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A letter from Mary Ferris in Romania |
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April 2003
Road or no road
From mission board executive: “Dr. Livingston
is there a good road to where you are? If so, we have a couple
of people who would like to come and help you?”
From David Livingston: “If they need
a good road, don't send them. I need people who can come, road
or no road.”
Dear Friends
The Romanians have an unusual travel greeting, Drum Bun,
which literally means "Good Road." This is appropriate
because there are very few good roads in Romania. The best roads
in my county, Tulcea, are paved with two lanes and white markings
down the middle. There is a semblance of this type of Drum
Bun running through the middle of almost every village. The
side roads that branch off these highways are unpaved and rutted
by horse-drawn carts.
Many of the 22 centers for abandoned or handicapped children
in Tulcea County are in remote locations, which was why NOROC
bought a used van last year. We try to visit as many centers as
we can each month. It is funny to hear our dear van driver, Gica,
mumbling to himself, “nu e bine, nu e bine.” (“This
is not good, this is not good.”) as we go as far as we can
on one of the roads, before we have to go pe jos, that
is, on foot. We never know what we will find at the end of the
road. |
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Two boys from the orphanage in remote Horia. A NOROC supporting
church bought a pregnant sow for the center five years ago, and
this is the seventh generation of piglets from the original litter.
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The Drum Bun that goes through every
village also doubles as the community market and its recreation
and activity center. All modes of transportation travel on these
roads, including the entire range of the animal kingdom. All animals
are “free range” in Romania. Sheep, pigs, cattle, chickens,
and geese travel in herds, gaggles, and flocks, accompanied by traditional
shepherds. |
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In the daytime, a journey seems either
quaint or frustrating, depending on if one is in a hurry. At night,
it is deadly. There are no lights on the road, the carts, the people,
or the animals. Therefore, we are always under the pressure of the
setting sun when we take off on our circuit.
Yesterday we visited the most remote center in the county, Laguna.
The very mention of going to Laguna starts Gica's blood pressure
rising. “Nu e bine,” he repeats. To get there one must
cross the Danube on a ferry, travel 10 kilometers to the last village
where the graded, unpaved road ends abruptly, and then another 6
kilometers over almost no road. I had not been able to visit Laguna
for three months because of the weather. When the Danube is frozen,
there is no crossing. It was the first warm day and I was determined
to go visit the seven stranded youth in this center. Gica thought
he was in luck when we got to the ferry crossing and the ferry driver
said we couldn’t cross because they were celebrating the last
day before Lent, “Forty Glasses of Wine Day.” You are
supposed to drink one glass of wine for each of 40 Christian martyrs.
Even though we arrived early in the morning, the operators knew
if they let a car across they had to stay sober until it returned.
When I insisted, they finally agreed we could cross if we would
return in three hours. The melting snow had left the road very muddy.
We managed to make it most of the way, but the last half a kilometer
was pe jos. At one point the suction from the mud pulled
my boot off and we had to retrieve it. By “we” I mean
the group of boys from the boys home in Tulcea I had brought along
to visit their friends in Laguna. They had the task of holding me
up and getting my boot out of the mud and back on my leg. They thought
this was very funny. What wasn’t funny was poor Gica’s
face when two hours later we returned to the van with our muddy
boots. |
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Today our journey ended in tears.
We set out to a village to retrieve the identity card stolen from
Dana by the woman she had lived with after she left the girls’
home. Sometimes the people who take in the children take their
identity cards. Without this card, you cannot go anywhere or do
anything.
If someone has your card, they own you. They can get your salary,
your mail, everything. It’s a subtle form of slavery. Dana
had managed to escape this family after four long years. We wanted
to get her papers back peacefully. When we finally arrived, pe
jos, the lady screamed obscenities at us and said she would
never give the girl her card. We left, but we will return with
the police, if necessary. |
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Without her identify card, Dana is unable to exercise her rights
as a citizen of Romania. |
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Laughter or tears, with machina
or pe jos, wherever we go, we go with Jesus and pass
along the good news. When we do this, no matter the conditions,
the road is a Good Road.
Mary Ferris
The 2003 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, page
93
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