My friend, hey! Roma child. Do you really know who you are? Do you know why being Roma is so difficult? If you don't know, listen to me.
We hold our heads up like Balkan mountains; our proud is refractory, mettled and huge. However we can't hide our poverty inherited from our ancestors. Even exploding suns in our eyes are not able to introduce the misery of the millennial sadness. There are no words in any language which can reflect our pains. Our pains are incommunicable. The only witness of our pains is the Roma history never written in any books.
Roma history starts in the lands of the ancient India 1000 years ago. India was ensanguined by invaders. War and invasion. An unbelievable storm, a terror wave deported our ancestors from the land. The people who lost everything even their past arrived east-Roman named Byzantium in the end of a long and hard journey.
The lost children of India meet people identified as Gypsy (Cigany) like them in the Byzantium. They shared similar pains with them, they coalesced with them. They emerged as a new community. In time, they spreaded to almost every part of Balkans and western Anatolia governed by the Byzantium. Ever after they have had a language only they knew and spoken only in the land. They defined their language as Romanes and themselves as Roma.
Oldest Roma have no lands or herds. They don't have forestal areas in where they can hunt freely. Anykind of sources they had were captured from them. The only capital they had was their hands. They forged, weaved baskets, tinned, play musical instruments with the hands. They brought all sorts of services, crafts and beauties to even the most remote parts of Balkans and western Anatolia. They took incurability in exchange of beauties they gave to humanity. In some places, our ancestors were slaved. They were sold in slave markets. Everything was on sale in the slave markets even honour and conscience. In some places, our ancestors were forbidden to ride horse in an age when the horse was the most important transportation vehicle. They were prisoned to travel with donkeys. The lands they could procure hardly were captured from them. They were forced to live in exterior regions of cities, towns and villages. When cities, towns and villages grew and include the neighbourhoods in where our ancestors lived, they were exiled again. Out of sight, out of mind. They continued to be vagrant and the poverty was remained.
My friend, Roma child. The wound aching in the deepness of your heart is a result of this painful background. Each Roma child borns with the wound in their heart. They grow with the wound. The wound also grow while they are growing. The only treatment of the wound is knowing. You know now. Never forget! Tell the others, let them to heal their wound. When recognizants are more crowded than miscognizants, pains of Roma will stop. The Roma history will start to speak.