In Bari, I live in the Madonnella district of the city. It’s a fairly traditional part of town that hugs the Adriatic coast to the north-east and is a 10-minute walk from both Bari Vecchia (the medieval Old Town containing the Basilica di San Nicola, Piazza del Ferrarese and Piazza Mercantile) and Murat, the more modern city centre and main shopping area – where I work. It also shares a border with the grittier Japigia neighbourhood to the south-east and San Pasquale to the south-west, over the railway line that intersects the city. Indeed, the original site of the Peroni brewery on Via Giovanni Amendola is just a short walk away over the tracks. Sadly, this was demolished in the last century and the factory relocated to the outskirts of the city.
Clockwise (from top left); 1.) The old Peroni brewery on Via Giovanni Amendola, San Pasquale. 2.) Various shots of Madonnella. 3.) Piazza Francesco Carabellese.
Madonnella gets its name from a statue of the Madonna that was placed in the area’s main square in the latter part of the 19th century. The original statue is thought to have been destroyed after World War II but was replaced in stone in 1956 and still stands today in Piazza Francesco Carabellese, a stone’s throw from my flat. As well as its numerous cafes, pasticcerie (cake shops), formaggerie (cheese shops), salumerie (salami shops) and pollerie (erm, poultry shops), Madonnella is dotted with various shrines and religious icons.
On my street itself, is a shrine to Saint Antonio of Padua; a Portuguese Catholic priest who devoted most of his life to caring for the poor and the sick before unfortunately succumbing to ergot-poisoning at the tender age of 35 in 1231 in – you’ve guessed it – Padua. His shrine has its very own lace curtain, healthy-looking plants and flowers that are watered and well-tended to, lights that turn on in the evening and a small piece of red carpet on the pavement that I feel a little guilty walking over whenever I’m returning home with bags of shopping and aren’t able to step into the road. Miniature Christmas trees and fairy lights even appeared on the shrine in December. It is immaculate and reminds me of many of the Hindu shrines I saw during my time in India.
The shrine of Saint Antonio. 
Getting ready for Saint Antonio’s Feast Day on 13th June.
For two weeks at the beginning of June, Saint Antonio’s shrine became a hive of activity and excitement. The flowers were even more lovingly attended to than usual and a circle of plastic chairs were placed around the shrine, partially obstructing the road. Then at 6pm each day, there were daily evening prayers, followed by the odd song. A group of elder ladies would sit on the plastic chairs circling the shrine, whilst other people living on the street would also take part – leaning over from their balconies to join in and to recite prayers and then bellow out the songs.
Then on the 13th June – Saint Antonio’s ‘Feast Day’ – the street threw an all-day party to celebrate. An early morning service was followed by a communal lunch with a long table placed in the middle of the road and the slightly shady “we only serve beer and Fanta” ‘bar’ opposite pumped out reggaeton bangers from 8am until dusk. There was quite a sizeable pile of empty Peroni bottles left outside by the end of proceedings.
Every now and again a statue of a mysterious lady, shrouded in black, crying and holding a tissue and rosary beads appears next to Saint Antonio’s shrine. Sometimes, there would be a small wicker basket next to her containing print-outs of prayers. There’s no denying she’s a slightly ominous presence. She appeared (perhaps on purpose) whilst my friends Mark and Stuart were visiting from London in September, much to their bemusement. “Her eyes are following us”, noted one of them as we cautiously filed past her one evening on our way to the city centre. This mysterious figure tends to appear for a week or so and then disappear again, as quickly as she emerged.
The figure of SS Sorrowful or ‘Our Lady of Sorrows’. 
Some research has led me to believe that this mysterious occasional visitor to the shrine is ‘SS Sorrowful’ or ‘Our Lady of Sorrows’ – a Catholic representation of Mary, the mother of Jesus. Her ‘sorrowful’ nature reflects the “seven sorrows in her life” and are sometimes depicted as “seven daggers plunged into her heart”. Sounds uncomfortable.
