It’s early evening at the Roma camp. A bonfire is blazing in the clearing of the olive grove and half a dozen young men gathered around it. The regulars lounge in plastic lawn chairs—Evangelia, her husband, Dimitri, the sisters, Taxiakoula and Evangelia— plus a wild dark gypsy they call Mavro (meaning black in Greek) who wears rings in his nose and hollers a lot. I’m invited into the circle to take pictures. Mavro sings Romani songs up close and loud in my face and asks twice how much my camera costs. Leaning back laughing, his chair breaks in half sending him sprawling into the dust. The family screech with laughter urging me: grigora, grigora, fast, fast—take a photo.
Two young men stand over the fire now roasting something for dinner. Not pork chops or steak or burgers, eee gads! It looks like a rat. “Polli nostimo” says Peppari, one of the young men. Very delicious—hedge hog! Skinned and crispy, four of them are skewered and roast nicely on the open flames. Fortunately, they need more barbecuing so I will not be asked to taste this Roma delicacy.
A little later Evangelia and her husband Marino arrived at the campsite. Evangelia proudly shows me their new outdoor shower encircled with sheets of plastic and topped with a large plastic water bottle. It is a long way from indoor plumbing but at least everyone now can “shower” with some privacy. Taxiakoula, her grand-daughter, is the first to try, disappearing into the tent-like structure then reappearing in the courtyard wrapped in towels from head to hips.