment ago. While Senegal is redefining its internal balance and international relations, a somewhat different dynamic can be observed between Senegalese and Italian cities. Through my field research, both here and in Senegal, I’ve gotten the impression that the relationship between the two countries reflects a bond built over the years through the role of diasporas, associative networks, decentralized cooperation, and ties between communities. It’s a relationship that, while not without its challenges, seems to be based on a more solid foundation of mutual trust than other historical relationships between European and African countries.

To understand the roots of this relationship, we need to rewind to the 1980s and 1990s. This was the period when Europe established the Schengen Area, France tightened visa requirements and fortified its borders, while Italy – lacking a regulatory framework for migration at the time – became, for many Senegalese, perhaps an inevitable choice. Without needing a visa, just a passport, many traveled via Ventimiglia or arrived directly on Italian soil from Senegal. What began as a temporary stopover gradually evolved into a permanent presence, solidified over the years through family reunification.

My focus is on people because it is through the human dimension and relationships that, in my view, these processes can best be understood. It is relationships that build bridges, foster trust, and bring about change. In this sense, one of the elements that the Senegalese community has been able to cultivate most effectively over the years is the associational movement, which remains today one of the main tools for participation, solidarity, and connection among communities.

The Senegalese nonprofit sector is extremely diverse. On the one hand, there are formally established organizations registered with the National Single Registry of the Third Sector (RUNTS) as volunteer organizations or social promotion associations. On the other hand, there is a dense informal network composed of religious associations, neighborhood networks, mutual aid groups, and spontaneous collectives. These networks, whether formal or informal, perform essential social functions both in Senegal and in Italy.

What is striking is the strong interconnection between these organizations. They communicate with one another, share resources, coordinate initiatives, and often organize collective fundraisers to finance projects in certain areas of Senegal – ranging from the construction of schools and clinics to support local communities or religious brotherhoods. In this way, these associations serve as a bridge between the two countries. For example, during the months of the COVID-19 pandemic, Senegalese and Italian-Senegalese citizens from an association in Pontedera, in Tuscany, organized donations and aid for the local population. It is a space where the local and transnational dimensions are constantly intertwined. And this applies to both formal and informal organizations, which, even without a legal structure, promote fundraising, awareness-raising initiatives, and ties between schools and universities in the two countries.

Moreover, speaking of remittances, it is important to move beyond a purely economic perspective. To downplay this two-way flow by defining it solely as “sending money” is to fail to understand its true significance. In addition to financial remittances intended for families or for investment in cities, there is an immense wealth of social, cultural, and entrepreneurial remittances. It is the circularity of knowledge.

I link the associative dimension to that of international cooperation, whose agendas are giving Senegal an increasingly central role. However, significant obstacles to accessing calls for proposals remain for many organizations within the Senegalese diaspora, especially those that still lack a formal structure. Language barriers, administrative complexities, and bureaucratic and technical requirements often make it difficult to participate in public calls for proposals, even though these organizations have in-depth knowledge of the local areas and the needs of their communities.

Alongside the first generations, who are deeply committed to community welfare and traditional associative networks and roles, new diaspora groups are emerging that view the relationship between Italy and Senegal differently, focusing on social innovation, entrepreneurship, and peer-to-peer cooperation. There are particularly interesting examples, such as the collaboration between Tuscany and Senegal, where diaspora associations work alongside Senegalese organizations based in Italy, as well as local authorities, institutions, and Italian universities, to carry out projects focused on the digital transition, sustainable agriculture, and the social and solidarity economy through equal partnerships.

I believe this is the key point, because cooperation yields results only when it is truly horizontal. Projects cannot be conceived and imposed from above; rather, they must arise from listening, co-design, and the sharing of responsibilities with those who live in those communities every day. This also means adapting language and tools to local contexts. Communication isn’t simply about translating a message, but about making it culturally accessible by choosing the most appropriate channels, languages, and methods. 

