Saturday, June 10, 2006
Another England
One day, a man packed all of his belongings in his car and left Budapest. Other than a house in the countryside, friends, and the comfort of his home country, he left nothing behind.
He drove West. He drove and drove until he crossed the English channel. He reached the land of new beginnings.
The search started immediately. He went North. He went South. He saw all of England, driving in his car, sometimes living in it. He recalls living in a small one-bedroom flat in London with 7 or 8 people. Just enough room to sleep on the floor amongst other bodies.
At job interviews, he was told that his English was quite good, for a foreigner. He came away disappointed with the gap in the salary he would be getting compared to a mediocre engineer who could speak English. He was university educated, hard-working, and had mechanical engineering know-how that could only be gained by doing the real thing in numerous factories in Hungary. In his opinion, the young English engineers had nothing but the language advantage on him.
He now works at an aluminium die casting company as a maintenance man. He also lives with me. In his company, there are many Central and Eastern European immigrants with the same stories. We hang out with the people who are around the same age as us. They get together, drink slovavica/vodka/rum, smoke, and talk about their dreams of "when their English is better." The doors that would open up. Not having to do the dangerous, mundane, factory work they are doing right now. Being able to bring their wife and family over to England. Some of them are as young as 19.
The pay is low. But better than what they would be earning at home. The work hours are decent, and overtime is lucrative. Back home, long hours are a norm. What they have now is not ideal, but they toast to the new beginning and their eyes are filled with optimism.
One of our Polish friends, Gregor, pointed to his head and said, "The other day, liquid aluminium fell on my head. But it was around 800-degrees Celcius, so it was too hot and it bounced off my head. If it was lower than 750-degrees, I would have been in hospital." Lucky him. I don't understand the physics of it all, but apparently liquid aluminium at such high temperature are repelled off of human flesh. Everyone around the table nodds and chimes in with their tales of "close-calls." Gregor also coughs from the aluminium dust filling his lungs. His wife says that he never had coughing fits that kept him up all night until he started working in that factory.
Die casting is a dangerous job with heavy machinery and toxic materials (many of our Polish and Slovakian friends do die changes, which includes physically lifting the die out). One day, they say, they won't have to do these things any more. Once they learn perfect English.
I cannot help but be a little skeptical about their belief that English is their only barrier to a good job (ironically, many of the factory jobs that employ immigrants are shutting down in England and moving to Eastern Europe). But their big move to England is more than admirable. My flatmate especially gave up a decent salary and familiarity (he often speaks nostalgically of Hungary), because he believes that there will be a better future for him this way. He could climb the career ladder in Hungary, but there is a limit on how high the ladder will go. Once his English is better, people will understand that he is a very skillful man and give him a higher salary, he says.
I am left humbled by the bright eyes who believe in a better life.
He drove West. He drove and drove until he crossed the English channel. He reached the land of new beginnings.
The search started immediately. He went North. He went South. He saw all of England, driving in his car, sometimes living in it. He recalls living in a small one-bedroom flat in London with 7 or 8 people. Just enough room to sleep on the floor amongst other bodies.
At job interviews, he was told that his English was quite good, for a foreigner. He came away disappointed with the gap in the salary he would be getting compared to a mediocre engineer who could speak English. He was university educated, hard-working, and had mechanical engineering know-how that could only be gained by doing the real thing in numerous factories in Hungary. In his opinion, the young English engineers had nothing but the language advantage on him.
He now works at an aluminium die casting company as a maintenance man. He also lives with me. In his company, there are many Central and Eastern European immigrants with the same stories. We hang out with the people who are around the same age as us. They get together, drink slovavica/vodka/rum, smoke, and talk about their dreams of "when their English is better." The doors that would open up. Not having to do the dangerous, mundane, factory work they are doing right now. Being able to bring their wife and family over to England. Some of them are as young as 19.
The pay is low. But better than what they would be earning at home. The work hours are decent, and overtime is lucrative. Back home, long hours are a norm. What they have now is not ideal, but they toast to the new beginning and their eyes are filled with optimism.
One of our Polish friends, Gregor, pointed to his head and said, "The other day, liquid aluminium fell on my head. But it was around 800-degrees Celcius, so it was too hot and it bounced off my head. If it was lower than 750-degrees, I would have been in hospital." Lucky him. I don't understand the physics of it all, but apparently liquid aluminium at such high temperature are repelled off of human flesh. Everyone around the table nodds and chimes in with their tales of "close-calls." Gregor also coughs from the aluminium dust filling his lungs. His wife says that he never had coughing fits that kept him up all night until he started working in that factory.
Die casting is a dangerous job with heavy machinery and toxic materials (many of our Polish and Slovakian friends do die changes, which includes physically lifting the die out). One day, they say, they won't have to do these things any more. Once they learn perfect English.
I cannot help but be a little skeptical about their belief that English is their only barrier to a good job (ironically, many of the factory jobs that employ immigrants are shutting down in England and moving to Eastern Europe). But their big move to England is more than admirable. My flatmate especially gave up a decent salary and familiarity (he often speaks nostalgically of Hungary), because he believes that there will be a better future for him this way. He could climb the career ladder in Hungary, but there is a limit on how high the ladder will go. Once his English is better, people will understand that he is a very skillful man and give him a higher salary, he says.
I am left humbled by the bright eyes who believe in a better life.
// posted by sakit @ 6:04 AM 
