In a city that, to the casual eye, seems so flawlessly beautiful, Budapest is a city of imperfection. The influence of communism and the centuries of constant power shifts in the country have left the city with diverse architecture and an even greater melting pot of ethnic identities - Croats, Slavs, Chinese and Poles. And then there are the Roma, a group of people so hated and despised in this region of the world that it's a wonder no wars have erupted over them.
Roma, more commonly known by the derogatory term gypsies, are a people who immigrated to Europe many centuries ago. They live in countries throughout Central and Eastern Europe, occupying vast low-income areas and shantytowns. The Roma have always stood at the bottom of the social ladder and, so goes the thinking of many "natives," that's where they are supposed to remain.
Eight percent of Budapest's roughly 2 million inhabitants are Roma. The eighth district has a high concentration of Roma, and tourists are warned to avoid it.
The anti-Roma sentiment in Budapest is a vicious cycle for many Roma families, who can never afford to leave the slums and often see their kids revert to a life of petty and violent crime. I found a volunteer position tutoring English for Roma children at an after-school program in the eighth district.
For three hours every Tuesday, I practice English with Norbi, Bela and Ildiko.
Norbi is an aspiring chef and is learning food words. He's 20 years old but seems held back by a system that doesn't want him to succeed and therefore is light-years behind most U.S. students his age. Norbi's mother doesn't support his schooling -- she says the kitchen is the woman's place of work - and his father is not in the picture. Norbi comes to lessons with a sense of defiance because he believes the language barrier is the only thing stopping him from becoming the next big chef in New York or London.
Bela is interested in hospitality and will probably work as a waiter some day. He travels almost an hour every day to reach school, changing modes of public transportation three times before he finally arrives there. He has an intense desire to speak English, knowing at 16 that he still has much to learn before he can ever escape the powerful grip his Roma status holds on him.
Ildiko is a math teacher at the school. At 27, she still has a lot of schooling to go before she can dream about a Ph.D. in social pathology from a British university. She is working on her master's in the same subject, but her English classes are proving difficult. She can barely afford the subway fare each way to work every day though, so getting free help for English is a godsend.
Seeing this place is something to behold. Although the school itself is sorely underfunded and falling into disrepair, the people who work here are unflinching and always ready to help a student in need. They don't complain, stay late and come in early.
And I know I will never be able to help enough. There is nothing worse than a sense of helplessness, but in this community, any help is good help. My Tuesday afternoon is spent better than I could ever hope for, even in a city that is aching to be explored further. It may be tiring. But it sure is rewarding.
I know that by December, Norbi, Bela and Ildiko will be forever etched into my soul. And I hope a piece of me will be a part of them as well.