It is precisely this ability to recognize local knowledge and build relationships based on reciprocity on both sides that, in my view, is the key to truly sustainable international cooperation and to the future of relations between Italy and Senegal.

How can gender decolonization help us read contemporary Senegal beyond the models implanted by Europe? What roles can women occupy in society, and what can be their relationship with education, healthcare, and religion?

There is a methodological error that people often fall into when analyzing a country, a situation, or anything else: assuming that complex realities can be interpreted by applying one’s own interpretive lens. About two years ago, together with some colleagues, we tried to break this habit by starting with the question: “How are women written about and spoken of in Senegal? What is the role of women within local media and community radio stations, both in Senegal and in the diaspora?” The result of that work required us, first and foremost, to decolonize the very concept of representation. The models of media narrative and social structure that we often consider “universal” are, in reality, often diverse, frequently inherited and reinterpreted over the years, and just as often operate according to entirely different dynamics.

Before colonialism, many of Senegal’s social structures were traditionally matriarchal. Even today, women play a central role in many dynamics, even those that elude our understanding. To decipher this reality without slipping into paternalism, I believe the first essential step is to study the Senegalese Family Code, combined with direct observation and active listening to the people. If we try to overcome our cognitive biases through the use of comparative data (such as that offered by models of transnational sociological analysis), new insights emerge.

This does not mean painting an idyllic picture or one devoid of challenges or contradictions. Rather, it means recognizing the need to study a country’s social structures using local tools, refusing to project a European “model X” onto transnational contexts – or, more simply, onto other contexts.

The political transition Senegal has recently undergone has prompted us, in this study, to examine the presence of women in positions of power. Although women remain a minority in terms of representation within institutions and in public leadership roles – a fact that has sparked a heated and necessary debate in the country – civil society’s response has been significant. Social media channels and digital platforms have become genuine spaces for mobilization and political advocacy. Senegal boasts an interesting network of feminist movements and women’s associations that have been historically active, capable of mobilizing public opinion and exerting pressure. 

Although this is not my field of research – I primarily focus on diasporas, circular mobility, and transnationalism – examining these intersecting trajectories also allows for a close look at issues related to education and employment. A highly relevant issue, mirroring the situation we face in Italy, concerns women’s access to STEM fields (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics). The rigidity of educational pathways also weighs heavily on the Senegalese school system.

Unlike the Italian system, once a student has chosen a course of study (such as the classical track), is it always possible to change paths? At times, this situation can make it difficult to recalibrate one’s professional aspirations, partly due to unforeseen circumstances, personal choices, or various other factors. However, the local response in this area is strong as well. There is a growing number of awareness campaigns, targeted training programs, and support networks created to help girls gain access to scientific careers.

Once again, the key lies not in exporting ready-made solutions, but in supporting and understanding the processes of transformation that Senegalese society is already driving from within.

In your research on talibés in Francophone West Africa, we can perceive a layered complexity regarding the realities of this phenomenon. Can you help us frame the issue? To what extent does the talibé phenomenon expand today, and how is it being addressed? What do you see as future prospects? What do you think could be the turning point that bridges the concept of human rights we consider universal with the traditional sensitivity of populations where practices restricted by the exercise and protection of those rights have an identity-based and religious character?

The research on talibés is not the result of an individual study, but of a project developed in collaboration with a group of colleagues. This is a topic that necessarily requires a multidisciplinary approach, as it involves religious, educational, legal, social, and anthropological aspects.

When addressing the topic of talibés, it is important to distinguish between the institution of the daara in its original function and the situations of abuse that, over the years, have been documented in certain facilities that call themselves daaras but deviate profoundly from the original model.

The daara is the traditional Senegalese Quranic school. For centuries, it has been one of the main centers of religious education and continues to be chosen by many families as an integral part of their children’s educational journey. Its objectives are the study of the Quran and the transmission of social and communal values deeply rooted in Senegalese society, such as solidarity, collective responsibility, discipline, patience, and respect for others.

