Gypsy Genealogy Page 8

  In the end the tribe became a mixed constitution, and also formed a refuge for persons expelled from their own societies. Although called by different names, the low caste communities in most provinces appeared to have the same stock of traditions and legends. Later the generic term for Dom was professional musician. Bhantu, Kanjar, Sansis and Kikan all originally were from the Dom tribe. And all used the word káĵá to describe a stranger. Other Bhantu words common with the Romanes/Sinti language today were: káĵá for stranger, chukal for dog, chawa for boy, chai for girl.

  When Gypsy families left Old India, one by one or in small groups, there was less cleavage, less gulf, between the various low castes than today. A thousand years ago the entire race including the Dom were called Bhantu. Today they are known as separate castes: Bhantu, Kanjar, Sansis, Haburah, Beriha, Banjara, etc, etc. Favorite colors of the Bhantu women were pale blue, red and green.44

  Today many, if not most, so-called Romani scholars are trying to deny that the European Roma and the Dom of India and the Middle East were related. It appears these scholars don’t want to believe their ancestors came from such low beginnings. Imagine Black American scholars trying to rewrite their history so that they wouldn’t be associated with the slaves brought from Africa. Imagine Nordic scholars trying to deny that the Vikings who raped and pillaged and murdered all over Europe were not part of their DNA. History is history. We all come from the same race, the human race.

  43- The Dom are more than one caste across the middle East. I think the linguistic evidence that the Rom language is not an ancestor of the Romani language is conclusive. BUT probably individual Dom have intermarried into Roma from the 13th century on, bringing both linguistic influence, and DNA that left India three hundred years earlier. Of course Romani and Domari/Domaaki have many common words. They are both varieties of basic North Indian, but they are cousins rather than one being descended from the other. Thomas Acton.

  44- Still the favorite colors of many Romani women in the Balkans today.

  Chapter 26 CONCLUSION AND FUTURE INVESTIGATIONS ` From my experience of living with European Gypsies since 1963, I have come to the conclusion that they originated from many different castes in Old India, although mainly as sub castes of the Dom tribe. Therefore, it is obvious to me that they did not leave Old India as one group at the same time but mainly followed the chain migration pattern of immigrants: relative following relative, neighbor following neighbor, over many decades. As they migrated west they established communities along the way with some Gypsies always remaining while later some moved on seeking work or to escape local conflicts.

  Today there are certainly more different Gypsy groups than there are different kinds of Europeans. Following their original caste traditions most of these European Gypsy groups usually to not socialize, associate or intermarry. Although their original languages may have changed somewhat, their caste traditions remained discernible as did their inherited professions until a few generations ago.

  ` I have not included in this small book all the results of my investigations into Gypsy genealogy. I am still collecting materials for a much larger edition.

  One of the most interesting items I have yet to fully investigate is the Turkish census records in the Balkans. In Nish, for example, the Ottoman Empire made a detailed population census in 1491. The census lists the name of every inhabitant of Nish noting profession and religion. Four Gypsy neighborhoods and all their inhabitants were listed.

  In the census the Gypsies noted their religion as Christian Orthodox, which shows they had been converted after going from Armenia to Mount Athos to build the monasteries. Certainly the church decree of the Tzarigrad Patriarch acknowledged Christian Gypsies in the Balkans in 1289 and 1309.

  Today in Nish almost all Gypsies are Muslim, the residue of the Turkish occupation of this city until 1878.

  I believe a gold mine of information about traditions and origins of the European Gypsies is still to be discovered in Iran and Afghanistan, the trail leading back village by village to Old India (which today is mainly Pakistan). Since I believe the majority of Gypsies came from either Multan (today the capital of Pakistani Punjab) or the Hunza Valley in Kashmir, Pakistan, investigations should be conducted there.

  Of course, not all Gypsies related to the European Gypsies migrated west. Their ancestral cousins also went east. I personally believe that many of the Gypsies who fled Multan in 985 AD ended up in Bikaner and the surrounding area. From my visits there (and once with my Romani domestic partner), we found many “identical twins” of the Roma we knew in the Balkans.

