A group of nomadic Rom came through town. They set up camp in an empty valley on the outskirts of Garnachilandia. I’m making my way down the slope to see if I can meet any new people.

As I near the caravans, I notice that there are clothes and rugs laying out everywhere. It looks like maybe they are drying in the sun. I can hear a woman nearby yelling at someone, but I can’t make out what she says, must be in Romani. I head to the nearest carpa and am immediately spotted. At first they just look at me, a little cautious and a little suspicious. I greet them and introduce myself and am immediately invited to the table to have a cup of Nescafe.

One woman begins explaining me to me who the caravans belong to. “That caravan in the center belongs to his great aunt. No, his great aunt. Can’t you see him over there? That’s my father-in-law. He owns it and everything in it. She was never married but we all know that she’s no señorita. She wouldn’t have passed the test even if they did it to her! And I’m impure!”

I ask what she means by “impure.” She looks at me intently before explaining, “You want to know about impurity? Let me tell you about impurity. Sit down.” She looks around for her daughter, “You- get her a chair. There, sit. Let me tell you all about it. See that glass over there on the ground? If I step over that glass, it’s now impure. We have to throw it out. That’s because I am impure.