Dolo was an orphan, like me. Legend had it that he had been taken away from his Calao gypsy people after being caught stealing from a grocery store and put into a reform school in Minas Gerais. From there he was adopted by a respectable local gadji family who had given him an upper class education and tried their best to raise him as a gadjo. One day they took him to the local Catholic church to be baptized by the priest. The priest had jokingly referred to him as ‘shorty.’ Dolo, a proud Rom, son of a respected gypsy Baro himself, took offense. As the story goes, he stormed out of the church and promptly stole a horse. Then he rode the horse right back into the church in the middle of the Sunday mass. He galloped the big animal down the aisle and stopped abruptly right before the alter. Looking down at the astonished priest, he yelled, ‘Try and call me shorty now, stupid gadjo!’ before galloping away to find and rejoin his estranged Calão gypsy clan where he was immediately ‘repatriated’…
Now we were all getting together again after so long. Music, wine, food and laughter. Good times. The lusty “just for today” spirit that always bound us all together here as Brazillian Roma, no matter how many months or years and all the inevitable hardships passed between our infrequent gatherings. I was just glad to be seeing my old clan again, the people who had long ago adopted me as family despite my half-Rom, half-gadji heritage. They’d always been there for me when I was a fucked up homeless street kid and nobody else wanted to know… They were the most loyal people I’d ever known and they had taught me everything I knew of family and friendship and loyalty, even before AA. I was glad to be with them again- especially glad that Narcisa was safe and sound at home sleeping with the angels, giving me this chance to get out for a while and see my people again.
to be continued…
Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2009.
Dolo sounds like spitfire.
It’s the “Just for today” spirit that I find here!
…every breath a gift!