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A Week in Romania
by Steph Wilkinson
At Bucharest Airport the B Team arrive
Landing cards filled in, Immigration survived
Expectantly searching the crowd for a face
'Where's Colpus?' we wonder and 'Why is he late?'
'Bad roads and some flooding', he later confesses.
We choose to believe him but there are some stresses
For lorries and cars are competing in races
Expressions of horror fill passengers' faces.
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At last we arrive. There's such a commotion
The children all scream and are full of emotion.
They're calling 'Ri-Chard' - the one face they know,
While inside we're silently feeling 'Oh no'.
What have we come to? The place is all crumbling.
The children so dirty, are swarming around.
With black hands they cling to our arms as, uncertain,
We climb from the bus and into their home.
I gratefully go up the stairs to our rooms,
Leaving small smiling faces beaming below.
Up to our floor, then padlock ourselves in.
It feels there is nowhere else safe we can go.
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Two dorms, one for ladies and one for the men,
A dining room, kitchen cum storeroom and then
Along the dark corridor, turn to the right,
Find the 3-star flush loo, some wash basins and more...
To shower, one must summon all courage and might.
First take towel, shampoo and lift door to close tight.
Put clothes, to keep dry. in the little white bin,
Keep clear of the windows and hope no-one comes in!
Then strip and tiptoe to the taps on the pipe,
Turn quickly, stand under and scream with delight!
Fine jets of ice water cascade over you,
Refreshing, just lovely, you feel quite brand new.
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The team here consists of a right motley crew.
There's our 'Pastor Richard' of tabloid repute,
And Will, his old mate, who's engaged to be wed
(it's a joke actually but it makes him go red!)
The dowry's all fixed watermelons and wine
Both local delights that taste quite sublime.
Our Sonia's a dab hand at market selection
But counting out cash gives her grave apoplex-ion.
Young Grae is on 'twister and stepping stone team'.
He likes to saw wood, recess, drill and daydream.
Louise, our chief builder, has great organisation
She leads us each day in correct ministration.
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Activities are going with swinging success,
From wristbands, to balloons filled with Uncle Ben's rice.
There's much more to come, beaded craft and some singing
With Stuart's guitar the school halls will be ringing.
A trip to the loo in the middle of the night
Is a challenge for campers who tend to sleep light.
You carefully creep to the dormitory door
Trying not to disturb those who sleeptalk and snore.
Sarah's dreams sound such fun as she 'Wow!'s and she giggles,
You'd think she had heard the most side-splitting riddles.
And across from my bed there's the snoring brigade,
But at least the fly-paper has come to our aid.
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The mozzies aren't bad and the heat's not oppressive.
Even meals out of tins have at times been impressive.
The rota has sometimes been just a bit loony
But we most enjoyed the ra-ta-ta-ta-tooey.
Across from the girls' room reside all the guys.
Each mealtime all manner of tales surprise;
Count Dracula lies in his tomb-like repose
While vampires encircle and nibble his toes.
The tower of strength outside didn't start strong
The ladder got broken when something went wrong.
The team was disheartened and Mark was so sad,
He shaved all his hair off and now looks quite mad.
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The children are happy to see us each day.
Some are quite helpful, others all play.
A hug or a smile, a chat or some game,
They're especially glad to tell you their name.
Last night, for a treat, we went out on the town.
The tables were plastic, the chips had cooled down.
But what a surprise as we hit the dance floor
Graeme and Janet - what movers! - we saw.
Now Fran has joined us, a recruit from Team A.
She's come from the station, having travelled away.
Her laugh is quite something, her cooking is brill
One day we had cucumber salad and dill.
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On Thursday, an outing was planned far away
A break from the hard work, a good chance to play.
We paddled and picnicked. performed on the stage,
Ate out on pork schnitzel - oh my! - what a change.
Tomorrow's a big day - the ballast is here.
Concreting must happen and Sonia, poor dear,
Is all set to rise at the hour of six
To get down to the field and begin to mix.
The press are due in, around about three
To view the result - the world will now see
That in Rimnicu-Sarat, after hard work and prayers,
The children are proud of a playground that's theirs.
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Poem and sketches © Steph Wilkinson 1999; used with her permission
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