The stories of soreness

There is something so gratifying about sore muscles. I believe it's the way our bodies continue to hold the stories of previous days. Reminders of heavy burdens or accomplishments that gradually fade away, but not without a demand of consideration.

This morning, my arms ached. Stretching, I instantly pictured myself yesterday: swinging a laughing Roma girl around in a circle, tossing children in the air, using my arms to pull kids up into the fullest possible embrace.

For the past two days, our cross cultural group has been working a day camp for Roma children. There were about 25 kids, ranging in age from 5 to 15.

Day camp in the Balkans differs significantly from camps in the states. I had expected much more structure and programming, necessitating a hustled pace while herding children from activity to activity. Instead, we took walks and played on the playground. Our entirely unstructured time turned into arm wrestling tournaments, impromptu volleyball or soccer games, photo shoots, and quests for four-leaf clovers. We would maybe accomplish one or two pre-planned activities throughout the entire 7 hours.

One of the intentional activities we accomplished was giving the children time to draw a picture to symbolize a significant story from their life. Afterwards, they shared their stories with the larger group.

The Roma people have been marginalized and oppressed in Bulgaria. They have adamantly refused to be assimilated into mainstream society and are resultantly downwardly mobile. To say the very least, the Roma are not provided any human dignity from Bulgarian society at large. Most Roma do not complete school. Many, after being ostracized and traumatized, resort to lives of crime. This cycle of poverty and crime reinforces Bulgarian stereotypes, and makes a restored relationship seem nearly impossible.

Because the Roma are not traditionally educated, spoken narratives and stories take on special significance. Knowledge of their histories enforces their identity and provides space for belonging. In our two-day camp, we had hoped to affirm their identity and capacities.

The stories the children shared were not narratives of oppression or histories of their ancestors. Rather, like one would expect from most kids, they were stories of fun games, injuries, and sports. Our campers did not present their heaviest burdens to us. Instead, they gave to us in smiles, in silliness, and in grace as we stumbled through the most basic Bulgarian phrases.

The campers did not verbally communicate any of their trauma. However, they communicated their trauma physically. Mere hours after we were introduced, and after our physical boundaries were breeched, they began to voraciously seek after affection. As we stood in a circle, socializing,  one girl made rounds, hugging each of us multiple times. Touch was central to our interactions. Campers would approach us, arms wide, eyes expectant, eager to receive hugs. It was clear many had been deprived of touch, and now that it was available, they pounced on every opportunity for connection.

So, as a group, we held them near. We tried to squeeze as much love into the fourteen hours as we possibly could. With every touch, we sought to affirm their importance, dignity, and worth. Merely conveying that we acknowledged their presence shed light into an otherwise dark reality.

Now, as I flex and my muscles ache in adamant protest, I recognize the heavy burdens that I held for the duration of the camp. As my body limbers, I also recognize my own privilege: that I can set down the weight and move along into my regular routine, unrestrained by unfair societal hierarchies. The Roma will continue to be weighed down, growth crippled, movement impaired.

So, broken hearted, we gave love in as many ways as we could. We gave, and we were given to, many times over. My hope is that this relationship will not be constrained to our group, but that the world can also appreciate and recognize the beauty of the Roma people. The beauty that beamed up at me through a silly, toothy grin can bring so much light into the world.