The 11-Year Italian Citizenship Odyssey: From Fingerprints to "Che Cazzo!
After a decade of expired documents and language tests, the universe saved the absolute best bureaucratic plot twists for the very end.
If you’ve been following my journey, you know that my quest for Italian citizenship didn’t start yesterday. It started all the way back in 2015, well before we even moved to Italy.
In fact, I’ve written about parts of this saga before—like the grueling process of studying for and passing the Italian B1 language test after the law changed on me mid-stream, or the general maddening reality of Italian paperwork.
But today? Today I am writing the final chapter (well, almost - I still need a passport). And let me tell you, the universe saved the best plot twists for the very end.
Phase 1: The Background Check Black Hole (2015–2017)
Back in 2015, processing my citizenship by marriage from the US meant gathering background checks for every place I’d lived since age 14.
Now, I had spent time as an exchange student in Switzerland and did three semesters of college in Oklahoma before running back to California. I was absolutely determined not to indicate residency in either place just to avoid more paperwork. And technically this was true. While living as a “student”, unless you are registered to vote or get a drivers license somewhere, you are typically not considered a “resident” for most purposes. I stuck to California and Colorado, plus the FBI.
California became the bane of my existence. I had to submit my fingerprints three separate times just to get them to issue a statement.
By the time California finally cooperated, my FBI and Colorado checks had expired (they only have a six-month shelf life). By then, we were actually living in Italy! Luckily, during a trip to visit my mother in Tennessee, I managed to get new fingerprints done, re-requested the FBI and Colorado checks through the law firm who was handling my paperwork, and in 2017, my domanda was officially uploaded.
I waited.
Six months later, the law firm emailed me with some fantastic news: Literally at the exact moment we submitted, the law had changed. Rome now required all translations to be “legalized” by the consulate in Chicago before submission. We would need to submit my translations to Chicago. Because everything had already expired again anyway, I put it on the back burner, figured I’d deal with it next time I was in the US, and eventually had to start all over again—B1 test included. I finally got my application uploaded again in January, 2024.
Cut to 2026.
The Final Boss: The Home Stretch in Italy
On February 26th (my eldest daughter’s birthday - yay!), I finally got the glorious notification: Citizenship granted!
I thought I was at the finish line. Instead, I was just entering the twilight zone. Because of a major national referendum, the Comune asked me to wait until April to take my oath so they could clear their schedule.
On April 2nd, I proudly took my oath. I was riding high, ready to walk into the Anagrafe the next morning for my Carta d’Identità Elettronica (CIE).
Then, the phone rang.
There was a discrepancy between my maiden name (Burkett) and my married name (Zanrè). Silly me assumed that if my surname was an issue, the Prefettura would have flagged it before granting the citizenship. Nope. I needed to prove that I was the same person in order to get my ID card and passport. I was assured that I was a citizen, I just couldn’t easily prove it yet.
Now, if you are an American woman, you know that changing your name at marriage is just a simple “paperwork” issue. Most counties in the USA don’t even have a checkbox on your marriage license application to indicate that you intend to change your name. You get married, show up at the Social Security office and the Drivers License Office with your marriage license, and it’s just “done”.
Italian women IN ITALY do not change their names when they get married. But because I had arrived in Italy with a passport in my married name, all of my current Italian pieces of identification (my tax code, my ID card, my health card) were in my married name. I love the name Burkett, but seriously, how could I possibly pass up being Zanrè in Borgotaro?!?
Since this process is so “matter of fact” in Colorado, there is no way to show a “chain” of the name change. I needed an affidavit saying that Danita Claudette Burkett and Danita Claudette Zanrè are “One and the Same”. The easiest way would be to get a notarized affidavit, and when living overseas, that usually means a trip to the US Consulate.
Milano’s consulate? Booked solid for over two months.
Genova’s consulate? They had an opening! I rushed to Genova, got the affidavit, and took it to the Prefettura in Parma to get the consular signature legalized.
Guess what? Parma didn’t have the Genova consular agent’s signature on file—only the Milano ones. My papers had to be mailed back to the Prefettura in Genova.
In my mad rush, I committed the ultimate Italian sin: I mailed the document without the marca da bollo (revenue stamp).
I panicked. You cannot get a human on the phone at a Prefettura. I assumed my papers were in a black hole, and at best would be returned to me, unprocessed, with a big ❌ somewhere on the paperwork telling me that I needed to resubmit. But two weeks later, an actual angel disguised as a clerk called me. He told me to just mail the marca da bollo separately. Two weeks after that, it was back in my hands. I hand delivered it to a translator in Parma, she got it officially translated and sworn (giurata) and last Thursday told me to meet her at a department store near the court for the handoff. I proudly marched into my local Comune on Monday.
The “Che Cazzo” Moment
Tuesday, the phone rang again.
“Signora, on the affidavit you swore you were married on October 4, 1996... but your records say 1995.”
Che cazzo. After eleven years of meticulous paperwork, I had written the wrong year on the affidavit.
In 99.9% of cases in Italy, this is where you cry. BIG TEARS. A standard bureaucrat would shrug, say “Mi dispiace signora, deve rifare tutto,” and send you back to booking appointments in Genova.
But the bureaucratic gods finally took pity on me. My clerk at the Comune was a hero. She said, “I know when you actually got married. I’ll just submit the corrections to Rome myself and call you when it’s fixed.”
This morning, she called. The citizenship has been officially registered, and I have estratto del atto di nascita in my hands. My married name is legally transcribed. My CIE was ordered today, and my next stop is Parma for the passport appointment.
Eleven years, multiple states, countless fingerprints, expired documents, law changes, a language test, and one wrong year later... Sono ufficialmente italiana!