Within this educational model, even practices such as begging take on a specific meaning. In the traditional conception of the daara, asking for food or a small contribution occurs at specific times of the day and is interpreted as an educational exercise aimed at strengthening the sense of interdependence between the individual and the community. This practice, however, must be distinguished from situations in which children are forced to beg for money for many hours a day or subjected to forms of exploitation, phenomena widely documented by national and international human rights organizations.

It is precisely this distinction that represents one of the most complex aspects of the debate. The violations of children’s rights observed in some facilities – including economic exploitation, physical abuse, lack of access to healthcare, prolonged separation from family, and restrictions on the right to play and personal development – do not characterize the entire daara system but pertain to specific cases that, according to numerous Senegalese scholars and religious leaders, have gradually strayed from their original educational purpose.

The causes of this transformation are manifold. Urbanization, population growth, economic difficulties, and the lack of a uniform oversight system have, in some contexts, fostered the emergence of informal facilities that are difficult to monitor and far removed from the religious sphere. During our field research, we visited several daaras, both traditional and modern, urban and rural, in collaboration with Senegalese and Italian-Senegalese associations active in child protection. One of the critical issues that emerged concerns the difficulty of obtaining an up-to-date map of existing facilities. Even some local governments in Dakar lacked recent and comprehensive censuses, a factor that complicates institutions’ monitoring and intervention efforts.

Furthermore, the term talibé does not refer to a child in a situation of exploitation, but simply means “student” / “one who seeks knowledge,” deriving from the Arabic term ṭālib. All students at Quranic schools are talibé, regardless of the quality of the school they attend. Confusing the term solely with situations of severe vulnerability therefore risks oversimplifying a reality that is far more nuanced and complex.

Furthermore, in recent years, Senegal has launched several programs to reform and modernize the daara, some of which have recently been taken up by the new political class. The goal is to encourage the registration of Quranic schools, improve educational standards, and, in many cases, integrate religious instruction with that provided by the national school system. These measures have sparked differing viewpoints within Senegalese society.

Some view them as a necessary tool for strengthening child protection; others fear excessive state interference in a historically autonomous religious institution; still others seek a balance that preserves the identity of the daaras while ensuring respect for children’s rights. The issue remains at the center of public debate in Senegal today. On the one hand, civil society organizations, religious authorities, and institutions denounce the violations that continue to occur in some facilities and call for greater oversight and protection measures. On the other hand, many emphasize the historical and cultural role of the daara in shaping entire generations and the need to avoid generalizations that end up conflating a traditional educational practice with its distortions.

Understanding the phenomenon of the talibé therefore means balancing both dimensions: recognizing the centrality of the daara in Senegal’s social and religious history while, at the same time, critically analyzing situations in which this institution is distorted to the point of compromising children’s fundamental rights. Senegal is a party to the main international and regional instruments for the protection of human rights, including the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child and the African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child.

Furthermore, at the continental level, there is a comprehensive African system for the protection of human rights, which is often less well known. Accession to international treaties, however, represents only one of the levels through which rights are implemented. Legal literature has long distinguished between formal and substantive law. Political, institutional, economic, cultural, and social factors intervene between these two levels, which can either facilitate or hinder the effectiveness of the legal safeguards provided for in the laws of different countries. 

Senegal is constitutionally a secular republic, but religion plays a significant role in public life. Muslim brotherhoods and their spiritual leaders are highly influential social actors, capable of shaping public debate and, in some cases, even collective behavior. I offer this example to encourage us to reflect together – without any pretensions, but simply to suggest that rather than questioning a supposed conflict between law and religion, it may be useful to observe how these different levels of regulation coexist in practice and how they interact in building social consensus.

