Servus. . .It's gone! The kiosk the street kids were living in has been totally destroyed! Everything that could be burned has been burned. Parts of the metal roof are being laid against a parking lot curb and propped up with boards. The boys are now sleeping under these makeshift lean-tos. The other evening when we brought food, one of the boys had collected cardboard boxes and threw them onto the fire that keeps them warm. We generally stand around the fire, hands extended to warm our cold fingers. Rain is now the order of the day, cold rain. The helpless feeling is overwhelming. I bring them food, they ask for clothing. These kids lack the basic necessities of life. I truly understand why they "huff" drugs. They need to dull their senses to their very painful circumstances. Sometimes I wonder what I am doing here. I bring them a little food and a lot of love. It isn't enough. A Romanian man named George came with us to gara a few nights ago. He was overcome by what he saw. In a private moment as we huddled under my umbrella, he said, "Zan, this kills me to see these children and the way they live." I saw the empathy in his eyes and one single tear trickled down his right cheek.
I had been helping Christiana School for Dropouts deliver Christmas packages to needy families around the city. After delivering our final cargo one evening I returned to my apartment around 8:30 and felt an urgency to go down to gara and find some of the street kids. Since Doris is out of school for Christmas holidays, I called her to see if she wanted to ride down there with me. She's been missing the kids lately since school occupies much of her time. "Yes, of course," was her immediate response, so off we went.
We went to where the kiosk used to be and none of the kids were in sight. Even the "lean-to" they'd constructed from the roof of the kiosk is now gone! We headed for the underground "pasaj" toward the train station looking for the kids. Nothing. We couldn't figure out where they were. We went to the smaller, adjacent train station, and still found none of the kids. We were going to go to the platforms where the trains pull in to see if any of them were begging from arriving passengers when Doris spotted a crowded, smoky bar on the back side of the main station. We decided to check inside and turned up nothing. As we took a couple of steps outside again, we realized someone was following us and turned around. "Marius! Unde fost?" Where were you? He grinned that special grin and pointed over his shoulder toward the bar.
I don't know what it is about these street children. They can find us, but when they don't want to be found, they are invisible. This has happened to us more than once. When they're ready to be found, they are the ones to find us!
After the normal greeting with Marius, he informed us that the next day he was to be taken into custody by the police. He would then be incarcerated in the local jail for two weeks and then be sent to Gherla Prison for two years.
"Two years?" I cried. "What on earth did you do?"
"I was in a fight with someone," was his calm reply.
"For this fight you get two years?" I could hardly believe my ears!
"Well," he said, "the other guy ended up in the hospital."
"Did he die?"
"No, not yet."
Then Marius told us he saw Gabi at the Child Protection Center and he knew that Gabi was going to school. "You know Marius," I began, "you too could have been in school if you had wanted to go to the center."
His furrowed his brow, backed up a few steps and said, "Never! I would never go into that place. Not even to go to school!"
So now he's going to Gherla Prison.
The Romanians have an expression here, "Now we see the other side of the medal." The meaning is perfectly clear. I've seen two lives come together, Gabi and Marius. I've seen Gabi make the choice to come off the streets and try to make it in this world by accepting the rules at the center and by going to school. It's tough for him, but if he hangs in there, he's going to shine!
Marius on the other hand wouldn't allow his wings to be clipped. He got into trouble and now he'll spend two years in Gherla Prison. Marius is the "rough" side of the medal that generally is not seen, and is never as shiny as the side that is admired.
I looked at my watch; it was 10:30. I knew I had to get Doris back home, but it was difficult leaving Marius. I held him as he began to cry. He didn't want the other kids to see his weakness as he stood stoically, tears running down his face. My tears mingled with his as I kissed his cheeks. "Te iubesc foarte mult," I love you very much, I whispered in his ear.
"Si eu," me too, was his soft reply.
Doris too could not contain her tears as she hugged and kissed his cheeks.
Since that day, we've seen Marius on a continuous basis! Our "good byes" now seem like smoke blowing in the wind. The date of incarceration for Marius keeps getting put off. In the meantime, Gabi has left the Child Protection Center and even encouraged two other boys to leave with him. For days and nights we searched the streets and finally, late one night we found him in the "pasaj" under the street in front of gara.
"Gabi! Where have you been?" I asked as I hugged and kissed him.
He shrugged his shoulders as if nothing unusual had happened. The long and short of it was that he felt he couldn't live under the rules and regulations of the Child Protection Center.
In exasperation from his excuses I warned, "Gabi, do you want to see your future if you do not go back to the center? I can take you to Gherla Prison and show you what your future looks like. I can take you into the pasaj' and show you men who are drunks and who have no hope because they have no future. Do you want this for yourself?"
