Monday, February 29, 2016

Romany Me

Linh Dinh shares his experiences — Gypsies. Here are mine:
  • Having the Romani language spoken to me by my paternal grandmother's mother, making me an octoroon, when I was a baby.
  • Hearing nursing stories that my mother told me of her hospital treating the "King of the Gypsies," perhaps the same "Unidentified Romany" whom Anaïs Nin said she was hosptitalized with in the U.S., as the authoress's account of "approximately six hundred members of his tribe [being] camped in or near the hospital in accordance with their law" accords with that of my mother.
  • Being gypped by a group of fortune-telling women in the lovely town of Arica, even after sharing my ancestry, and being harassed to the point of taking refuge in the Catedral de San Marcos de Arica, a steel church was designed by Gustave Eiffel.
  • Witnessing my girlfriend's neighborhood in Recoleta, Chile go into midday, door-locking, child-hiding panic as a group of Gypsy women came walking down the street swaying their skirts liked the owned the place.
  • Living with a group of college bohemians sharing half of a duplex with a giant Gypsy family of "black-toppers" who moved on without warning after a season of painting driveways and befriending a young kid named "Gizmo" with whom I saved a poisoned dog's life.

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