I was there, during an incident that occurred during the 2024 presidential elections, and I recall that during the demonstrations linked to the political crisis that preceded the election of Bassirou Diomaye Faye and in support of the PASTEF party, institutional calls for an end to the protests had limited effectiveness, while appeals for calm made by certain influential religious leaders helped reduce tensions in various contexts. Beyond the political interpretations of the episode, it highlights the influence that religious authorities continue to wield in Senegalese society as agents of social mediation. 

This plurality of actors is significant, in my view, and leads us to a broader question concerning their relationship to rights and to the dialogue between value systems, traditions, and cultural references in different countries. Furthermore, it goes without saying that on any given issue, there is no single, unified position held by “Senegalese society.” Like any other society, Senegalese society is marked by diverse opinions, sensibilities, and worldviews. Reducing the debate to a dichotomy between “the West” and “Africa,” between Italy and Senegal, risks obscuring the diversity of voices within a single country, where the practical application of rights inevitably comes up against legal systems, state authorities, and non-state actors, as well as political dynamics and social values that vary from country to country.

As an expert researcher in Italy-Senegal relations, how do research projects unfold outside of Europe? What are the main challenges you have encountered, and what, instead, has left a lasting impression on you?

I’ve already answered that in part. I believe the starting point is to adopt an attitude of constant openness, recognizing that we never stop learning. Viewing phenomena through a decolonial, non-Eurocentric, and — as far as possible — cosmopolitan lens is not a goal that is achieved once and for all, but rather a daily exercise in reflection and deconstruction.  

In my own journey, this has also meant continually questioning my own interpretive frameworks. I grew up in close contact with the Senegalese community, and despite this proximity, I had to learn to recognize and deconstruct many of the biases and stereotypes that we inevitably absorb by living in a particular society. It’s a process that I still consider to be constantly evolving.  

That is why I believe that research always begins with an exercise in listening. It means questioning the sources we choose to use, giving space to African academic and journalistic works, reading the Senegalese press alongside the Italian and international press, observing public debate, including through OSINT tools, and, above all, engaging with people.  

No single source is sufficient on its own. It is the continuous dialogue between documentary research, field observation, and human relationships that allows us to understand the complexity of what we study. Many of the reflections I’ve been developing stem precisely from this – that is, from hours of discussion, informal meetings, and conversations with people from diverse backgrounds who have had different experiences in Senegal and Italy. It is there that the nuances often emerge, nuances that rarely find their way into official data or documents. Ultimately, I believe that doing research means, above all, putting oneself in a position to listen before interpreting, knowing that every answer inevitably raises new questions. 

I believe that, over time, we have built essential relationships of trust. Many people, in fact, choose not to share their stories because often, especially in the mainstream media, their stories are reduced to a narrative of suffering in which the person becomes a symbol of a condition, often associated exclusively with skin color or their migration journey, and is not recognized in all their complexity.  I don’t believe I’m “giving a voice” to anyone, because people already have their own voices.

The role of those engaged in research or public outreach should rather be to create spaces where these voices can emerge without being filtered through predefined categories. I like to think of truly cosmopolitan societies, where people are recognized first and foremost for their skills, experiences, and knowledge. To give the example of a dear friend of mine: if I interview an Italian-Senegalese biologist, I don’t do so because he is Black or because he automatically represents an “other” form of knowledge, but because he is a professional with a specific background and expertise to share. If his work also involves traditional medicine or the relationship between scientific knowledge and decolonial perspectives, then that naturally becomes a topic for further exploration. But it is not a person’s origin that automatically determines their field of knowledge.  

This aspect has also been central to my fieldwork, where mediation has not been merely linguistic, but above all cultural. In Senegal and the Gambia, just as here in Italy, I was always accompanied by Senegalese and/or Gambian people, because certain nuances, meanings, and sensitivities cannot be fully understood through linguistic translation alone.