I looked into Gabi's deep brown eyes, brimming with tears. Looking away, he took more drags off his cigarette. No answer was forthcoming. Finally he agreed to go back to the center but first he wanted to get a train to Hunedoara to see his younger sister who is in an orphanage there. He promised to be back the following week and then he would go with Radu and me to the center to talk about returning. I bought him a train ticket and left.
I had my doubts about Gabi meeting us on the promised day. Radu kept trying to reach Dan Tomas, the young man at the center who is in charge of Gabi's case, but was unable to find him. We wanted to know the consequences of Gabi's actions ahead of time as well as to help lay some groundwork for Gabi to return.
Finally the day arrived for Gabi to be back in Cluj. Radu and I went to the appointed meeting place at the exact time Gabi said he would meet us. We waited and drove around looking. My heart sank with every minute. We drove around some more, hoping, praying, waiting and still no Gabi. We gave up.
I'd be lying to say I was not disappointed, though I'm more disappointed for Gabi. This bright, intelligent boy could have a future and pull himself out of the mire he's slowly sinking into. This one boy had so many people working for him, bending rules for him, loving him and praying for him. He still can make it, but not on the streets. Sadly, I've learned in my dealings with Gabi that all the help in the world isn't good enough unless the person wants to be helped.
I lament for Gabi and all of the street kids who have become so special to me and who have always been precious in the eyes of God. Many people ask me, "Why? Why on earth do you spend your energy and time on these kids who will break your heart?"
My only answer to that is, "Why not?"
I feel that those of us who work with street kids can be the arms of God reaching out to embrace the unlovable. Lord knows they need hugs and kisses after being hissed at by merchants, shooed away by passersby, gawked at and made fun of by school children.
My days are winding down here in Romania. Winter is still playing hide-and-seek and snow has yet to blanket this land. Instead there are cold, foggy days, cold rain and colder nights. The kids find shelter in the hallways of apartment buildings. They clothe themselves in layer upon layer of clothes, sort of like the way an onion is peeled. A friend from the States arrived recently with warm jackets and clothing. We dole out the clothing on a "per need" basis. If we don't, they will end up selling the excess and buying drugs.
My vision is still clear for a soup kitchen/center to get the kids off the streets, at least at night. A place where they will drop their drugs before having a hot meal, hot shower and a warm bed to sleep in. There are other programs here for babies, children 1 to 12, but nothing seems to be in place for the kids 13 to 20. When I leave, Radu, Doris, and another man named Floyd who is an American and will be living in Cluj for about 2 years, will be feeding the kids every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at least through the winter. They will continue taking them to a free clinic run by Christiana, so their medical needs will also be met.
Every time I think I've finished with a Virtual Romania update, something else happens and I realize I must tell the "rest of the story." Radu and I were going to Craig and Victoria Goodwin's home to leave some donated clothes. Our route never takes us by gara but the other day, traffic was congested and Radu said, "I'm going to drive by the train station instead of taking Horea Street." I nodded ok and didn't think much of it. As we were turning in front of the train station I was searching the crowd for any of the kids when I saw Gabi.
"Gabi!" I screamed. Radu swerved to the curb and we sprang from the car at the same time.
"Unde fost?" Where have you been?
Gabi told us this fantastic yarn of a journey that took him almost around the whole of Transylvania! He took one wrong train after another. He had arrived in Cluj only a couple of minutes before we spotted him. If we had been five minutes earlier or later, or had gone our usual route, we never would have found him that day! God's timing is perfect as usual!
"I'm sorry, Zan," Gabi kept saying.
"No problem," I assured him.
The rest of our day was spent getting Gabi back into the child protection center. Dan Tomas was pleased to see Gabi but his pleasure was combined with frustration. Dan had put his own neck on the line to keep Gabi in Cluj instead of sending him back to his home county of Hunedoara. After a lot of talking, Dan said, "Well Gabi, go get a hot shower, put on some clean clothes and Monday you can start school. But, if you ever do something like this again," Dan paused here, then a smile crossed his face as he continued, "I'll personally flog you!"
"And I'm next after Dan," I added.
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Another main concern I have is for the girls on the streets. Yesterday we went looking for the kids to tell them lunch had arrived when we ran into Ioana on the steps going into the "pasaj." She was crying.
"What happened?" Doris asked her.
Ioana kept her head down as she explained that she had been beaten up on by a couple of guys because she wouldn't sleep with them. I've tried to talk this 17 year old, petite blonde into going into the Child Protection Center but she won't do it.
Pray for the street children of Cluj, Romania. Pray for Romania.
Cu mult drag. . .
(With much love)
Zan