It turns out this this representation of the Virgin Mary also has her own dedicated feast day on 15th September. It transpired that the celebrations for poor old Saint Antonio back in June were nothing compared to this. It would appear that SS Sorrowful is something of a night owl as the festivities didn’t really get going until the evening. However; soon it felt like most of the street was out in force. After the religious ceremony which was conducted by a priest, there was music (the bar opposite again doing the honours), food and then a grand firework display with many of my neighbours setting off DIY pyrotechnics from the roofs of their homes. Things eventually quietened down shortly after midnight.
The celebration of Our Lady of Sorrows’ Feast Day on 15th September.
Over the past year I have grown very fond of this little street in Madonnella that I am currently calling home. My flat may be freezing and a little damp during the winter months due to a lack of central heating (from December until the end of February I spend a large amount of my time in hoodies, jogging bottoms and a combination of blankets), but there is never a dull day here – much in a way that is similar to Brixton, my home in London. Organised religion aside and there is definitely a genuine sense of a co-existing community. Whilst I am definitely in the minority being British; there is a real mix of nationalities. As well as Italians, my neighbours included Chinese, Mauritians and Indian families. Last year, the Carabinieri arrived one Sunday afternoon and appeared to be very publically checking some of my neighbours’ documents. Whilst this was going on, several of my Italian neighbours came to their defence, angrily shouting at the police from their balconies. The Carabinieri soon went on their way.
I enjoyed a tempestuous relationship with one of my downstairs neighbours. During the summer, the air conditioning unit on my balcony was unbeknownst to me, slowly dripping onto the pavement just outside his front door below. He rushed upstairs one evening, lit cigarette in-mouth to shout at me and make me aware in a very animated fashion that there was an issue. I apologised and placing a bucket on the balcony soon resolved the problem. A few weeks later and after seeing one of my ‘nonna’ neighbours do it, I thought it would be ok to use some of the water that had collected in the bucket to rinse my balcony. Big mistake. Once again, I heard a flurry of footsteps coming up the hallway stairs outside my flat and I opened my door to find my neighbour outside shouting “basta!” repeatedly at me. I soon found out that the word meant ‘enough!’.
We patched things up though and were pleasant to each other over the next few months; he even helped me to test the intercom buzzer of my front door when it stopped working. However, I recently noticed that he had moved out and that two middle-aged Indian ladies have moved in in his place. A few nights ago and there was a big storm in Bari; with wind and rain lashing down on the streets. I heard some banging coming from downstairs and looked out to see that the two ladies were trying to fasten their front door shut as the double doors kept flying open in the wind. One of the elder Italian nonnas who lives opposite was also there with them – trying to fix the door shut despite the elements raging around them. Eventually they succeeded, the banging stopped and the nonna returned home.
I don’t know the lady in question’s name yet but we are on friendly enough terms – usually a wave or a brief “ciao!”. From what I gather she lives with her mother, sister and daughter in the same apartment and appears to be the street’s matriarch. Last year I was spotted driving a car and she stopped and warned me to be careful of “gli animali” (“the animals”). Who knew that inner city Bari is such a haven for wildlife?
On a few occasions now, there’s been a knock or a ring with some urgency at the communal front door downstairs. When I’ve gone to open it, she’s there, looking for “il gatto!” – a mischievous cat who has taken a liking to the balcony in our hallway, as well as the corrugated iron roof beyond it. Several times I’ve let her in so she can stand on the balcony and gradually coax the said cat back down.
In my basic Italian I asked her on the most recent instance; “è il tuo gatto?” (“is it your cat?”).
“No!”, she replied, laughing, as though I’d asked her a daft question. “Un gatto di strada!”
So, this kindly soul has taken it upon herself to look after and protect the local street cat. Maybe she is an animal lover at heart or just a good person. Or perhaps the cat keeps the rodent population down.
Either way, keep reading for more stories from Madonnella.
Looking towards Piazza Francesco Carabellese from my flat in Madonnella.
