The gypsy women walk hunched through the streets, vigorously shaking cups of change in the faces of tourists. Their fine hair is pulled slightly off their faces, allowing most of it to hang down their backs. Although many appear to be about my age, all of their hair gives off a grey hue, perhaps symbolic of their grueling lifestyle. Their bright patterned clothes shout out their presence and the reputation that follows them all at once.
Outside the Duomo, a gypsy woman rushes past and forcefully thrusts her cup into the faces of a family. I watch as a mother pulls her daughter away and says in English “Don’t let the bums touch you, they’ll take your money.”
It makes me sad to hear her say it, but I quickly remember an incident that took place not more than an hour before, when a gypsy woman rattled her cup in my face and I scrunched my nose in disgust before walking away.
I have never considered myself narrow-minded, so why am I leaping away from these women before me? I wonder how much is true about their reputation. Are they bums? Should they get a job and dress like “us”? Or are they of a culture our society simply cannot understand? Or do we simply not take the time to understand? A combination of both? The memory of this incident bothers me for the rest of the day.
I wonder what it’s like to be shunned from society, and be unable to escape or hide all at the same time. It seems so sad for an entire group of people to be separated from society—yet the gypsies remain. But why? Are they bothered by their “place” in the world? Am I wrong to jump back?
I don’t know—for now, no real answers, only questions.
--Allison James
(Loyola)
(Loyola)
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