Column: sinkhole

Life in Rome is generally quite pleasant, but sometimes you have to deal with problems that you could not even imagine and that are usually the product of typical Italian idiosyncrasies. So also now, in whatever I the affair of the sinkhole will call.

It started simple. We live on the top floor and the downstairs neighbors complained about leakage from our roof terrace. In such a case, the administrator of the flat appoints a company to solve the problem. This has now happened, with the proviso that the engaged company sent a few Eastern Europeans whose labor is undoubtedly very cheap (if they are on the payroll at all), but left something to be desired in terms of skills.

Constipated

Immediately on the first day, the sump next to the kitchen became clogged, because they had thrown lime and cement residues into it. When my wife turned on the dishwasher, a stream of dark mud gushed across the patio, rendering the kitchen virtually unusable.

It's getting technical now, but there's no other way. The sump ends in a twenty-metre-deep shaft, which opens into a cesspool on the ground floor. It has to be emptied every few years, and this has happened to other residents, but not to us.

Why not? Because the entrance is in the garage of a schizophrenic downstairs neighbor, who keeps her shed hermetically closed and doesn't open it to anyone. The officials in charge of cleaning did not waste their time on solving the problem, but left it that way year after year. As a result, not only the well, but also the shaft are almost full to the brim.

Antipsychiatry

We have thus become indirect victims of the much vaunted antipsychiatry. This theory, which was invented and caused a furore in Italy, boils down to the fact that you shouldn't lock up crazy people, but just let them live among other people. For this reason, since the 70s, most psychiatric institutions—and often miserable asylums—have been closed.

Only the second half of the programme, home care or in therapeutic communities, has been much less effective. Most disturbed people therefore become a nuisance to their families and if they do not have one, the street is often their destination. In the evening, take a look around the Stazione Termini!

Our neighbor has no immediate family, but does have her own home. (Even if she does not pay municipal taxes, gas, electricity and water: the other residents do, who are also legally obliged to do so.)

She had been assigned a guardian by the government, but he ran away screaming a few years ago and no replacement solution was sought in this case either. Now and then she walks out muttering or screaming, but otherwise she is completely alone and refuses any contact. Attempts to get the key to her garage have turned out to be completely futile.

What now? Forcing the garage door is not an option: then the police will be involved and they have no idea that there was force majeure. Calling in the fire brigade to open the door is also not possible: they only take action if there is a threat to life.

Last resort

The traditional means in cases like this is the registered letter. But we know from years of experience that she does not receive it either. If this is repeatedly the case, there is only one last resort, going to court.

But if you know even a little about the Italian legal system, you also know that you will soon be two or three years later. And we don't want to be without a kitchen for that long. They are now looking for a possibility to empty the cesspool from the sewer. If that doesn't work, we'll have to look for a pied-à-terre. With kitchen.