Knowing French and English was certainly helpful, but language carries with it social codes, hierarchies, and cultural references that require careful attention. I remember, for example, an interview with a spiritual leader in Senegal. I had phrased the question with all the necessary care, at least in my opinion, but the mediator still felt the need to apologize before translating my question, because at that moment, that request might have crossed certain implicit boundaries. It was a very significant moment, because it reminded me that doing research doesn’t just mean asking questions the right way, but also understanding the context in which those questions are received. 

And this brings me back to a methodological challenge that is often overlooked: the risk of biased responses. Sometimes interviewees tend to provide what they imagine the researcher wants to hear, especially in certain cases or regarding certain topics. For this reason, it is important to constantly triangulate information, compare different sources, and observe what is actually happening on the ground. For example, I have heard issues that feature prominently on international cooperation agendas, such as irregular migration, cited as top priorities.

But as I spent time with entrepreneurs, farmers, local associations, and young professionals, other priorities often emerged, such as access to credit, agricultural development, food processing, vocational training, digital technology, and youth entrepreneurship. None of these perspectives is necessarily wrong; they simply reflect different levels of the same reality. Perhaps this is precisely the most important lesson that research has taught me. Doing research means accepting complexity and living with doubt. It means recognizing that one’s perspective is always partial and that understanding a phenomenon requires time, listening, and a willingness to continually revise one’s interpretive frameworks. 

Rather than seeking confirmation, I now try to ask better questions. This, I believe, is the most valuable contribution research can offer. The answers we gather are not definitive. They change over time, and we need to develop more accurate tools to understand reality together with the people who experience that reality every day.

Finally, allow us a couple of more personal questions: we know that during your academic career you attended the Master’s degree program in International Relations and European Studies at “Cesare Alfieri”; do you have any advice for today’s students? What was your life like after graduation?

When I look back on my time in the classrooms at “Cesare Alfieri” while pursuing my Master’s degree in International Relations and European Studies, the first thing I feel is deep gratitude. If I were to leave a message for the students, I would start with one person. A few days ago, I wrote an email to Professor Maria Stella Rognoni to thank her. I felt the need to tell her how much her teaching has shaped my journey, not only academically but also personally.

This is because, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that, above all, our journey is made up of the people we meet. We can study at the best universities, read hundreds of books, and build impeccable résumés, but it’s also the people we encounter along the way who shape the direction of our path. Our work and our commitment are essential, but surrounding ourselves with people who trust us and believe in us is just as important. 

Turning points often come unexpectedly, over a quick coffee during a break, or in a casual chat on the bus. It’s these snippets of life that move us, that force us to step outside our comfort zones. When you find the courage to break through the surface of the ordinary and look out, you realize that the world is infinitely bigger and more diverse than you ever imagined. And that disorientation, in reality, reorients you. That’s why my first piece of advice is to stay true to yourselves. Stop and talk to a professor after class because you’re looking for further insight. Grab a coffee with a classmate. Attend a seminar even if the topic seems far removed from your interests. Often, the most important opportunities don’t arise from what you’ve planned as useful or necessary, but from conversations you hadn’t even anticipated.

Curiosity is a skill, too. And it needs to be practiced every day. 

I graduated during the pandemic. It was a difficult time when the world seemed to have come to a standstill, the job market was uncertain, and the research and culture sector in Italy seemed to offer even fewer prospects. After graduation, I returned to Sicily to be with my parents. I kept looking for opportunities, studying, applying for jobs, and gaining experience. In the meantime, I held various jobs, some very different from what I do today. I don’t consider that period a failure. On the contrary, it was part of my development. 

I believe there’s a prevailing narrative today that success must come quickly, preferably within a few years of graduation. But the reality, in most cases, is different. Career paths are rarely linear. They’re made up of detours, fresh starts, moments of doubt, and choices that only make sense when viewed in hindsight. They require patience, perseverance, and the ability to accept that not everything depends on us right away. 

There’s also another thing I consider essential: don’t try to know everything. We live in an age where it seems necessary to have an opinion on every topic. I, on the other hand, believe in the value of depth. It’s much more useful to become competent in a single field, to study it rigorously, and to keep questioning it, rather than chasing the illusion of being an expert on everything.

