The Roma girls wear flowers in their hair and red lipstick knowing the photographer is coming to take pictures today. Evangelia holds a smart phone and plays a Roma tune, giggling and wiggling as she dances for the camera. Eletheria is more reserved but wears her hair down and a black cropped t-shirt to show off her young, flat tummy. At just 13, they are almost women.
It’s a work day. Konstandina, wife of Mitsos, kneads bread inside one of the shed-houses punching the dough with all her weight. Katerina, a nifi*, scrubs clothes in a plastic basin under the olive tree. Another squats on the ground frying potatoes on a small two-burner stove hooked up to a gas canister. Taxiakoula washes dishes and puts them away in an old refrigerator that doubles as a cupboard. Although skeletons of cars and discarded appliances surround the campsite, the living area is free of clutter and swept clean. The women create a vortex of industry, but Mitsos sits drinking coffee and complains there is no work. Several other young men lounge about on cots looking into their smart phones.
In a way, the women and girls are the lucky ones—they have a purpose. Cooking. Cleaning. Shopping. Looking after. The men seem to be perpetually hanging out. Waiting. Mitsos is on the phone now, suddenly in sharp focus. Perhaps a call to pick up scrap metal—an old frig or car parts.
*Nifi—a young, recent bride, a daughter-in-law. Since Roma custom dictates that new brides leave their clan and join their husband’s, the nifi are at the bottom of the social pecking order and must take on the washing, cleaning and cooking for the entire family and extended family.