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| Limestone capital with four heads emerging from acanthus leaves, Apulia, probably Troia, carved about 1230 by Apulian sculptors working for the court of Frederick II Hohenstaufen (1194-1250) |
"In 863 a monk named Theodosius wrote of the grandeur of Palermo, describing it as 'full of citizens and strangers....Blended with the Sicilians the Greeks, the Lombards and the Jews, there are Arabs, Berbers, Persians, Tartars, Negroes, some wrapped in long robes and turbans...faces oval, square, or round, of every complexion and profile, beards and hair of every variety of color and cut.'" ~ Excerpt from the Metropolitan Museum of Art label for the thirteenth-century limestone capital (pictured)
Curious about my ancestry, I submitted my genetic material to 23andMe, hoping to learn something new about my biological makeup—and I did, just not in the way I expected.
Growing up hearing how we Southern Italians were part Greek, Jewish, Albanian, Berber, Arab, Black, Norman, Lombard, and every other group under the sun, almost nothing would have surprised me. So when my results came back with virtually none of these disparate ancestries, I was genuinely surprised.
As expected, I was over 90% European, with almost all of my ancestry originating from Southern Italy. I was impressed by how specific some of the regional matches were: Irpinia, the southern Gulf of Naples, the Campanian Valley, Mount Etna, and the Simeto Basin. Missing, however, were my roots from Messina (Gaggi, to be exact) and Lucania (Melfi). Given that I have my great-grandparents’ birth records from those towns, I expected them to appear.
Also unsurprising was that I was nearly 6% Albanian—my late aunt always claimed we were part Arbëreshë. It was the only group from that long list of peoples we were told we descended from by the self-appointed experts who always seemed to know more about us than we did.
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| Alternate view of capital |
What disappointed me most was how vague the results were about my non-European ancestry—nearly 7% of my genome was traced to Western Asia. The largest portion, 3.3%, was labeled “Caucasian, Iranian, and Mesopotamian.” That’s a pretty large region to lump together. Is it all three, or just one? I wouldn’t be surprised to have Armenian ancestry, given their Byzantine-era presence in Southern Italy. If they’re even in there, the Iranian and Mesopotamian traces likely go back much further, to the Neolithic and Bronze Age migrations of Near Eastern farmers.
Next came “Anatolian,” at about 3%. Again—where, when, and by whom? The label could refer to Neolithic farmers, early Greek colonists of Magna Graecia, or the later Byzantine reconquest. Which is it?
At a negligible 0.4%, I apparently also have Levantine heritage. However, none of the tested populations from the Levant (Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, Israel, Jordan, etc.) registered a match. Was this from the same prehistoric migrations, or from later Phoenician or Carthaginian colonization? My guess is the latter, but who knows.
By far the most amusing result: I have 71% more Neanderthal DNA than other 23andMe users. While this accounts for less than 2% of my genome, I prefer to think those genes are dominant. They’re clearly responsible for my toxic manliness, gruff humor, rugged good looks, and, of course, my deep and abiding love for Paleolithic cave art. As we all know, Neanderthals were, as the cool kids say today, base, chad, and fire—which is fitting, since we were striking flint long before Homo sapiens showed up.
Overall, 23andMe left me with more questions than answers.
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, November 13th, Feast of Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini