Romania 1997
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| Ioana in 1997 | Ioana in 2002 |
The little girl in the first photograph is a bit
self-conscious about having her photograph taken, but she seems attractive and
bright. Her clothes look to be a bit too big for her, but she appears clean and
healthy. Her name is Ioana, and she is my Romanian "sponsored child";
at the time of this photo, she was ten years old. Although her parents are still
alive, they are too poor to look after all their children, and Ioana lives in an
orphanage in Livada, towards the north of the country, with two of her brothers.
When I started Ioana’s sponsorship in December
1996, I couldn’t have imagined the journey of discovery it would take me on.
For the first few months, I received letters translated into English; they told
me little more than that this was a normal, cheerful little girl. I knew that my
sponsorship money was going to the institution as a whole (for fairness, as some
children do not have sponsors); I knew that living conditions in Romania were
improving since the days of the Revolution, but very, very slowly.
In summer 1997, I was lucky enough be given a
generous sabbatical from work. I’d often toyed with the idea of spending some
time overseas, working and living in a world very different from my own; now I
had the chance! I contacted what was then the
Christian Children's Fund (CCF - now EveryChild), and so it happened; between 14 November and 6
December, I worked with the staff in ARAC and ASKLEPYOS, the Romanian NGOs
(non-governmental organisations) which operate on behalf of CCF in Romania,
based in the towns of Oradea and Cluj-Napoca respectively.
I flew from Heathrow to Budapest, travelling to
Oradea by train – a journey of some 5½ hours, although it’s only about 150
miles. I stayed in a flat in Oradea, which is used by any members of CCF staff
who need to visit. My husband, Selwyn, is an Anglican parish priest, so it
wasn’t possible for him to come with me – this was the longest time I’d
ever spent away from him, which was very difficult. Fortunately, he was able to
phone me each night – our next phone bill was enormous!
Once I was there and helping in the office, it
became clearer to me just what a huge difference there is between our living
standards. At the time of my visit, there were 12,500 Lei to the £. A bottle of
wine cost the equivalent of about 80p (and tasted very good); a loaf of bread
cost about 30p. Clothes in the market cost about the same as here - £20 for a
cheap anorak in the market. However, the salary of a professional office manager
like myself was about £1,500 per annum – say 10% of the British
equivalent. For a labourer or the unemployed, you’re talking more like £40
per month. So multiply the cost of that bottle of wine x 10 to see what it means
to a Romanian… £8 for wine, £3 for a loaf of bread, £200 for the anorak…
I started to understand how hard life is.
So what about the children? Why are so many of
them in institutions? I was shocked to understand: during the regime of Ceauçescu,
until the Revolution in December 1989, it was the law that women under the age
of 45 with less than five children were not permitted contraception or abortion.
Ceauçescu wanted a large workforce, and this was his way of getting it. If the
families couldn’t afford to care for so many, never mind – they were
encouraged to put superfluous children into care. Can you imagine it? Some of
the children, like Ioana, do still have families – they just can’t afford to
look after them; some have been abandoned or orphaned.
Well, of course I wanted to meet Ioana as soon
as possible, and this was arranged a few days into my visit. One of the social
workers, who spoke very good English, acted as my interpreter. The headmistress
– a large, warm-hearted, enthusiastic woman – brought my tiny, dark-haired,
sponsored "daughter" to me in an empty room. Ioana came to me shyly,
but she held on to my hug tightly. I realised how seldom she received this sort
of attention, and how much it meant to her.
She sat back and held my hand, gradually
relaxing enough to chat to me through Sorin’s translation. Much of the time
she spoke so fast that even Sorin didn’t understand her! She’s obviously
happy at Livada, is popular and has many friends; gradually these friends
started to sneak into the room to see this strange English woman. They were all
clean and healthy, dressed in an odd assortment of Western clothes – and all
eager for a cuddle. I didn’t have enough arms for all 18 of them, and had to
keep an eye out for anybody getting missed – especially since Ioana and her
brothers obviously felt that I was their personal property for the day.
I’d brought some "party bags" for
Ioana’s class – each of them got a colouring book, couple of pens, a
lollipop, a sheet of stickers. Tiny things, costing me very little, but they
seemed to mean a lot. I’d given Ioana a little brooch that I’d brought for
her – she proudly showed it off for the rest of the afternoon.
We went off for lunch. The dining room was
freezing cold and very crowded; the kids shouted grace together; we then had
some sort of soup, with big lumps of bread and bowls of raw onion! This was
followed by a sort of large sweet pastry, that many of the children took away
with them. Then it was time for exercise, and we all made off for a large
recreation ground for kite-flying.
Finally, we left the orphanage. The headmistress
came out - the string of children following her made her look like the Pied
Piper – and thanked me over and over. She thanked me for coming to Romania,
for coming to see the children, for taking time with them; she asked me to thank
all the sponsors for making such a contribution to the children’s lives. They
then gave me a little set of lace mats for a dressing table, which I treasure.
I saw children in many other situations during
my visit – some good, some far worse than Livada. One of the worst was a
"special" boys’ school in Gilau, based in an old castle with thick
walls, crowded conditions and the appearance of a prison. The staff do their
best – but what can they do?