Servus. . . Some of you responded to my previous update wanting to know what I meant by Marius using Gabi as a "slave." From what we gathered from Gabi, Marius put Gabi on the streets to beg for him. Gabi would then turn all the money he begged over to Marius. Marius in turn would "look after" Gabi as he saw fit. Marius gave Gabi some of the money he begged, but not much. Gabi also told us that many times Marius would wake him up some mornings by viciously kicking him in the ribs. When we brought food to the two of them, Marius only shared the food with Gabi as long as we were present. If there was any left over, Gabi never received any. As for sexual abuse, we have nothing concrete, but we do have our suspicions.
A lot of the street kids are into self-mutilation, and Marius happens to be one of them. He showed up at la gara the other night with his arm bandaged, blood oozing through to the outer layers. I touched his arm and said, "Marius, you promised you wouldn't do this anymore." He gave me a guilty grin. What else could he do? One of the other kids, Vasile, also had deep gashes in his arm. I keep asking them why they do this and they say it's so that they won't hurt inside as much and so also that they won't hurt others.
Gabi is totally different than the other street kids. He has been keeping his distance from the rowdy, drug-huffing, self-mutilating kids of the streets. When we take him into the stores to purchase his food, the ladies behind the counters are getting to know him and greet him warmly. He smiles and is very respectful towards them. He wants desperately to keep clean! I've trusted him enough to give him money specifically for the public showers as well as for food if I can't be there to feed him on any given day. I also keep him supplied with packs of "wet wipes" so he can keep his face and hands clean. Gabi has several changes of clothing that I've gotten for him and keep in the trunk of my car. When one set gets dirty, we take him to the showers and we give him clean clothes and take the dirty ones to be washed. If only we could find a place for him to live! Pray for a miracle! Pray for a place for Gabi to live. Pray for a solution so he can go to school.
Since the end of September, I've been going into Gherla Prison one day a week with Ole Olaru, a friend and social worker from Christiana School for Dropouts. I went to the infamous Gherla Prison with Ole in April to see two of the kids there whom I knew as "cave kids" back in 1997. While we were there in April, the colonel who is in charge of education as well as programs for the prisoners, spoke with Ole about bringing a program to the prison for these children. Ole indicated that it would be nearly impossible for him to do this since his schedule was already full. When I returned this September, I urged him to pursue this idea. I told Ole that I would be his driver to and from Gherla, about a 45 minutes northeast of Cluj. We went to the prison and met with the colonel and thus began our program, "Responsible Living Through Moral and Christian Education."
On our initial visit to Gherla Prison, I was reminded of the innumerable saints who suffered and died alongside sinners. The colonel, a giant of a man with bushy eyebrows a kindly face and an even more gentle spirit took us on a tour of the prison and told us of its history. We stepped back in time as we entered the first building, which was constructed as a fortress in the mid-1500s. It was in this building where we would work with 12 boys who had at one time been homeless street kids.
On our tour of Gherla Prison, the colonel acknowledged the notorious reputation of the prison. It as then that he pointed to the back of a long corridor and said that in the communist years, a political prisoner had been isolated there by being "walled in." He had no light, no communication with anyone, food was thrust through a small opening, and that was the way he lived for nearly a year. He survived only by "talking to God," the colonel's words not mine. The colonel also told us that he had tried to bring some sort of reform to the prison in the communist period but was unsuccessful. Now however, reform is bringing about a transformation that is astounding! Instead of 50 to 100s of men in one large cell, they have gotten it down to 15 to 25 to a cell. Each cell is being renovated to contain its own bath and toilet area. We were taken to the cell area and were able to enter the minor's cells where bunks were staked three atop each other. Windows were curtained, pictures on the walls, and there was a TV in each cell.
The prison also has its own print shop where the prisoners write and publish prison magazines as well as newspapers on a monthly basis. We were shown a "computer room" where prisoners learn computer programming as well as how to repair computers. We were also ushered into the art shop where prisoners draw and paint and sculpt. One of the artists had been a welder and had never picked up a brush before entering prison. Now his paintings are at exhibits around the country and have even been shown in Switzerland!
