"My Delta Journey"

My Journey

Chapter 1 

It was autumn of 2000 and I was preparing to move to Texas to complete my college studies.  I had just graduated high school and had given up on the idea of becoming a Realtor.  I was pondering the thought of following the path of my eight siblings and trying this “life changing school” they all talked about.  It was a Mission and Theology school.  In fact, the name says it best: “Christ for the Nations”.  Let me explain. This is not going to be a religious book. However, for the sake of clarification I will include the following paragraph, to give you a better idea of my “predestined life.”

    We all have dreams and desires. If we only believe these dreams, someday they will become reality. 

As a child, I loved to explore and travel. Often my mother would call me in for dinner, but I didn’t hear her. I was off on my own exploring our tiny village.   She would say, “Esurum my son, where have you been?”  Esurum is a word used to describe someone who constantly wonders. Mind you, I did have eleven other siblings. For me to constantly be the last one in, meant one of two things.  Either, I hated mealtimes and being with my family, or I just loved being out, and exploring away from home.   The latter is definitely more accurate which is ironic, considering I was the only child of twelve, born at home.

    I still remember Communist Romania like it was yesterday.  Travel was not easy and trips were reserved strictly for business. For my family and other residents of the small Transylvanian villages, there was only one bus available in the morning and at evening.  Two of my older sisters were employed in the city where they eventually moved.  One hot summer day I remember taking my younger and older brothers with me and we made our way to the unofficial bus stop.  As soon as the bus arrived we were there ready for our grand opportunity.  We discreetly snuck on, and off to the city we were headed.  I was only seven, but always adventurous and mischievous.  In those days we had no worries, nor thought about the potential dangers and consequences of our travels.  To be gone from home for most of the day was not at all unusual in those times.  Often times, we would head out to the pasture, where we watched the family livestock from dusk till dawn.  But somehow, this particular day was different.

The whole thing was my idea from the start.  I was just seven, Danny was six and Emanuel was going on nine.  The city was about two hours away.   The only other trip I had taken prior to this that I remember was the same route but only an hour away. That still did not quiet my nerves and unease. I was somewhat scared of the unknown, but I could not contain my curiosity and excitement of going to the big city.  We managed to sneak on the bus, and off we were. The two hours felt like an eternity, but we finally arrived at our destination. I remember looking around us and seeing what appeared to be a whole different world.   Communism did not offer a whole lot.  However, the city and its people were completely different from what I knew.  The pace was different. Businesses, cars, and buildings more than one story were all too much for me to fathom. People were everywhere and selling everything possible at that time. I was overwhelmed with hordes of people at the bus station.  Vendors were selling various wares. One selling sunflower seeds, another one langosh (a Romanian pastry) and others selling anything attainable in a third world country.  This was an incredible journey for a young boy from a tiny village of 80 people to a city of more than 10,000. It was much more than I could have ever visualized. We were young kids with no money, no sense of directions, but full of courage and ready for anything.  We asked stranger after stranger how to get to my sisters house. All that we knew was that she had a langosh and juice shop on the main street near the town square. 

I remember being extremely cautious of one thing only, “Gypsies”.   As we managed to find our way to my sister’s house house we were careful to keep a long distance from anyone who had even the slightest appearance of a Gypsy.  In those days, we were always being told stories of gypsies stealing kids like us, abusing them, and selling them elsewhere.  True or untrue, we didn’t want to take chances.

    This was my first official trip to the city and little did I know that it was a small glimpse of what would follow in my life.  The same breath taking experience of arriving at a new city, even at a new country will be repeated over and over in my lifetime.

     I remember coming home on a rainy day in the spring of 1989, crying and frustrated.  I had been in the pasture taking care of our cow. Night fell and like the other villagers, I had to walk our milk machine home to the barn.  This cow was no ordinary cow as she was stubborn and often ran off into the corn fields.   I chased her as far as I could, but eventually, lost sight of her.  I knew what awaited me at home, if I returned without her.  I decided to take that chance and pay the price.  As I approached my house, I noticed something unusual. There was a white Trabant in front of our house which immediately softened my anxiety.  To my surprise and with tears in my eyes I arrived to a cheerful home.  Excited about the news, my parents did not even think of reprimanding me, instead I was quickly forgotten much like the cow, because they had important business to discuss.  The driver of white car was a family member from the United States. She was there visiting and exploring the possibility of helping us move to the United States.  

This was a time in Romania, when it was extremely difficult for anyone to go to the United States, and for a family of fourteen, nearly impossible.   The revolution was just ending, but that didn’t make matters easier. We eagerly waited and prayed for our visas to be approved. The answer finally came. We were one of very a few exceptions. Bucharest awaited or arrival. Bucharest was the only city in Romania  that had  an international airport.  It was also the capital where we had to get our visas and our passports.

The year was 1990 and we safely arrived in the capital. It was a ten hour cramped train ride in a small compartment of a communist train. Thinking back on that trip, it was awful.  Bucharest was still feeling the aftermath of the Revolution.  Many had lost their lives fighting for freedom, and many children were left orphans. The feeling of hopelessness and despair was apparent. What had the revolution accomplished? The new Romania needed more than promises, it needed solutions. The country was afraid of the future. It needed faith. 

From communism to liberation…What was next?  Where do you begin?  Rebuilding mentally, emotionally, and economically was going to be an arduous task.

The two weeks in Bucharest were overwhelming.  I still could not believe the enormous changes we were so rapidly experiencing.  Imagine what America was going to be like!  So much and so fast left me with not knowing what to expect.  The future was obscure.

Just two weeks after our arrival in Bucharest we were off to the airport, and on to America.  This was my first time in an airport and close to an aircraft.  The Tarom Boeing 737 was immense and seemed bigger than any Airbus 380 of today.  I could not believe my eyes.  I remember loving planes all my life.  Seeing one in a blue moon the size of my pinky finger flying over the village was as special as Christmas.  The other kids and I would run throughout the village chasing it until it would finally fade away. All that remained were the lines of smoke in the distance.  How monumental this moment was. I finally saw one in real life.  We were all so eager, to just board and fly, but we had to wait for every other annoying thing that takes place at the airport. To a child, Passport control, checking bags, and security felt endless. I was too young and to excited to have that kind of patience, but I had no choice. Constraint was the most respected word in our home. Finally, we all boarded.

 Every moment of the flight was exciting and memorable.  Upon our arrival in Rome, I had another one of those amazing experiences. I had flashbacks of my first trip to the city with my brothers, just a little over a year ago. But this time it was splendid. My senses were on overload.  The architecture, the history, the food, and the culture were paradise for us!  Being waited on and served was so humbling.  The food was something I had never tried before.  My taste buds were acclimating to so many new flavors.  They were delicious.  The people were so friendly and warm.   I can still remember the words of my mother as a child, “God has blessed our family and has a great plan for all of us.”  At eight years old, I was beginning to see the blessings unfold.  It was so sad leaving Romania and especially my grandmother; leaving my sweetest sister from the city who just got married behind was heartbreaking.  That was very sad for all of us.

 Nevertheless, escaping a hopeless world to build a future with endless opportunities would be much more rewarding.  Rome was just a small taste of how we could live and what we could accomplish.  After our short transit in Rome, we were more eager than ever to see what this new world, would be like. America, here we come.