48 HOURS IN MOLDOVA. ONE THOUSAND IMPRESSIONS.

They say that travellers have stories to tell. In October 2013 I was offered the chance to join UNICEF on a field trip to Moldova and found a story that simply must be told. It’s one of injustice, respect, anger and surprise. But most of all, it’s a story bursting with love for children and the relentless fight to save lives and protect children’s rights.

Text: Lisa Henningsson ÖnnerlidPhoto: Melker Dahlstrand, Copyright UNICEF

A traveller without observation is a bird without wings.

Moslih Eddin Saadi

48 HOURS IN MOLDOVA. ONE THOUSAND IMPRESSIONS.

This field trip was organised in collaboration with, and funded by, the Mama magazine.

It’s not every day a phone call overwhelms you. But this one did. The voice on the other end informs me that I am invited to join UNICEF on a field trip to Moldova. When my heartbeat returns to normal, it hits me – I don’t really know where Moldova is. It is in Europe, isn’t it? Google shows me a small country about the size of Belgium, bordering with Romania to the west and Ukraine to the north, east and south. I read that it’s an agricultural country exporting mainly vegetables and wine, constantly competing with Albania to be the poorest one in Europe.

I don’t know what to expect. Will the capital, Chisinau, feature huge Soviet-style apart-ment blocks – impressive from afar, but crumbling when approached? Luxury hotels, stylish vinotecs and gourmet restaurants? Poverty beyond belief? The answer is yes. Moldova is a land of contrasts, with some exclusive wealth concentrated in the capital. But, to quote the Prime Minister Advisor for Roma issues during my interview with him in his government car heading for one of the rural villages: “Make no mistake, Lisa, Chisinau is not Moldova”.

He is right. Leave the city and the picture of Moldova changes. Out here is where most of the 3 million inhabitants live. Correction: Moldova actually has a population of 4 million, but 1 million have left to work abroad. The level of poverty is hard to grasp. A teacher makes US$150/month, a doctor US$350. I’m told that the electricity bill can rise to US$90/month during winter, which obviously doesn’t leave much for food, clothes, rent, education, medical fees etc. If you’re blessed with electricity, that is. Homes and shelters fall into decay and are patched up, but the cold is hard to shut out.

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Chisinau

Moldova

A fascinating contrast Did you know that Moldova is in the Guinness World Records? The Mileștii Mici winery has the biggest wine collection in the world with nearly 2 million bottles. The underground galleries are over 200 km long and you walk or drive along underground alleys named after famous grapes – Sauvignon, Riesling, Cabernet etc...

Make no mistake, Lisa, Chisinau is not Moldova.

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“The Soviet system fostered passive citizens. Parents were taught that they only had to provide food and clothes, the rest would be taken care of by the system and the institutions. Now we’re trying to change that mindset, creating engagement and empowerment to affect. It’s a long process, and the children are the key to success.“ UNICEF representative, Moldova

Left: Daniel, 4 years, at the Grozeasca Kindergarten Centre: Nicoleta, 2 years, at home in Shinoasa Above: Vasile, 3 years, at the Shinoasa Community Centre

Domestic violence is frequent here. In fact, 13% of infants (children under 1 yr) and 57% of children under 7 yrs are abused. The extreme poverty means not only little to eat and terrible living conditions, but also that luxury goods such as books and toys, which prepare children for school, are limited. Many children leave school early, without finishing the nine mandatory years.

In Moldova, corruption is common and a constant barrier to the evolution of the society. You bribe the doctor to get treatment. Parents bribe teachers to get better grades for their children, and carry on all the way into university. Lawyers, politicians, law enforcement, corporations – corruption is everywhere. This system not only hinders development, it also results in a devastating ‘brain drain’ – people with ambitions, skills and knowledge simply leave the country in search of better opportunities elsewhere.

Nastea, 4 years, at Grozeasca Kindergarten

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I have to admit, before this expedition I had no idea how an organization such as UNICEF truly operates. Forget rice sacks and food deliveries – sure, this is vital in acute crises but not when you want to achieve change. To make a difference long term, UNICEF’s primary focus is to empower and support nations, regions, communities and families to help themselves. They believe this is the only way change can become real and lasting. I have seen some of the results. It’s working.

