3 First Week in Gheorghieni

First week in Gheorghieni

It is just about 150km from Brasov to Gheorghieni: its Romanian name. In this town, the main language is Hungarian, and the Hungarian name is written sometimes as GheorgiaSantaMicheles, and locally spoken (unbelievably) as GheorgiSantaClaus. Just what the connection between Santa Claus and this town is Romania is, I've no idea : the Christmas trees that grow in abundance around here are hardly likely to be the reason for its name.

 

It was dark by the time I reached Georghi-whatever-you-like-to-call-it, and since we frequently stopped between stations, and not every station had a platform, I had to rely on the time – plus the reassurance from the ticket inspector, after nearly 3½ hours that it was the next stop (not counting any stops in between stations). Managed to heave the case off the train, despite the frighteningly large gap between the train and the ground, and over to the exit, expecting Jackie, the volunteer co-ordinator, to come rushing towards me to help. It didn't happen: she'd been held up in traffic, but arrived soon afterwards, full of apologies, together with her assistant Adi.

 

   

A short drive later, we were at St Anne's children's home, where I was to be housed during my placement here. We were warmly greeted by Marika ('Mamma', as everyone called her), who was more or less standing in for her daughter Orsi (the young Director), since Orsi had recently given birth to her second child, so was taking more of a backseat than usual. We also met 'Polly', Orsi's husband, the baby Marti, and their 2-year-old son.

 

There are currently 48 children between the ages of 2 and 19 being cared for, we discovered: here either because their parents had other children, and were too poor to provide for them all, or because there were other social problems at home. Some of the children go home at weekends. They appeared to be well cared for, with very evident affection between them and the house parents, and with the older children being quite protective towards the little ones. All children take part in the daily chores, and most are at school during the day. However, there is a government(?) grant of only 50p per child per day for food, so this has to be supplemented by as much self-sufficiency as possible. The foundation ownsa little smallholding 10km away, where they raise chickens, turkeys, ducks and cows, as well as horses; and where they grew potatoes, and a few other vegetables. The children help out here, and also made their own bread at times, in the outdoor bread oven in the back yard of the home. (Though possibly mainly in the summer, since I've not seen any breadmaking going on, as yet.)

Seven of the children had only just arrived – hence the second visitor's room was unavailable, and although I would have the 4-bedded room and the bathroom next door to myself for the time I would be there, for this one night, Jackie, Adi and I would be sharing. ( 'Getting to know you . . . .')

Sunday was to be my induction day, and we awoke to find that the hot Brasov summer had gone, and a damp grey day had taken its place. After a generous breakfast of bread, cheese, salami and jam, we met Orsey's brother (Zoltan), a 17-year-old, her junior by 19 years: a thoroughly nice lad, I was to discover, and talented in a number of ways. He could speak English, and could help me, I was told. He could, too – but faced with three of us, he was initially completely tongue tied, and it was not until a couple of days later when I bumped into him in town, that he relaxed and chatted. Since he lived with his family in a separate part of the building, and had quiite a lot of homework, he was not often around, unless Mamma panicked, if she couldn't understand what I was saying to her: at which point, she would phone him on her mobile, and then pass the phone to me.

My 'induction' consisted of a drive to a supermarket for Jackie's benefit, a walk around the small town centre, taking in the Caritas building (my place of work), the handing over of some notes to help me, and a form-filling exercise at a local coffee/hot chocolate establishment called 'Marzipan' – where, indeed, there was an amazing exhibition of large models made from marzipan. Here we had a hot chocolate, which turned out to be a sort of thick chocolate custard in a large glass, topped with cream, knickerbocker glory style. Scrapping my Lonely Planet dictionary (for anything other than pointing), I started on the 'home-made variety', making use of Adi's native Hungarian pronunciation. (More on language later!) I wa s warned about the holes that it would be easy to fall into, adn didn't take that too seriously - until several days later, when I passed some huge ones in the middle of a pavement near the station - open drain holes?

Paperwork over, we headed out into the unexpected sunshine (to be short-lived) , to a local horse (lo) show, where there were displays of horse jumping, dog events, food stalls, craft stalls, etc. By now it was raining, and quite cold. Moreover, it appeared to be set in for the day, and there was not even a glimpse of the hills that surrounded the town. Highlight of the show was a display by a 21-year old, outstanding as a horse trainer. The trust between her and her animals was evident, even to someone who knew as little about horses as I do. She slid on and off the backs of the three animals, ranging from a tiny pony to a large horse, seated forwards, backwards, and even Cossack style (standing up, with one foot on the largest horse, and the other on the much smaller one), She had trained the animals to lay one of their hooves on her head, gently enough not to hurt her. (All a bit of a circus, but impressive, none the less.) The other show highlight was the goulash: a big bowl full for about £1.50, served with bread, and one of the best meals I was to have in Gheorghieni.

Later, I was introduced to Laci, a friend of Jackie's with a lot of useful contacts, who promised me an introduction to the local Transylvanian Mountain Assocation (EKE), who went walking most weekends. Jackie and Adi left after dinner (good, if lukewarm: red peppers stuffed with rice, followed by a tasty soup, which had a few chunks of smoked pork in – possibly the base for the soup for the remainder of the week?), leaving me to unpack my stuff and make use of the one square metre of wifi availability (and I'd thought they were exaggerating!), which happened to be in one corner of the teenagers' TV room, where they liked total darkness, if they were watching a film.

Eager to get started on my placement with the physiotherapists on Monday morning, I was introduced to Szusza (61), a beautiful, warm person, who has life fully in perspective: she has survived two cancers, and had her latest operation last year. After working as a PE/dance teacher for 26 years, she had come to recognise that many young children had some minor physical problems, which if ignored, would develop into much more serious problems later in life, with economic consequences for the country, quite apart from the human side of things. She had therefore managed to get funding for the Esely ('Chance') project, in an effort to address this.

Dalma, her 27-year-old qualified colleague, had been taken on 4 years ago, and since her physio training had been mainly theoretical, she had been trained by Zsuzsa. They seemed pleased with the kinaestherapy tape and therabands that I'd brought over for them, and also with the dance DVD and accompanying book, with diagrams labelled in simple English. Zsuzsi's English is not bad, though she tells me she hasn't used it for years. Dalma has studied English in school, but has not had much opportunity to speak it: it takes her a couple of days to pluck up the courage to try. Meanwhile, I'm trying to acquire a few words and phrases of Hungarian, but it's not easy. (More later.)

 

Esely has now come under the umbrella of a larger charity, called Caritas. (“But so much paperwork,” sighs Szusza.) Caritas has a number of projects, and the volunteer co-ordinator is Elud (member of the local mountain rescue team), brother of Otalia, who runs the newly re-opened Tourist Information Centre, and who I was to meet later. Caritas is housed in a lovely, newly renovated old building, and the office is shared with the nursery leader and addiction worker, t at I am relieved to hear that the addiction work is on a 1-to-1 basis, and is not carried out at the same time as the work with small children.

The two women showed me around their smart physio rooms, equipped with toys for the children, as well as coloured balls of various sizes, exercise machines, balance bikeclimbing frames, and a wheelchair, in which sits a huge soft toy.  There would not be much happening in the way of treatments this week, Szuzsa explained,because of the arrangements they were having to make for the fund-raising ball on 9^th October, and because the schools had only just started back, and they had not yet visited the children to see which of last year's clients still needed to come, and to assess the needs of the new children. However, I could go back in tomorrow, when they would be visiting the kindergarten, to see which children needed treatment.

 

Not much action today then, so after I had been equipped with a Romanian phone and Jackie and Adi had left, I was free to orientate myself on foot, with nothing planned until the evening, when I was to meet Peter, a young English-speaking guy who would take me along to the EKE meeting.

Around the centre, a police car was driving slowly, followed by dozens of cyclists – today was 'no car day', I was informed. Hmmm: shame the promised bike had not yet materialised: but I would get it the next day, when Peter would be seeing Jackie at a meeting. The EKE meeting turned out well: the group would be leaving early on the Saturday morning to drive an hour and a half to the Ciahlau/Csalho National Park, in Moldavia. Starting from Izvorul Muntelui (797m), they would be ascending nearly the height of Snowdon to reach a mountain hut (Dochia, 1750m), where they would be spending the night before walking back a different way on the Sunday. Since this must be the first time ever that I had not brought a sleeping bag with me, Laci was going to lend me one: the friendliness and helpfulness of people  here  is second to none!

The rest of the week passed, with the children in St Anne's quickly getting used to me, and gradually coming forward to try and speak English/teach me Hungarian. At the kindergarten, each of around 20 pre-school children was checked briefly for flat feet, knock knees and spinal problems and asked to walk over the other side of the room and back. One little boy with a shock of curly black hair indicated that he had toothache. Did he brush his teeth, Dalma asked? Well, he always meant to, was his reply, but at night he was too tired, and in the morning, he wasn't quite awake enough! 