Needless to say, I have been impressed with what the colonel has accomplished at Gherla Prison. There is a lot more to be done for certain, but the progress has been incredible!
As we've been meeting with the 12 boys on a weekly basis, they are beginning to open up to us about their lives. These boys range in age from 15 to 17 years old. One of them has been in prison 4 times now. One of the boys who is15 said that he expects he'll be back in prison many times during his lifetime. We asked why he thought that way. He said, "I'm 15 years old. My parents sold our house and drank the money away leaving 4 children alone and on the streets. Where else am I to go?" This particular boy is bright and a talented writer. Another boy is an extraordinary singer and songwriter.
We asked one time about their guilt or innocence. No surprise here, all of them agreed that they were innocent. But then they talked freely about their crimes. One boy related that when he stole he would look over his shoulder, to the left and to the right and straight ahead to make certain no one saw what he was doing. He said that he "Never looked up" but that "Someone was looking down, making sure that we get caught." He recognized that "Someone" was God.
They all are quite bored though since they are locked up 24-7-365 except for the couple of hours we're there and for church services. They even have to eat in their cells, but that is going to be changed soon. The colonel showed us the dining area they're constructing. When it's through the prisoners will be able to leave their cells for meals.
Meanwhile, back to the street kids in Cluj. Between feeding the group at the Somes River and the kids at la gara, I'm kept pretty busy. We've gotten the distribution down to a precise method. We used to simply purchase the food then distribute it among the kids who showed up at the designated meeting place. This caused a ruckus among them and they would fight over who got what. So, I bought small plastic bags and now we cut the bread, divide the meat and fruit in the individual bags, tie them up and distribute the bags of goodies that way. No more fighting over whom gets how much!
A young, married, Gypsy couple showed up a few weeks ago and is now a regular at la gara. They seem quite shy but the husband always makes certain that his wife, Mirela, gets enough food. You see, Mirela is 4 months pregnant. When I learned that she is expecting a baby, I see to it now that Mirela gets extra vitamins as well as milk. I haven't a clue as to what is going to happen to that baby once its here. For the life of me, I can't imagine raising a child in the squalid conditions they are living in!
OK, on a lighter note! Three of us over here from the good ol' UsofA, Mark Bentley, Lucille Belomy, who is also from our church in the States and I had to renew our visas by Oct15. We went with Radu to the passport office where we found a woman sitting behind a desk in a small rectangular room. Her peroxide-blonde hair was tightly pulled back and she gave us this "commie" smirk as Radu explained our situation to her. I swear, these officials sometimes think they're still communist and want to treat everyone like dirt. She wasn't about to let the "Amerikans" get out the easy way. Noooooooooooo! The simplest thing was for us to pay her the money to renew the visas and then she would give us the "official" stamps in our passports. No way! Too simple! There was some riggamaroll we had to go through which entailed going to the "official" bank to get more "official" stamps, fill out more "official" forms, and on and on and on! Plus, we only had till 1:00 pm to get it all done.
Once outside, armed with our information and "official" forms, Radu said, "Hey, we could be to the Hungarian border in 2 1/2 hours, go across, come back and be in Cluj in another 2 1/2 hours. Lucille said, "Let's go." So we hopped in Radu's car and took off for the Hungarian border.
All went well. We walked across the border feeling forever more like a small band refugees. But we received the "official" exit stamps in our passports. The Hungarians didn't have to stamp our passports. Then we walked back to the Romanian side where we received the "official" entry stamps in our passports. YES! We were home free!
On the way back to Cluj, we stopped in Oradea and ate at McDonald's. We were so proud of ourselves and even fantasized about going back to that lady's office and taking her "official" forms back to her. Anything to wipe that smirk off her "official" face!
About 25 km outside of Cluj, I was driving Radu's car, I heard a "ka-thunk." It felt like we had a flat tire. Everything started to go in slow motion. I looked to my left and saw our wheel, yes, the whole wheel, tire and all, passing OUR car, speeding off the road into an enormous field. Lucille pointed and said in a calm voice, "Is that our tire?" Mark, jokingly says, "Oh everybody's tire always falls off and rolls that way."
