It's Hederlezi after all!

“Lukáš, get in! Where are you going?” asks curly-haired, 25-year-old Driton through the tiny window of his tiny white car.

“To Plemetina, to the social housing,” I answer, completely happy that someone is giving me a lift. I get in the back.

“Forgive me, my trousers are all bloody, I just slaughtered a sheep. Hederlezi is not until tomorrow, but we are not as into it as the other Roma people are, so we slaughtered the ram today,” Driton said, pointing apologetically to the stains on his light-colored jeans.

Several minutes later he lets me off not far from two beige high-rises. I say good-bye as I shut the car door and head off toward a small group of young Roma people standing in front of the main entrances. It’s Thursday, 5 May, and tonight one of the most important holidays for Roma people in the Balkans, Hederlezi, will begin.

VIDEO
Hederlezi in Plementin (Kosovo)

Hederlezi – breaking of the fast

Hederlezi was originally the Muslim name for the Christian feast of St. George’s Day (the Orthodox Church calls in Djurdjevdan) and it falls on 6 May. St George is the patron saint of many Serbs and the celebration of his feast day is a specific of the Orthodox Church. Both Djurdjevdan and Hederlezi are obviously of the same origin. The holiday may have reached southeastern Europe during the Ottoman Empire era and was subsequently adopted by Roma people, among others.

The name of the holiday comes from the names of two Turkish prophets, Hizir and Ilyas, who according to legend drank the water of eternal life. Hizir is the patron saint of plants and poor people, while Ilyas protects animals and the water. They meet up every year during the night of 5 May and the morning of 6 May to celebrate the end of winter together.

Roma people pay special attention to this holiday as it is a celebration of the end of the cold weather and therefore of the leanest days, as there is a lack of food in the winter months. The holiday features many traditional rituals. The most important of these is the sacrifice of a sheep, which is supposed to ensure health and luck to the entire family for the year to come.

Sheep wherever you look

A scratched-up white van drives through the dusty street near the social housing complex, built four years ago for Roma IDPs. Strange sounds come from the vehicle. The driver stops, slides open the door, and suddenly the white, fuzzy head of a sheep pokes out. In several minutes a small group of Roma people has gathered around the car, reaching for their wallets and proudly leading their own sheep away. They lead the sheep to a prepared area in the middle of the meadow in front of the high-rises and entrust them to their children’s care.

Those who cannot buy a sheep this year stand sadly around the buildings. These are the former IDPs who have been unable to save up the EUR 60 needed from the minimum humanitarian support they receive in order to buy their own sheep. Some purchase a fat rooster to eat instead of mutton. Others claim not to practice sheep slaughter, but it is obvious they are a bit embarrassed. There are plenty of sheep available. Not to have at least your own lamb on Hederlezi is a great shame.

Bachtalo tumaro vrbos!

It’s 4 PM and children are still playing in front of the housing units with their herd of frightened sheep. The Serbian traders are slowly shutting the doors of their vans and traveling to other villages with what they haven’t yet sold. Women in evening dresses and high heels start coming through the glass doors at the entrance to the buildings, the men have slicked back their hair and are wearing carefully ironed shirts. Even five-year-old girls are perfectly made up and dressed in a flood of multicolored frills. Small groups of people slowly begin to gather in front of the buildings and then gradually trail off down the loamy path toward the village. Like every year, almost all of the local Roma are going to the local creek to gather willow wands for the festival. That evening or the next day, on 6 May, they will decorate the interiors of their homes with them.

The walk takes more than half an hour and the ladies’ high heels start sinking into the mud left after the heavy rains in the squishy fields. First, standing in the half-meter high wheat field, the girls and women cut off some of their own hair and carefully sprinkle it around the field so the crop will grow as quickly as their own thick locks. Then they stick pieces of bindweed to one another’s hips, which will bring them the blessings of fertility.

On the way to the most appropriate willow tree for decorating their homes, we meet dozens of Roma people who have already found it and are leaving wreathed with sheaves of rich willow wands. “Bachtalo tumaro vrbos“ (“May you find a lucky willow!”) the teenagers from our little group greet several women. “Vi tumenge,” (“You too”) the smiling older women respond.

After finding an accommodating tree and tearing off enough acceptable branches, the willow wands must be soaked at the entrance to the local creek. Then water is drawn up into a white bucket decorated with flowers and we head home to prepare the decorations for the big day tomorrow. The family, on the morning before the sheep slaughter, will take a ritual bath in the water during which they scrub themselves with nettles in order to acquire the strength of that stinging plant.

Hajde, hajde!

On the afternoon of 6 May the streets around the two high-rises are rather empty. We had expected a boisterous celebration. “Are they celebrating inside? It’s such nice weather. Maybe it’s really just a family holiday,” we say to one another. It’s clear we missed the early morning part of the celebration. The sheep are gone.

Speaking Romanes, we express our best wishes for the holiday to an older woman walking by and think over where to go. Suddenly our acquaintance from the day before swings out of one of the doors and calls: “Lukas, hajde, hajde!” (“Lukáš, come on, hurry up!”). I do my best to catch up to my friend, who is in an unusual hurry.

“There’s a big celebration in the village on the meadow, you won’t believe your eyes! It’s like a wedding,” he assures me, the spark in his eyes convincing me it will make sense to make this journey at a half-run.

Circle dancing – fast and without stopping

Loud Balkan music can be heard from afar. On a small meadow in the Roma mahala of Markovac, among several nice-looking buildings, we can see large amplifiers next to a mixing desk at which a boy not older than 15 has set up his keyboard. Three young singers take turns at the microphone, improving on the Turkish-sounding rhythms.

Two distinct circle dances start forming in the middle of the field, a men’s and a women’s. The circles suddenly come apart and form long lines with a leading dancer at the head of each, the woman waving a white handkerchief in her hand, the man jingling a ring of keys. The tempo slowly increases until the movements of the sun-baked dancers, which at first glance seemed uncoordinated, now gives the large-scale impression of being very natural and organized.

People unknown to us offer to host us in their homes, bringing us coffee and refreshments. “Don’t be shy, my boy, have some, it’s Hederlezi today!” the Gažis, the older couple in front of whose whom the entire holiday celebration is taking place, say to me.

It’s Hederlezi after all!

Despite the fact that at the site of the former camp for Roma IDPs near the village of Plemetina there is often a dreary, lethargic mood, during the two days of the festival the residents’ enthusiasm and fervor for the celebration of this important holiday has been palpable. “It’s Hederlezi after all,” we heard frequently around us as an explanation for the numerous smiles, for the enthusiasm in what is otherwise a demotivating environment. People living in below-average conditions as a result of their complicated situation, people who lost all of their property, particularly during the post-war era, have dressed up in the best clothes they can afford in these first days of May, organized a great feast according to tradition, and celebrated what may be the early arrival of the brighter tomorrows promised by a proper Hederlezi celebration.