At the end of the session, Szuzi sighs.“I cry,” she tells me. Why? Nearly all of the children have some problem: flat feet, knock knees, under-developed muscles or curved backs. How can it be that such a high percentage is affected? She doesn't know. Poor nutrition? Too much time on computers with poor posture, and not enough exercise? (Already, at that age?) Hereditary problems? Whatever the reason, she believes that a structured exercise programme at this age will sort out the problems before they get any worse, and potentially cause them problems and the country a lot of money when they are older.

All the kindergarten children will take part in the preventative exercise programme (rather similar to the PE I remembered in my old primary school), including the two who were apparently problem free. Dalma will spend part of her time this week devising treatment programmes, and from next week, will do a weekly session in the kindergarten. In the reception class at school, we spent an hour on a similar exercise as in the kindergarten, but children identified as needing help here will have letters sent to the parents, after which it will be up to them to decide whether to get a doctor's referral and come to the centre. 

Szusza notices something unusual about a 6-year-old's spine, and tells the teacher to get the parents to take him to the doctor, to get a referral to the radiography department at the hospital. The little boy's face crumples, as he starts walking back to his desk. Szusza notices, and pulls him to her to comfort and reassure him, but for the next 20 minutes, he is inconsolable.

At the Caritas building, Dalma normally works with individuals or groups with minor problems, such as flat feet, but also has some clients with spinal problems. Szusza normally has the more severe cases, most of whom I would not meet until the following week: a girl in her teens, who comes strapped into a full body corset, an 8-year old girl with very little sight, and with many psychological problems, another 8-year-old girl with hydrocephalus and well-controlled epilepsy, who is wheelchair bound, and when she first came to Szusza could neither move nor smile. She can now throw a ball with one arm, smiles, laughs. and can say a few words.




Due to the arrangements that have to be made for the ball, and which appear to be occupying both women for most of the week, I am disappointed to see little physiotherapy this week, so occupy myself helping them to clean and wrap gifts for the tombola (presented by one of the many local secondhand shops), sitting in on a mother-and-baby session, helping one of the local volunteers with her English, and even spending a couple of hours with local Caritas volunteers, cleaning old wax (and a few mouse droppings) out of some small glasses that will be used to light candles for the poor. (I hope the candles will help them, but rather feel that some extra food and clothing might be more useful.)

There is even a little bit of time to use the bicycle that Jackie has now got to me via Peter: an hour on the day it arrived, to establish that the gears didn't work (sorted at the princely price of £1.50 by getting the gear cable changed: perhaps I should have brought my own bike over here for service?), and a couple of hours two days later, to do a small circuit taking in the villages of Joseni (rather unremarkable), and the more interesting Lazarea (of which more another time).

In the home (St Anne's), there is very little English spoken, but the staff are kind and friendly, and the kids great. I eat the same as the children, and as the soups get thinner during the week, with little else other than a bit of cold or lukewarm pasta, mixed with cheese if you are lucky, cabbage or sugar if you're not. I am soon feeling the need to supplement it. Breakfast is normally the best meal of the day: bread, normally with salami, sometimes also with cheese, and jam, and occasionally ham instead. 

Spontaneous thumbs up!

The 'Kristov' hairstyle - adopted by all the little ones!

On a bad morning, when Mamma is not on duty, it might only be jam, or jam and tinned liver paste - also served with bread and soup, for an evening meal, when times are hard. Since the children leave for school at about 7:30 or 8:00, I have been asked to wait until after 8am for mine. Normally I  was joined by Imre, an amazing Hungarian gentleman who must have been about 80, since he graduated in 1953, he told me. He had been a construction engineer, and worked in the USA and the UK. He was here as a volunteer, to make chicken pens, with the help of some of the boys, and stayed for about 10 days.

One of Imre's mobile chicken huts (parked in front of the bread oven)

On the Thursday night, Istvan from EKE arrived, to make sure that I was properly equipped for the mountains. Peter had already turned up with the promised sleeping bag from Laci. That night, not only did I manage to get some hot water for a shower, but I also discovered that the radiator thermostat operated in the opposite direction from that in the UK.  Clean and warm,  life was good again, I looked forward to my weekend in the mountains.