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People & Culture
"My name is Igor"
Having walked the few kilometres from their village, they hesitantly approached our cheap plastic table in an outdoor bar on the main street of Ungheni, flinching as my driver and my translator reached to pull chairs over so that they can sit with us.
These boys seem to lack the effrontery required to be successful beggars, and indeed they tell us that their maximum daily earnings are about 5 Moldavian Lei (3 Euros). Another probable reason for these low takings is that there are no tourists here.
Igor shyly explains that a woman neighbour asked him to climb one of her trees to pick some fruit for her, and he fell and broke his arm. The boys’ mother has her own garden but its produce is not enough to feed them, and her job as a cleaner doesn’t pay very well.
Their father left the family after having an affair with another woman in the village, and now lives in
No other way to buy food
“I’m ashamed to be asking people for money,” admits Igor, “but I don’t have another way to buy food for me and my brother. Sometimes, people hurt us by kicking us or twisting our arms.” He demonstrates his arm being twisted behind his back.
These children, twelve and eight years old, are young citizens of the Republic of Moldova, once part of the second most powerful country in the world.
Following a series of avowedly right-wing governments, the Communist Party of Moldova was elected with a landslide majority in 2001; however it did not reverse the ‘reforms’ carried out by the previous administrations. The Communist Party, having presided over four years of modest economic growth, was returned to office in the March 2005 general election, defeating opposition parties which were seen as being backed by pro-Russian, pro-Ukrainian and Pro-Romanian forces.
The Moldovan government is currently in negotiations for membership of the European Union.
“This is the town that time forgot,” says my translator, as we drink the smooth-tasting Baltica beer and watch the boys devour a pizza that we have bought them.
Almost. It’s more as if a strange kind of bomb had landed here about fifteen years ago, not actually killing people or directly destroying things, but preventing anything being maintained or repaired, and stopping anything new from being built.
This was once a prosperous and modern regional centre, all built since World War 2, with wide boulevards, generous and thoughtfully designed public spaces, murals celebrating the people of different nationalities working and living together.
Now weeds sprout between the paving stones, the blocks of flats are dilapidated, and the factories surrounding the town are desolate, rusting shells.
Incongruously, the women on this dusty Sunday are stylish, their hair and clothing immaculate, the Russian language musical on their lips.
Translator: Gabriela Apostol