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Day 1: Monday eveningThe evening of our arrival sets the scene for our stay. Representatives from the UNICEF Moldova office present some of their ongoing activities: decreasing child mortality, early child development pro-grams, increasing access to kindergartens, raising awareness on health and nutrition, launching parental training programs, juvenile justice and domestic violence initiatives. In fact, the day after UNICEF will launch an anti-violence campaign together with a big energy corporation, broadcasted via TV channels, print etc. The UNICEF representatives talk about their work, and of changing attitudes amongst politicians and authorities as well as citizens. I am baffled. We’re talking

about a team of 25 working actively with each and every issue. Yeah right, you think. But, let me tell you a secret: they’re doing it. For real. I’ve seen it myself.

Day 2: Tuesday The minibus rolls out at 07.45. Initially the roads are ok, but after a while it gets bumby. Potholed roads are common, and a working infrastructure will be a key challenge for this country. After over two hours of passing small villages with ram-shackle homes and men with horse wagons transporting crops, we approach the village of Grozeasca; the home of 850 inhabit-ants, 83 of them children of preschool age, 3-7. Young children from this community haven’t had access to a kindergarten for the last 30 years, and have stayed home

with grandparents or siblings while parents are away working, often for several months at a time. This results in children being completely unprepared for school – not knowing the colours, how to count, how to interact socially etc. But thanks to a joint project with UNICEF, IKEA Foundation, the Ministry of Education and local authorities, the doors to a new kindergarten opened in 2010 (see info box).

The children are out playing when we arrive. Some stop and stare, but most carry on with their activities. After a little while, a boy approaches me with a bouquet of roses. Eight more children follow, all with flowers, to greet us and welcome us to their kindergarten. They laugh, play and run around, just like kids do. But two years

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The difference when we came back six months later was incredible.

44 new kindergartens In Moldova approximately 23% of children under 7 years old are deprived of the right to education. The Ministry of Education, UNICEF Moldova and Swedish company IKEA have worked together on a project establishing 44 community centres and kindergartens in villages lacking this service, giving over 2000 children aged from 3 to 6 kindergarten access.

Local authorities identified and repaired the premises, including providing water supply and sanitation where possible. Teachers were selected and trained according to a new, child-centred approach. Mentors were trained and activated, and the kindergartens were supplied with furniture and toys.

Left: Lisa with the children at Grozeasca Kindergarten Top: The pens and colouring books was a big hit Bottom: The Grozeasca Kindergarten/Primary school

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ago they didn’t. Larisa Vîrtosu from UNICEF remembers: “In the beginning the children just sat still in silence, observing, with serious faces. No interaction, no spontaneity, not daring to talk to the adults or to each other. The difference when we came back six months later was incredible. They had become what they really are – young kids running around, playing, being curious and asking lots of questions. Full of life. As it should be.”

I sit down on the ground and bring out my rucksack. The children gather around, watching carefully as I bring out a jigsaw puzzle. I invite them to play, with smiles and gestures, handing out the pieces. They are hesitant at first, but in a minute they’re

on it, solving it beautifully. A boy asks me: “Why don’t you speak Romanian with us? I think you should speak Romanian.” At the kindergarten they learn rhymes, col-ours, letters and how to count. They lie on the floor and share their dreams. They build creations with old plastic bottles and use an old TV set as puppet theatre. In the mid-dle of all the extreme poverty and despair, I feel a sense of calm. There are good forces at work. And now at least some children in this village are allowed to be just that. Children. We leave with never-ending expressions of gratitude from the headmaster: “Thank you so much, without you we would not exist. Thank you. Thank you.”

