THE GYPSY TEACHER
The village or ghetto is just a series of dilapidated huts lining either side of the  road with each with its own picket fence concocted from sticks pulled out of the forest.  As much as ten people, from grandma to grandchild share these one and two room homes.  Outside in the front yard Gypsy women cook over wood fires and wash their clothing in the cold mountain water of the passing stream. Out front  the dusty village road is taken over with squawking ducks and chickens, loose horses and naked children running wild - so many children.   

Never in all my life had I seen anything like it. It reminded me of the slave quarters of young America.  It is an apropos comparison as the similarities between Gypsies and African-Americans doesn�t end there.  There are of course issues of segregation, discrimination and the fact that Gypsies, in this part of Romania, were enslaved until 1864 - one year before complete emancipation in the US.

Inside the stick fence of her house I spotted one of my students, 15 year old Maria Kolanios proudly holding up her baby for me to see.  They marry as young as age 13 in Valea Lui Stan - a tradition born out of the deep poverty that absorbs them.  They love their children dearly but are simply unable to care for them and push their young children towards marriage as in the case of one of my brighter students,  the fun loving Pamela Ganea who dreams to be a teacher.   She lives in a cramped one room house with her mother, brother and Aunt and according to Principle Valeria Sandru, �she will be married before her 14th birthday.  It is an almost sure thing because her mother can�t afford to keep her. They haven�t a chance.�
My days at the school went on and though it grew very exhausting especially when dealing with any one of the great number of problematic children, usually handled with  �the stick�,  I found myself missing the school when away. I always used to hate Mondays but now looked forward to them.  And my free time, which before was usually out having a good time,  was now primarily being spent thinking up better ways to teach some of the slower learners who so desperately wanted to learn.  Their difficulties stemmed from a variety of causes like undernourished 11 year old David Prundaru who was always finding me in the hallways.  He would tug my sleeve while looking up at me with his big dark bright eyes and repeat -   �What is your name? hello - I am good - how are you?�.  He wasn�t in any of my classes, but learned the words by pressing his ear to the door.  I found room for him in one of my classes, but poor little David couldn�t keep up.  He was bright and a quick learner but couldn�t manage to study at home with all the confusion of sharing a one room hut with 10 others including screaming babies.  On top of that there was work to be done after school.  His role was climbing the hilly forest to gather wood which he would have to lug home between his two stick arms.

And then there was gentle Floretsa -  my faithful shadow.  Nearly every turn I would find her staring up with that same nervous glare tightly clutching her English folder.  She was small and gentle yet a strong little thing who bravely dealt with the everyday stressful living conditions and laborious chores which at age 10 was already visible on her coarse hands.  And as if that wasn�t enough, but she also endured daily attacks from her classmates who ridiculed her for her genuinely dark Gypsy features - calling her ugly with that same venomous sting that non-Gypsies flung at them.  When I defended her, sometimes calling up the old Afro-American slogan �black is beautiful�,  the other children laughed. All the while Floretsa never showed the deep pain that she must have felt inside, but faced it always wearing that same haunting nervous smile.
But there was also many bright stars like the gifted Mariuca Furdui who prefers the name Mary.  By the end of two months her notebook was covered in stars handed out for perfect scores.

�They are very intelligent people,� Marius Hodea once told me. �They are especially bright when it comes to money.  Show them 100,000 Lei (Romanian currency) and then say - �take away 35,000 Lei� and they immediately know how much they have, but write it on the blackboard and they don�t understand.�

Two months later, as my Romanian visa was about to expire I reluctantly prepared my leave.  It was a sad Sunday morning as I packed up my gear beneath the curious stare of formally dressed Romanian children being dragged off to church.

I drove by the school on my way out of town.  I wanted to take one last look. All the children were out along the main road waiving down motorist to sell berries.  There was Pamela Ganea and her brother,  skinny little David Prundaru,  Floretsa off by her lonesome, and Mariuca along with her 18 year old sister and her hungry new born with a messy face from sampling the product.

I said my tearful good-byes with hugs and kisses. Mariuca was upset. �What�s wrong?� I asked her.

�You come back?� she asked using the English that I had taught her. I said I would... She looked at me suspiciously. �No, you no come back.�
In the Romanian that they had taught me I said,  �Eu revin� - borrowing the famous quote of General Douglas MacArthur, �I shall return�,  but not with guns and tanks, but more powerful books and pens.  


THE END
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