All the while I'm trying to stop the car and pull off to the side of this two lane highway so we won't get rear-ended! But all I could see was the tire, hurtling through the cow pasture and flying toward one white and brown cow! The poor thing had her head turned, eyes wide as saucers looking back at that tire. She was dashing madly away trying to keep from getting hit by this bizarre, runaway object being hurled 90 miles an hour straight at her!
I finally managed to bring the car to a complete stop, with the car 3/4 off the road, 1/4 on the road, not a good situation. Radu leaped out of the car and bolted into the pasture to capture the wheel.
When we got out of the car, nervousness took over my body and I couldn't stop laughing! I was laughing at the vision of that cow being chased, and laughing from the adrenaline surge caused by the accident, and laughing from sheer nerves! I couldn't stop! And then I looked across the street and saw a very old little man, whom I assumed to be the "cowherder." He was calmly leaning with one arm propped on his staff and in his other had, he had a small blue book. He had a charcoal gray, alpine-type hat on his head that nearly covered his eyes. One leg was crossed over the other, as he continued staring at this strange situation. At first I thought he was going to come ranting and raving at us for upsetting his herd of cows, horses and water buffalo, but he just rested on his staff, serenely perusing the situation. After all was said and done, it hit me that he heard not one word uttered from us in Romanian. I knew he must have been wondering who in the world we were. There had to be talk in the barn that night about UFOs landing nearby!
Radu kept trying to get the wheel back on the axle, but the bolts were stripped and so we knew we'd have to call my husband, Dennis, who was in Cluj, to come get us. Fortunately Radu had his cell phone and even more fortunately, Dennis was at the apartment.
That done, Lucille kept trying to get me to quit laughing, "Have some compassion for Radu," she whispered through her teeth at me more than once. Of course that caused more hysterics. I couldn't get that cow being chased by the tire out of my head!
Lucille finally said, "This is like a movie! This doesn't happen in real life." All the while, Radu is working madly on the wheel, Mark's trying to help, I'm doubled over with laughter and Lucille goes from seriousness to laughing a bit with me and saying, "This is a movie!"
Finally the cavalry arrives! Dennis! YES! We had to leave Radu's car behind. We'd get into town and he could get a tow truck with a flatbed to take it back to a mechanic in Cluj. Once back at the apartment, I grabbed another translator to go with me to feed some of the kids. I had to have the car back by 8:00 pm, because Dennis was meeting a business associate coming in from Denmark. Radu was supposed to go with Dennis to meet this man.
About 7:15 I had to call Radu on his cell phone. He was in the tow truck going to pick up his car. He told me he wouldn't be able to go with Dennis to the airport. They weren't going to be back in time because, now get this, the tow truck had run out of gas on the way to pick up the car! I lost it on that one! I was on the floor! I couldn't stand up straight! The tow truck driver had to call a friend, another tow truck driver, to come bring them some gas! When I told this to Lucille, she cracks up and we're both doubled over in hysterics! Would this saga never end?
Finally, Radu delivered his car to a mechanic's around 10:00 pm. He had to wake the mechanic up to give him the keys. But all ended well with Radu getting his car back in good condition a couple of days later!
Remember us in your prayers tomorrow because Mark, Radu and I are driving back to the Hungarian border to renew our visas!
I almost lost it tonight when Mark, Radu and I went to feed the kids at la gara. In their kiosk across from la gara clothing, which is strewn all about the floor, is used to sit on and sleep on at night, and I suppose they wear some of the clothing in the day. The stench is becoming unbearable and human waste can be seen inside the kiosk and out. There are no temporary shelters in this city to take these kids in on a nightly basis. There are no soup kitchens to be found. I don't know what's going to happen with the street kids once the cold weather really hits hard. It's below freezing at night now. The kids layer up with as many shirts and pants as they can find. I suppose "find" is a nice word for "steal." I've given some of them hats and gloves, socks, shirts, and sweaters. I'll keep feeding them, loving them, praying for them.
Please pray for the street kids. Pray for Romania.
Cu mult drag. . .
(With much love. . .).
Zan