We were in Genzano, near Rome, at the San Giovanni di Dio Institute of the Fatebenefratelli order. We from the Alveare workshop had come as guests of our friend Carlo, who needs the structure and protection of residential care because of his instability. After trying other arrangements, he has lived here peacefully for several years now. This sprawling house has existed since 1958. Originally a neuropsychiatric clinic, it was transformed in 1978—following the Basaglia Law—into a rehabilitation institute and assisted residential facility.
Within this vast complex, almost a small town unto itself, there is now a Day Hospital program; a ward for treating and caring for people with Alzheimer's disease, which offers stays of up to two months; and clinics for child psychiatry and neurology. Two hundred eighty young people live here permanently. That number—easily overwhelming on paper—becomes manageable only because of the breadth and efficiency of the facility, the overall organization, and of course the quantity and quality of the care staff. The residents are divided into wards of fifteen or twenty each. Every ward has its own dining room, with about ten tables seating three or four people, connected to its own kitchen. The bedrooms hold two to four beds and feature large windows with breathtaking views of countryside stretching from the Castelli Romani hills down to the sea.
During our tour, we also noticed two or three spacious common rooms with television and video recorders. The interior courtyard is flanked on three sides by a long covered portico furnished with benches and chairs—clearly designed so that residents, including those in wheelchairs or with other mobility challenges, can stay outdoors even on uncertain weather days. One wing of the villa (which was originally a private house, bequeathed to the friars of Saint John of God and renovated several times over the years) houses painting, ceramics, and carpentry studios that open directly onto the courtyard through glass doors. The institute also offers cooking classes, gardening, and vegetable-growing programs.
But Carlo especially wanted to show us the agritourism and donkey area. We found him sitting by the fireplace in a small cottage with a pergola, built among the meadows near the vegetable garden and a little pond. There, with friends and educators, he was preparing bruschetta in our honor. Together with them and the care staff, we went to feed the rabbits and ducks, visited the vegetable garden, the riding stable, and finally reached the donkey paddock—a wide fenced field where the donkeys gather after grazing freely in the surrounding pastures. Here Carlo, his friends, and Patrizia—the passionate and inspiring educator in charge of the therapeutic donkey program—taught us a great deal. We started by learning how to fit a halter around a donkey's neck, how to lead one without pulling but respecting its pace. The young people demonstrated how to brush and gently massage the donkeys' necks. We discovered that the donkeys are actually all female, naturally more docile and affectionate.
We learned how to hold out your hand to their nose and mouth so they could smell you and get to know you—and how these much-underestimated animals are surprisingly sensitive, seeking out and enjoying affection. Gradually, we visitors also grew more confident. We noticed that even our shyer, more wary friends were handling reins and brushes with obvious pleasure. Then we got to know the donkeys individually: Giuditta, who had a large belly; Stella, the most restless; Bruschetta; and Rosita, the oldest and most difficult to approach.
It was amazing to watch Stella rest her gray head on Patrizia's back as she bent in front of her, with a gesture of tender protection, almost possessiveness. What a day's worth of lessons we received.
Tea Cabras, 2008