In my case, at a certain point, I realized what the question was that kept coming back: understanding the relationships between Italy and Senegal, describing them accurately, and contributing, through research and outreach, to building more complex and more accurate narratives. From that moment on, every academic choice, every trip, and every professional collaboration began to have a direction. That doesn’t mean the journey became easy. It means it made sense. At least for me. That’s why I always encourage you to ask yourselves: What is your “why”? What is the topic that makes you wake up in the morning eager to understand it better? What’s the question that keeps coming back to your mind? 

Don’t be afraid if the answer changes over the years. Changing your mind means growing.

And then invest in your network. Not networking in the sense of collecting contacts, but building relationships based on trust, respect, and reciprocity. No major project I’ve carried out came about on its own. They all stemmed from people who believed in an idea, who shared their expertise, who opened a door, who made a phone call, who taught me something. Research, like life, is a collective effort. I’ve lost count of the coffees, walks, long phone calls, and moments of exchange with people scattered across different parts of the world.

Finally, let me share a lesson I learned right here in Senegal. In Wolof, there’s a word that comes up often in everyday life: “ndank ndank,” which means “slowly, slowly.” It’s not a call for slowness just for the sake of it. It’s a way of reminding us that what has value requires time, care, and consistency. Relationships take time. Trust takes time. Knowledge takes time. We live in a world that rewards speed. But often it is patience, perseverance, and consistency that build the most solid paths. So my wish for you is this: stay curious, study diligently, have the courage to change your perspective when needed, and choose every day to learn something from those you meet.

To bring this journey to a close this way, spanning Italy and Senegal, and to connect our determination and our daily struggles to a philosophy of life, I can only leave you with a wish that becomes a promise. In Senegal, there is a beautiful word that is not just a greeting, but a way of being in the world: “Nio Far.” In the Wolof language, it literally means “We are together,” “On est ensemble.” It means that no one can save themselves alone, that our paths are interconnected, and that every step we take, in our research as well as in life, only makes sense if we take it side by side.

May you find your own path, your own rhythm, and a community with whom to share them.

Are there any Senegalese stories submitted to DiMMi that we could recommend to our readers?

Many stories arrived, from both Senegalese women and men. A few in particular — two, three, I don’t know, many — really stuck with me. Let me give you some examples. The first one by a Senegalese author that I read, which I think encapsulates pretty much everything, is by Mouhamadou Lamine Dia, and the title is ‘Pourquoi? Pourquoi? Chi l’ha detto? Dove sta scritto?‘ (‘Why? Why? Who said so? Where is it written?’). He recounts his experience as a Pan-African Senegalese citizen who loves literature and studying, and has cousins in France. He explains that his aunt had promised him: ‘When you graduate, you will come visit me in France as a gift.‘ When he graduates, he discovers that to go to France, he needs a visa, not just a passport, whereas his French cousin only needs a passport to come visit him. And he got furiously angry, rightfully so, and says: ‘Why can you come to my country with just a passport, while I — whose country has been under your rule for years [meaning the French, not the cousin] — need a visa?‘

And so, what did he do? He states it in the text, so that’s why I can share it: he used his cousin’s expired passport and entered the country as an ‘irregular’ migrant according to the regulations. But that represents a very powerful disruption of a system of mobility, of visa access, of first-class and second-class passports, which reveals so much about how global mobility actually functions.

So, that is just one of many; but there are countless stories that also talk about local culture and celebrations. There is a very powerful story about the death of a child, a relative, and how it was handled within the family through the lens of a celebratory moment and the role of predestination.

There are also stories that talk about the ‘coaches’—meaning all those figures along the route from Senegal to Italy, moving from one African state to another, who are the smugglers organizing and accompanying you on the journey. They describe both cruel, violent smugglers, and those who, instead, somehow help you and support you in taking the next step during the journey.