  I do not claim that everything I have written in this book is the last word on Gypsy genealogy. But for so many years gypsyologists have refused to take into consideration what to me was so apparent: the traditions and oral stories that the Gypsies themselves had saved, sometimes for thousands of years. Gypsy families/groups often change their language and religion, but seldom do they forget the traditions of their ancestors. Or where they came from (the last village!). And although their DNA might have become diluted along the way (but less than most Gadjos!), the Gypsy DNA trail can still be followed. For Gypsies and Gadjos I hope this book will open their eyes and minds to the genealogical riches that are still waiting to be mined.

  As I said before, I have enough information on Gypsy traditions that I could write a much bigger book, perhaps several volumes. But just to break the ice on Gypsy research I offer this small edition as a peek into the possibilities of researching Gypsy genealogy. For Gypsies who want to do their own genealogy, I hope that this book might point them in an interesting direction. For scholars who have studied the Gypsy languages and history with scant regard for Gypsy customs and traditions, I suggest that they seriously consider what the Gypsies themselves have to say about their own traditions. Maybe most Gypsies know very little about their origins, but every family usually has kept at least one word, one tradition, one story that is dear to them. Put together, these seemingly unimportant tidbits do add up to an historical overview that is thousands of years older and richer than most gadjo genealogy.

  A SELECTION OF POEMS FROM “GYPSY TAXI” BY PAUL POLANSKY

  AFTER THE WAR After Hasan got the chance to negotiate the purchase of his new girlfriend,

  he asked me to help him finalize the price.

  Took Jemail with us.

  He was respected as a good broker when two parties couldn’t agree.

  We all sat on the floor in a circle.

  The father said he’d finally agreed

  to sell his daughter

  if his price was met.

  Wanted 1,000 euros for himself,

  didn’t care about the traditional clothes and gold for his daughter.

  Hasan said he was a refugee.

  The Albanians had burned down his home, had no place to live,

  very little money.

  He did have a job

  but couldn’t pay 1,000 euros.

  Negotiations lasted for two hours. Father wouldn’t compromise.

  Finally we called a break.

  I went outside with Hasan and Jemail to discuss the situation.

  Hasan said he wouldn’t pay . He wasn’t buying a cow. Jemail said he had to pay, had to follow tradition. It was the only thing

  Roma had left

  after the war.

  FAMILY FIGHTS It was a curious shopping trip. All my passengers were related but not on speaking terms.

  Sons not speaking to fathers,

  daughters not speaking to fathers,

  sons-in-law not speaking to fathers-in-law, daughters-in-law not speaking to fathers-in-law.

  For the sons and sons-in-law it wasn’t so bad,

  even if they worked together.

  But the women

  still had to wash the feet of the men

  they weren’t speaking to.

  HEIRLOOMS On the way back

  from Samira’s engagement party everyone in my van

  showed me
<
br />   what they had stolen:

  spoons, forks, knives, tea cups, rakia glasses, embroidered napkins, even a table cloth.

  Jemail said Samira’s father had watched him all the time but he’d still pinched

  their beer mug from Germany.

  “It’s one of our best traditions,”

  Jemail assured me. “Stealing something for Samira’s future children.”

  Two years later, Samira’s firstborn has yet to receive his inheritance.

  BEGGING Gypsies consider begging

  a job.

  Some women work hard at it, don’t understand why gadjos call them lazy.

  I’m often asked to drive Gypsy women to the nearest big town to beg.

  They get more money if they take a sick child with them.

  T hat’s where I draw

  the line.

  I insist on taking sick children

  to hospital.

  Most mothers resist. Say they have to beg first, so they can pay

  the doctor.

