Roma exploitation: end of the dream

Luludja holds up her modest rose bouquet in a French brasserie, moving along from table to table. She’s thinking of her family, the people she’s doing it all for. Most of the money, however, will be banked by a man in her home country, hundreds of kilometres away. She forces a shy smile. Her lips are painted bright red.

Tonight most guests decline. They do not look her in the face and fail to notice the glistening green eye shadow she is wearing. After two hours and stops at various caf...