Marriage Without Borders. Dinah Hannaford

day shift, and one of them inevitably was asleep during the few hours they overlapped at home. The apartment was tidy and sparsely decorated—a small picture of a religious leader (a Mouride marabout) was the only adornment on the white walls of the kitchen. The small kitchen table offered only two chairs, so three of the men leaned against the walls or hovered in the doorway as we discussed remittances, in-laws, and the endless miscommunications with those at home.

      Many migrant factory workers I interviewed in Italy reported little pleasure in their domestic life abroad. Few put effort into decorating their spaces, choosing instead to spend that money and energy on living spaces in Senegal, either building or maintaining their own homes and those of their kin there. In my travels back and forth between Italy and Senegal, I have participated in the informal courier service that exists among migrants, packing their gifts in my luggage to distribute upon arrival in Dakar.³ In addition to bringing cash, clothing, and electronics to migrants’ loved ones back in Senegal, I also have carried many household goods—from curtains to DVD players—meant to furnish homes in which the migrants rarely spend their time.

      For many Senegalese migrants, life in Italy is not really life at all, but rather a suspended period away from their real lives in Senegal. As one migrant explained to me, “I don’t live here, I work here.” This declaration came from 32-year-old Seydou, a factory worker in Verbania who had at the time been in Italy for eight years, having visited Senegal only once in that time. I pressed Seydou on this, pointing out that he had been in Italy for the majority of his adult life—was he not living this whole time? He explained to me that his real life was continuing to unfold in Senegal during this time. Seydou felt this experience was universal for Senegalese migrants.