  EPILOGUE (from the introduction to Gypsy Taxi) On a sunny day in September 1999, I was sitting outside with my sister Samka drinking coffee and talking about our lives after the recent war. Suddenly a cousin who was about 10 or 11 years old ran up to us and yelled that an American had just arrived in our village with many refugees. They were by the school playground. My sister Samka thought he might be one of our friends from American KFOR we had met just before we escaped from our house in Dobrevo, which was later destroyed by the returning Albanians.

  We ran to the schoolhouse and saw hundreds of Gypsy refugees. We knew some from before the war; they were related to another cousin’s wife. We saw women, children, men and elderly people sitting in the hot sun by the village playground. They all looked so poor. We knew they had been chased out of their villages and were now homeless.

  I asked my cousin what was the name of the American. He said Paul. Our friend from the American KFOR was called Paul. I thought it was he. We went in that crowd and talked to the people; they needed water; they were hungry. Children were almost collapsing from the hot sun. They said they had escaped from the UN camp by Obilich.

  I finally saw Paul. He turned out to be a middle-aged man with a white beard and a ponytail. I told my sister Samka this was not the American soldier. After that we ran home and with my cousin Suzie we brought bottles of cold water, sandwiches, and newly baked bread for these refugees.

  I never got to meet Paul Polansky that day because they all left not long after they arrived in our village of Preoce. The local Serbs didn’t want those Gypsy refugees in the village. The Serbs thought they might try to stay forever. Paul and his Gypsies (Roma, Ashkali and Egyptians) left and spent the night in a field by the gas station on the Pristina-Skopje highway.

  Later I heard that Paul had lots of problems getting those 700 Gypsy refugees to Macedonia. He was even arrested by British KFOR because they accused him of living with “gypos.” Until their escape, Paul was an advisor to the UN. They had brought him to Kosovo as an expert on Gypsies; they wanted him to tell them why there were so many homeless Gypsies after the war; after NATO troops had arrived to “protect” everyone.

  Several years later, Paul told me the UN only wanted him to search the refugee tents to see if the Gypsies had guns. But they were arriving in the UN camp in the middle of the night only in their pajamas chased by their Albanian neighbors. After living with those Gypsies for three months Paul saw the Gypsies, especially the Roma, were just victims of the war. He tried to help them but when the UN police refused to take dying Gypsy children to hospital Paul decided to lead the Gypsies out of the UN camp and go to Macedonia. They marched all the way to my grandparent’s village, Preoce. On the way the Albanians threw stones at the Gypsies, and spit on them.

  After they arrived in Preoce followed by UN buses trying to take them back to the camp, Paul negotiated with the head of UNHCR to drive these Gypsies to the border. Paul tricked UNHCR. He told them to take these Gypsies to the border and once they saw they couldn’t get into Macedonia they would beg UNHCR to take them back to the camp. But Paul had another plan in his head. When they got to the border Paul managed to convince the Macedonian government after eight days of negotiations to receive these Kosovo Gypsies. Today most are still in Macedonian seeking political asylum.

  The first time I actually meet Paul was in 2000 when my family just returned from a refugee camp in Bosnia. We lived there for eight months, and then came back to Kosovo to live with my grandparents. The Albanians had destroyed our home in the summer of 1999 after American troops entered our village and promised to protect us.

  Paul arrived back in our village in June 2001 in a gray Chevy Astro with Iowa license plates. He was with a friend from California by the name of Chaba. I could not speak with them because at that time I didn’t know English. I just said, “Hi.” But a year later Paul organized an English course for Roma and that is how I learned my English.

  One of my cousins in the village had a brother-in-law who had worked with Paul in 1999 and 2000 in Kosovo. Paul moved into his house, saying he wanted to help our people.

  That summer of 2001 Paul dedicated his time (even his life) to taking Roma in my village and many surrounding villages wherever they needed to go. Although NATO troops and UN police were supposedly protecting us, we still had no freedom of movement.

  Most of Paul’s trips in his Chevy Astro were to take women and children to hospital. He saved many lives since no Roma in our village had a car at that time.

