pay back

After living in Ploiesti for about a month, a couple of little kids tried to steal a water bottle right out of my hand. I had been walking home from training, feeling content with what was going on in my life, when I passed by a couple of grubby, dirt-smudged kids, both of whom were smoking a cigarette, neither of whom were over the age of ten. The older of the two said something to me that I couldn't understand and, from the tone of his voice, wouldn't want to understand, so I continued walking. A few seconds later the smaller one ran up from behind and tried to grab the water bottle I had just purchased out of my hand. I don't know if I naturally have a death grip, or if I was on edge already because of the negative tone in the other boy's voice, but the bottle didn't budge and the little guy nearly fell over trying to get it. I was determined to maintain my course as he continued trying to pry the bottle from my hand while the older one walked slowly behind us, still talking in that deep, frightening tone, which to me sounded unnatural for a child. This went on for maybe thirty seconds until I finally stopped and turned abruptly to look at them both because I didn't know what else to do. The little one didn't expect this and decided the best solution was to plant a poorly aimed kick on my leg and run away, while the older one just stopped. Stopped walking and talking. I stared at them with the meanest eyes I could muster until they reluctantly turned the other direction. On my way home, I felt miserable. Somebody tried to steal something from me, I denied a thirsty kid water, six year-olds are smoking and living in filth, and I'm getting kicked for it.

About a month after moving to Sfantu Gheorghe, I was heading home and was about to pass by a very similar-looking boy, maybe 6 or 7 years old, tattered jeans, dirt-stained t-shirt, grimy discarded dress shoes about 3 sizes too big. He was walking towards me, hands in his pockets, head down, and I recalled my past experience with a similar child and the recently purchased bottle of water sitting in my bag. Unconsciously, I slipped my hand in the bag and around the bottle and just as he was about to pass, I pulled it out and, not really aware of what I was doing, held it out to him. He looked up, took the bottle of water, said a very pure "multumesc", twisted off the lid, took a big swig, smacked his lips and wiped his mouth on his arm, then went about his day with one less thing to worry about.

Two weeks ago, I went to Sighisoara to visit some friends. I was waiting at the train station to head back home when a grown man started harassing some of the little kids sitting around the station. The little kids were part of the Rroma population, as the other kids from above most likely were, too. The Rroma, or "gypsies", are often seen as the root of all of Romania's and many other countries' problems. They are discriminated against, treated poorly, and excluded from much of the society and culture of Romania, but they make up a big part of what this country is. It's a tricky situation because many of the Rroma don't want to integrate and want to maintain their autonomy, and due to this they remain jobless and turn to stealing and panhandling to survive. They have a very interesting history not only in Romania, but in much of Europe, and if you are looking for something to read, Bury Me Standing by Isabelle Fonseca provides a good insight into their lives. Anyways, this grown man was accosting a group of children who were sprawled out on a section of the train station platform. At first he was just yelling at them, probably asking them to move (I couldn't understand all of it), but after getting zero response from them, he started kicking their bags and belongings onto the train tracks. This got a bit of a reaction as they gave him dirty looks and hopped onto the tracks to get their things, but the man was still not satisfied with his display of dominance, so he started making movements like he was going to hit the kids. They scattered, all of them but the littlest. He was maybe 5 and he just sat there, obviously confused and not sure what was going on, and, surrounded by adults waiting for their trains, got dragged by the collar of his shirt by this "man", than slapped, than finally kicked in the face. All because he wasn't quick enough to move. I was screaming in my head, standing on the other side of the tracks, not sure how this could possibly be happening. A man, a grown man probably in his 50's, is actually beating up a five year old IN FRONT OF PEOPLE and NO ONE is doing anything about it, including me! In fact, most people didn't even seem bothered by it. I couldn't think of what to do, being on the opposite side of the tracks...yell? I should have yelled. Finally, somebody else yelled at the guy to find someone his own age to beat and he let go of the little kid, who was bawling and probably blind with tears. He ran back to his friends, where his cheeks were inspected and his shoes were retrieved from the tracks and hisses were aimed at the “man”. I spent the next hour glaring at him, until my train arrived. When I got on the train, I found a seat so I could glare at him through the window. I wanted to glare at him and spit in his face and kick his shins, but all I did was glare.

A couple hours later on the same train, I was calmly looking out the window, thinking about other things, and munching on some mixed nuts. When the train made a stop, a group of Rroma kids got on and sat down in the booth next to me. It took them maybe two seconds to realize that I had food and the oldest of the group jumped up and started asking me for some. Va rog, va rog, va rog, he repeated. Please, please, please. It's an inexplicable moment of shame mixed with annoyance, when a group of starving, impoverished kids asks you, the well fed and happy American, for food. For one minute, I just want them to go away and leave me alone with my nuts, which I bought and are rightfully mine, and the next minute, I feel ashamed for being so annoyed by KIDS. Hungry kids who've known nothing else but this life, the life they are begging for out of the bag in my hand. I'm torn. Then I remember a little boy getting kicked in the face just for being in the wrong spot at the wrong time and, with that thought and a little sigh of annoyance, I thrust the bag into the boy’s hands. His face lights up, he says "Thank you", not "multumesc", but the English phrase. I didn't say anything to him. How'd he know? Anyways, I spent the rest of the train ride watching this group of kids thoroughly inspect each nut and excitedly talk about the different varieties before eating them. It brought me immense pleasure. Much more so than saying no.