I was born in Oltenia, in a wooden peasant house with a porch. I have three siblings, making us four children in total. Our house had only one room. I completed only four grades in school because the first four grades were in a school that was closer to home, but school for the following grades was farther away.
My parents worked as day laborers and brickmakers. After the fourth grade I had to take care of my siblings because I was the second oldest. My older sister went to work, leaving me responsible for our younger siblings. At school we didn’t have shoes or bread. We ate polenta with lard. Wealthier children mocked us. We didn’t have notebooks, just a few sheets of paper. Some teachers couldn’t stand Roma children and would say, «The gypsies have come.»
Later, I went to Italy to pick tomatoes. People treated us well there, and I didn’t face any difficulties. In Norway, some people are kind and compassionate, but others are cruel and yell at us. I’ve been spat on and had drinks poured on me. People call us gypsies, often looking around to see if anyone is watching before they insult us.
The worst experience was when a well-dressed young woman poured a cup of juice over my head, catching me by surprise. Passersby didn’t notice or didn’t care.
Although I’ve generally felt good about moving to Norway, it’s only when kind people are around. When cruel people are near, yelling and insulting us, it causes panic. I am willing to do any work to support my grandchildren and give them a better future. I am sick now.
I can’t even remember what I wanted to be when I was young… I had no dreams because poverty and hunger drove us out into the world.