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The next stop is a hospital in Chisinau, a huge complex with over 3000 patients. It was built in the 80s by the Soviets and everything is enormous, cracking and grey. I see posters from UNICEF on several walls, informing about breast feeding and infant care. They’ve run programs to make the hospital child-friendly, enabling newborn babies to sleep with their mothers instead of in separate wards. They contribute with technological equipment, such as incuba-tors that 6 months after arrival had already saved the lives of 40 children. We visit delivery rooms, intensive care units and a family room, sponsored by a private family. Here, all of a sudden, there are light colours on the walls, a sofa, carpet. What a contrast. But who will renovate these 10 hectares of hospital? It will cost a fortune.

I’ve promised myself not to cry on this trip, except at night in the privacy of my hotel room. I want to show my respect for the children, the parents, the teachers and all the fantastic people I meet. But at the hospital I can’t stop the tears. I am standing by an incubator with a premature newborn baby. He can’t weigh more than 700 grams; his feet are as small as almonds. Tubes everywhere, his little chest heaving, fighting to stay alive. So small, so vulnerable, so innocent. What kind of life is waiting for him? Neurological damage? Disabilities? This society is ruthless when it comes to those who are imperfect, different or disabled in any way.

It is six o’clock and I was supposed to meet the Prime Minister Advisor for Roma issues for an interview, but now it’s too late. He kindly agrees to join us for a visit to the vil-lage of Schinoasa the next morning. It’s been a long day, with many fascinating meetings and strong impressions. Time to rest.

UNICEF operates by offering support to communities to help themselves. That’s why their target groups span from gov-ernments and politicians, corporations, justice departments to entrepreneurs, hospitals, NGOs, prisons, women, men, children... Their tentacles reach further out into society than anyone could ever imagine. And they make a difference at every point of contact.

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Day 3: WednesdayIt’s before eight o’clock in the morning and we’re waiting outside the government building. An old woman is placing out big signs crammed with text on the stairs leading up to the entrance. Words pleading for help to release her son from jail, proclaiming his innocence. I’m told she has been there every day for three years, putting up the same signs. A mother’s desperate fight for her son.

I’m asked to step out of the minibus. The Prime Minister Advisor for Roma issues, Ruslan Stânga, has asked me and the photographer to join him in his govern-mental car. That way, I can interview him on the road. I’m honoured. There I am, sitting next to the government’s right hand on topics such as ethnicity, equality and child development. He is a young and passionate man, born and raised in a poor, Roma village in the south of Moldova – a living example that anything is possible. We’re approaching the village of Schinoasa, but the driver is unsure of the way. We stop and Ruslan Stânga lowers his window to ask a man for directions. It’s only nine o’clock in the morning, but the man on the roadside is clearly drunk. “Alcohol is a big problem in the Roma communities”, says Ruslan Stânga sadly.

The road is barely drivable. The rains from last season have made deep cracks and the slope must be difficult for children and elderly alike as they struggle to reach the main road for a bus to the nearest, bigger village. The 300 people living in Schinoasa are mostly Roma. There is nothing here, except for houses and sheds. No school, church, shop or any public institution. Just the community centre (morning kinder-garten) we’re about to visit.

It’s a tiny, two-room house with a stove to warm it up. No water, no toilet. No kitchen,

the children only get a cup of tea and a biscuit here around 11. Hopefully they will have some bread or other food at home later in the day. The children are sitting around a small table when we enter. Some are drawing, others just sitting, watching. I squeeze in on a corner and the translator helps me: “What a beautiful drawing. Do you like elephants?” No response. Eyes looking down. I bring out my gifts and put pens, colouring books and a jigsaw puzzle on the table. Not a move. I keep on talking and playing on my own and after a long time they join in, one by one. I imitate animal sounds and get some laughs, but one little girl on my left never smiles. She just sits there with a sad face. I ask about her and apparently she has been inactive all day, and before, when the teacher asked if she will be happier when she goes home later, she just shook her head. She won’t tell anyone why.

Alcohol is a big problem in the Roma communities.

