F

rom a hospital in Milan, at the peak of the virus prevalence in Italy, a Bangladeshi man called the Pakistani consul general. He was a Covid-19 patient and was seeking help for a fellow corona patient from Pakistan, who was brought to the hospital without any documents or phone. He only spoke Punjabi. Later, it emerged that he may have also been homeless and mentally disturbed.

Three weeks on, the young man (HR*) is still in hospital and the consulate is trying to contact his family in Chiniot, repeatedly dialling the only phone number he was able to provide from memory. But nobody responds. It is unknown whether HR is an asylum seeker, illegally in the country or on a visa. But neither the Italian hospital nor the consulate general will abandon him.

With over 26,000 people dead and a strained health system, Italy has shown immense courage and humanity in the midst of this unprecedented crisis. Undoubtedly, it has also brought out the best in its 150,000 strong Pakistani community.

From small towns like Carpi, to hard-hit Bergamo and Brescia, Pakistanis have donated thousands of euros to local hospitals. They are an energised, proud community – zinda qaum, as many of them say – ready to distinguish their identity in their adopted land. On Whatsapp chats and Facebook groups, they share advice, poetry and information while encouraging acts of kindness. Mian Aftab Ahmed, known to most here as a media man, tells his live-stream audiences not to take the 350 euro government food voucher if it isn’t needed. “When this crisis is over, Italians will remember which community cooperated [with the state], and which became a burden.”

Social media also keeps many of the approximately 2,000 Pakistani students connected to one another. The strict lockdown is in its seventh week and for some this has been a terribly lonely time. The more adventurous ones have ventured out with their phone cameras and filmed empty streets, piazzas and monuments of their beautiful Italian towns.

One such video, shot by Imitiaz Soomro in the historic Tuscan town of Siena, made it to the BBC Urdu website and was watched at least 800,000 times.

Soomro arrived from Hyderabad just five months ago. Under lockdown, he now shares his room with another Pakistani student and attends online classes all day. During his lunch hour, he takes a kilometre-long walk to the hostel designated canteen. He’s not very fond of the food but it is a legally accepted excuse to get out every day.

But Arjumand Sadaf, in Verona, has been in her hostel room all by herself for the last two months. “At first, I was scared of the virus. Now, I am just scared of the loneliness.”

Sadaf made her dream journey all the way from Khuzdar, Balochistan, five months ago. She is one of the seventy students who contacted Afghan Yousafzai, when he reached out to Pakistani students to find out who wanted to go back home. “I can be ready to leave in two hours!”

But there are no flights to Pakistan.

Yousafzai, from Swabi, is currently enrolled in a PhD programme and lives in the coastal town of Ancona, in central Italy. “I am perfectly fine here. But I understand there are others who want to go back home. They may have financial problems or may be depressed, so I am in touch with the embassy on their behalf.”

“Some students suggested we make a video like the one made by [some] Pakistani students in Wuhan,” he told me over the phone. “But many others like me don’t agree. We don’t need to run away or get our parents worried.”

Yousafzai was referring to the viral video of a distressed group of Pakistani students desperate to be taken out of the lockdown zone in China. In Italy, instead, Pakistani students released a video of another kind.

“Everything will be okay, Italy. We are with you.” This was the message relayed by over twenty students from across the peninsula who contributed to this solidarity montage.

Saima Hayat, one of the organisers of the project also mentioned the plight of Pakistani students in Wuhan. “The situation here is different,” she says. “The students trust the government and the medical system here.”

A few days ago, Hayat posted a picture of a generous food basket with a moving message of gratitude to the Pakistani consulate for the gift. As a human rights activist, Hayat is not used to applauding government institutions and her family teased her about her new found patriotism inspired by a basketful of aata and chaawal. But of course, it was the gesture that touched her and “knowing that there is a door I can knock on”.

The Pakistan counsel general, Dr Manzoor Ahmed Choudhry, has sent food packages to over 300 students. “All they have to do is get in touch with me,” he said.

Dr Choudhry is a very easy man to track down. He is an active member on several community chat forums and his direct line is an open secret. However, he is quick to point out that the food baskets are not a government donation but funded by Pakistani business families in Italy. The consulate is the conduit, saving many the hassle or the embarrassment of asking strangers for help.

The consul general’s real challenge is providing what he cannot – flights out of the country. In addition to the people who want to go back to sit out the lockdown, there are at least five bodies waiting to be transported to Pakistan for burial.

The consul general’s real challenge is providing what he cannot – flights out of the country.

Ziaullah Gondal, from the small Tuscan town of Prato, confirms this. He is the president of a “death committee”, an association of Pakistanis that manages all logistics in case of a death – at no cost – delivering the body to the site of burial in Pakistan. “But we can’t do that with people who have died due to corona. According to the law, those people must be buried here.”

Officials say that up to 25 Pakistanis may have died due to the virus and up to 300 may have been infected in Italy.

As numbers of new cases and deaths improve in the country, Wajahat Abbas Kazmi, an author and filmmaker in Bergamo, takes me a month back in time. “I have been in Italy for twenty years and I never imagined that I would see Army vehicles carrying away coffins through my city.”

A long line of military trucks drove coffins out of Bergamo when the cemetery ran out of space. Almost 3,000 people have died in the province.

What would he find, I ask, when he finally walks the streets that have seen so much sorrow?

“In the beginning, the people of Italy will celebrate the end of all of this as a nation. But then, over time, a vacuum will be felt, and the stories of loss will begin to be told. We will all grieve together. It will be a long process.”

*Name has been changed to protect identity

The writer lives in Northern Italy, home to the majority of Italy’s coronavirus cases