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It is not easy to tell your own story, to open up to strangers or friends, especially when you lack the gift of expressing feelings due to denial of loving touch and hugs. This is not the story of a boy abandoned by his parents, it’s a story of a boy who grew up in a Roma community.

The Gypsy (or rather Roma) community has been on everyone’s lips for years, a bit out of contempt and a bit for its charm: starting by those who watch the “Big Fat Gypsy Weddings”, amused and intrigued by the wild parties with lots of fancy clothing and furious quarrels, to those who describe it as the most criminal and dangerous community around, without leaving out the adverse political references. I’ll spoil one thing: it’s not always like that.

As in any community or society, there are both criminals and “normal” people who lead a simple life, without glitter and knives. But I can guarantee – and I’m not just talking about my family- that we Roma are not able to show affection and this often affects the way you grow up, future love relationships, and friendships.

Being “bujashi”

My name is Luka, I am a gypsy but I am also gay. You may be asking: “What does one thing have to do with the other?” Apparently nothing, but if you analyze it better, especially if you have been in a relationship for almost 10 years with a man, the two issues begin to mix with each other, often causing “wreckage” and malaise.

For many years I had to hide. No! It’s not a figure of speech. It was like when, as a child in the car with your father, he tells you to duck down because he sees the police, but in place of dad there is your boyfriend and instead of the police there is people’s prejudice. This happened almost every day during the first few years of my relationship.

You’ll think: “Well, it’s normal, you were a minor and he was an adult.“ Yes, I certainly wouldn’t have thought it was going to be all peachy, but when you live in a community where, to insult most aggressively any man who is not fully seen as a macho, the most used word is bujashi (meaning faggot in the most negative sense of the word), it makes it really hard to come out to your parents, fearing they will be ashamed and worry about what people may think.

Roma Family

Fortunately, I was born and raised in Italy, where homosexuality is evidently more accepted than in Kosovo. My family moved to Italy, specifically to Brescia, 25 years ago and they fell in love with this country. My mother raised six children trying to integrate us as much as possible, but reminding us of the importance of our culture, a vast culture, rich in traditions and religious holidays to be respected.

[Tidbit: some Romani, depending on their origin, proclaim themselves Muslims, but only when it suits them best. It is an excellent card to play in certain situations. So you understand that all these factors have never helped my coming out?]

My parents have always considered our education important: skipping a day of school due to futile reasons was a calamity. As I mentioned earlier, the holidays in our culture, especially the religious ones, are very important: the only exception to stay home on May 6th, was Easter with the family. Don’t ask me what calendar has Easter on May 6th or why we have a Christmas tree even though we are Muslims!

Our parties never lack epic moments, which could very well be part of a sitcom: like the time my mom smoked a joint during New Year’s Eve dinner or when my brother got three of my 15 niblings drunk. I know, it may sound absurd, but it’s normal for us to behave ambiguously.

Discover oneself

Growing up in a very large family, where you had to elbow thru to get a shred of attention and love, was tiring. I suffered a lot when I was an adolescent: I was more emotional than my brothers, felt little acceptance, and cried at night because of little care toward me.

At 15 something began to change: I realized I was attracted to boys more than to girls. I started dating boys and one day meet Stefano. He was the first who made me understand what “love” or even just “affection” meant. I’ve struggled to express my feelings and I often felt at fault for it, when instead a simple hug would have been sufficient.

The fear of being discovered by my parents was also looming over me which blocked me even more. For years I tried to hide my relationship in every way, with lies of all kinds that distanced even more from my family. I lived in constant fear of being discovered. Until one day it really happened.

Being discovered

My father -perhaps driven by some suspicion- followed me to the place I would meet with my boyfriend. He saw me getting in the car with an older man. After a few minutes he called me and began to insult me: “Faggot, I saw you with that man, go straight home!” When I got home, he even tried to slap me. It was terrible, I felt so small and fearful, but I wasn’t thinking of myself: I knew it was Stefano who was in trouble.

For days, I locked myself in my room, thinking -with anxiety and fear- about what I could do to face the situation with my parents. We did not talk at all about what had happened, which is typical of my family. They just grounded me and thought the situation could be resolved like that, without dealing with it, sweeping it under the rug. A few months later, I did hear that my older brother -the one with the “more Roma” attitude- threatened my boyfriend and even tried to extort money. If I think about it now, I’m still ashamed of it.

After all, afraid of what? Being yourself, loving a person of the same sex! Is it serious enough to terrify two boys?

Things change

Months later the situation had improved to the point that one summer night five years ago, after a night out, my mother asked almost abruptly if I was gay. I had two options: lie to her and keep hiding who I really am or be bold and come out once and for all. I decided it was time for the gypsy mom to know that her son loved sequins and glitter more than he should

After that evening, we didn’t talk about it again. At some point, I wondered if my mother thought that conversation was part of a dream: she has the habit of falling asleep while sitting, probably she suffers from narcolepsy. Maybe I should go see her sometime.

My theory was reinforced by her continued insistence about me getting married. [Tidbit: in the Roma community you get married really early, like at 16. If you’re not careful, you risk being already married for two years and with a couple of children]. She probably didn’t want to accept it, fearing the prejudices that would come. Only now -many years later- I understand that despite her lack of empathy towards me, she has always tried to defend and protect me.

Time passes by, generations change, and even the most closed and dull mentalities begin to open up. My parents have managed to achieve with all my siblings what they were not able to with their children, but I do see the damage they have caused us: my brother is unable to relate to his children, it’s a vicious circle that I hope will end soon.

Brotherly help

I was tired, I could no longer bear having to hide my homosexuality, so I decided to come out to my siblings. The first was my sister: I knew she would accept me without saying anything. After all, she is also in conflict with my parents, she married a non-Roma man, she married for love. [Tidbit: in the Roma community we also get married by contract, weddings are organized, sometimes the spouses see each other only a couple of times. Love is not always needed]

Next was my brother, whom I was afraid of, but turned out he took it in the best of all the others. My brothers proved to be “useful” and often even fought for my cause: they cleared the ground for me, trying to make my parents understand that having a homosexual son in the house was not so tragic.

“If you are happy…”

And here we are at New Year 2018: my mother, perhaps slightly overtaken by emotions -or slightly drunk…I think I will never know- corners me in the bathroom and calmly says to me: “Your father and I know you have a partner and if you are happy, we are too. I hope I have lifted a burden from you“ So it was! They lifted a heavyweight that I had been carrying for years. Obviously, her words blew me away, I never expected it. Our relationship is getting stronger by the day, to the point they want to meet my partner.

In the end, after years of struggles and drama, I can count myself lucky to have a family that, despite being Muslim only when feeling like and many other cultural differences, managed to understand me. I feel even luckier when thinking of all those Roma boys or girls thrown out of their house for being gay or forced to hide their homosexuality. There are these family friends who have a blatantly gay son (he even came on to a friend of mine) and was forced to get married.

The gypsy community is like a small south Italy village: everyone knows everyone and everyone knows about everyone. It does not matter if you live in another state: sooner or later you will find out about the news of the day and, therefore, many families in order not to cause a “scandal”, would rather have a delinquent child than a gay one.

Luka
translation by Barbara Burgio
©2019 Il Grande Colibrì
images: elaborations from Max Pixel (CC0) / from pxhere (CC0) / from vmedyk (CC0) / from Sisma Dimitric (CC BY 2.0)

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