Left: Chisinau Hospital. A premature, newborn baby fighting for his life Centre: With the Prime Minister Advisor for Roma issues heading for the village of Schinoasa Right: Chisinau Hospital

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After about an hour we exit into the early autumn chill and follow little Vasile, 3 years old, and his sister Nicoleta, 2, to their house. Their parents are working in northern Moldova, but their grandmother also lives in the house and takes care of them the best she can. We walk up the steep hill towards the house. Vasile has a fever and is whining, so I pick him up and carry him there. It’s a small house with two rooms. Plastic covers the windows, a piece of a torn carpet on the concrete floor, a bucket with water in a corner. Faded wallpaper is peeling off the walls. The cooking stove is outside in the yard and I close my eyes and imagine standing here boiling water or cooking something to eat for my family in the middle of freezing winter.

I have brought toothbrushes that TePe generously provided for my trip and Vasile wants to try his immediately. He scoops a mug of water from the bucket and goes outside, brushing and smiling through his cold. Sweetheart. His younger sister only holds on to hers with tight little fists. When we’re about to leave a neighbour comes out yelling and screaming at us. The translator says she is complaining about the village water well and how badly it is located. ”Just look at the roads, we can barely walk here. And we need a doctor! Isn’t there anyone who can help us?”

We leave this village with sadness in our hearts. Life is hard here, and has been for a long time. Children – and their families – should at least be together, safe and warm,

with access to food and water. Is that too much to ask for? I have understood that the community centre in the village has made a huge difference, but there is still so much missing. The teachers want to be able to offer the children food. They want to be open more than just in the mornings. They need water and sanitation. Maybe help will come from somewhere, but who knows?

We’re supposed to go to a debrief meet-ing at the UNICEF offices before flying home, but the UNICEF specialist wants us to quickly visit a school in the next village. After a short ride we enter another ex-Soviet building, huge spaces and long corridors. The headmaster shows us to a classroom and the teacher asks the class of 10-year-olds to greet us. In a second they are on their

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And we need a doctor. Isn’t there anyone who can help us?

Left: Schinoasa Community Centre. Finally, almost a smile.

Right: Nicoleta, 2 years, carried home

by her grandmother

feet and a unified choir of voices welcomes us. I ask if they like going to school and a synchronised “YES” is the immediate response. The favourite subject is apparently maths (they all agree) and when I ask which one they don’t like so much they are confused. They actually seem to love it all. They don’t know where Sweden is, so I show them on a globe, everybody pushing curiously to get a good look.

I ask the teacher if she has noticed any difference on the children from Schinoasa since the community centre was built. She nods eagerly: “They come much better prepared for school, more or less at the same level as the other children. The main prob-lem now is homework; they have no adult support at home, so they easily fall behind

there.” I ask if the school can provide a help group but I am told that the school bus only passes by once in the afternoon and they mustn’t miss it. The UNICEF specialist continues to chat to the teacher, already exploring different solutions to the problem. Again, I can’t help being impressed by the passion and commitment of the people working here.

During debriefing at the UNICEF office before going to the airport, the UNICEF Representative in Moldova shares an insight on how it is to work for the organisation: “You know, every year our employee surveys shows us catastrophic results on work/life balance. But on the question regarding pride in working for the organisation – we always

score top results.” I believe her. During my 48 hours here I’ve only met brilliant, intel-ligent, hard-working people 100% dedicated to children; fighting for their survival and development, protecting them from violence and abuse, supporting basic education and equality – constantly on the barricades for children’s rights. Trust me when I say that UNICEF is doing an unbelievably fantastic job. Please join me and W Communication Agency in helping them continue.

Please help.You can help UNICEF save children’s lives. If you live in Sweden go to unicef.se and become a monthly donor (outside Sweden visit unicef.org). It costs so little, but results in so much.

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The authorLisa Henningsson Önnerlid is Managing Director and Account Director at W Communication Agency. She is a montly donor to UNICEF. If you would like to know more about this journey or her experiences, please email [email protected].

The agencyW is a strategic and creative communication agency focused on international B2B communication. The agency specializes in three areas – Life Science, Technology and Industry – and supports leading, global corporations and companies with external and internal communications strategies and creative implementation. W is a dedicated donor to UNICEF and other aid associations.

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