  Paul kept a diary, writing down each trip and who he took where. Not long ago I found his diaries and counted more than 400 trips he made from June to August transporting 1,084 Roma. Several times a day for three months he drove Roma to hospitals, fortune-tellers, Muslim clerics, and to rejoin families separated by the war. During those trips Paul learned a lot about Roma.

  While driving Roma to the places they wanted to go, Paul would interview the people about their origins, traditions and customs. No one had a clue that Paul one day was going to publish a book about all those stories he heard in his van, which we called our Gypsy taxi. But because he lived with us, he also witnessed many of our traditions and customs first hand. Roma would wake him up in the middle of the night to take them to hospital; during the day he transported Roma to weddings, engagements, and even to recapture stolen brides.

  Paul was always writing something down. If he wasn’t driving, he was writing. We all wondered what he was writing about. Today I am very surprised to read his poems and see how much he knows about my people, to see how much he learned about us. Paul took many Roma to visit relatives who had not seen each other since the war because there was no freedom of movement and no public transportation. Paul made it possible for them to find each other after the war.

  I as a Rom am very embarrassed to read his poems about Gypsies waking him up in the middle of the night to take the bloody sheet of a young virgin bride back to her parents. But that is really what happens in our society; it is one of our oldest traditions. And for those first few years after the war, it was only possible to keep up that tradition because Paul was there with his Gypsy taxi to drive us.

  Paul has told me that some of his poems were written immediately after he made a trip and some after a couple of weeks. These poems truly reflect the life, traditions, customs, and plight of my Kosovo Roma.

  As a Rom I know our traditions are very important; I also know some are outdated. But we can only see that when Paul writes about them, as if he is holding a mirror up to our faces and says, “Look! Is this how you want to live? Is this how you want to treat your daughters?”

  Paul has seen with his own eyes what he now wants us to see. He has lived and slept in our houses with us.

  His poem “After the War” reflects our oldest traditions brought by our ancestors from India about 1,000 years ago. In India I have visited a tribe called “Dom.” And they are still buying their brides the same as we Roma do in Kosovo. That is
one of our oldest and most important traditions, which we still practice after thousands of years.

  The poem “Family Fights” is one of our traditions that is outdated but we still respect it. The young bride in a family is supposed to wash everybody’s feet in the family every night, until there is a newer bride in the house. Many Gypsy families in Kosovo are slowly giving up this tradition because they see we are now in the 21st century. It is no longer as important as our other customs. But the Gurbeti tribe of my mother still practices this tradition in Kosovo; my father’s blacksmith tribe not so often.

  Of course, it is not only Roma who enjoy having their feet washed. I have seen Paul having his feet washed by a young Romani bride. He didn’t refuse!

  The poem “Heirlooms” is still practiced in our tribe. One of our oldest traditions is to steal something from the bride’s family during an engagement party so the bride’s future children will have good health. When I was recently in India I was surprised to find this tradition also still exists in many Indian castes, even the highest ones!

  During the time Paul lived with us we tired as much as possible to integrate him into our society. He did everything with us. But we didn’t know he was actually writing down everything he saw and experienced from those trips he made from June to August 2001.

  The poem “Arlija from Albania” shows you what could happen to you if you looked like a Gypsy in Kosovo after the war. And the poem “ACT” shows you how the international NGOs treated Gypsies in Kosovo after the war. Our human rights were violated not only by Albanians but by the internationals as well. To date Paul has written six books about Kosovo Gypsies. Every book tells how the Albanians, Serbs, internationals and the UN discriminate against Gypsies in Kosovo.

  The poem “Begging” shows the everyday plight of Kosovo Roma. Many Roma only eat when they beg. Their jobs were taken away during the war. Like me, their education also stopped with the NATO bombing.

  I hope these poems will give you an idea about the lives of my people in Kosovo. Some of our traditions are outdated and need to be changed, especially for Romani women. But as Paul’s poems reveal, our traditions are the only real thing we have left after the wars in the Balkans.