As I step inside, I get immediately transported back to my childhood.
Children as tall as my hips chasing each other, shouting and laughing together; colourful pictures drawn by the students decorating the wall; wooden chairs and tables that are so small that they would cause severe back pain to an average-sized adult.
The teacher standing in front of the whiteboard, trying to keep everything under control. Apart from the fact that the blackboard from my schooltime evolved into a whiteboard, everything else feels familiar – at first glance.
What brings me back to reality is when I notice expressions like “Madkundskab” or “Vær altid søde ved hinanden” on the walls.
My lips move slowly as I try to read these words. I feel like a first grader, who is just learning to read.
I squint my eyes; I furrow my brow, but I have no clue what these words mean. We did not use these words in my former school in Germany, where I grew up.
But here, at Møllevangskolen, an elementary school in Aarhus, Denmark, they do.
The feeling of familiarity vanishes immediately when I realize I do not speak this language. I would not even be able to hold a simple conversation with a Danish first grader.
And yet, I can understand everything that is happening right now. I understand how the teacher gives instructions to the kids to grab a Christmas hat and to get ready for the upcoming show and I understand how the parents, sitting excitedly in the audience, talk about their newborns while the children are getting ready.
As I follow the ongoing conversations in this classroom, I feel the tension of being in an unknown place releasing.
The feeling of familiarity appears again and comforts me.
They speak a language I understand. The language I grew up with at home. “Știți colindele?”, asks the teacher the children in Romanian, referring to the traditional Christmas carols they have been practicing for the past weeks.
Pieces of traditional children’s songs my mum used to sing to me when I was little fly through my head.
Once I hear the infantile voices start singing I immediately recognize the song. I cannot resist and quietly join them, murmuring the sounds of my childhood: “Alunelu, alunelu, hai la joc. Să ne fie, să ne fie cu noroc. Cine-n horă o să joace. Mare, mare se va face. Cine n-o juca defel. Să rămână mititel.”
Not only through the sounds of Christmas do I feel connected to the seventeen boys and girls in front of me but also because I know we share a similar story.
We are Romanian children who grew up in a different country – them in Denmark and me in Germany.
Somewhere between Romania and these two countries there is us – living between two cultures.
For a moment the geographic boundaries seem to dissolve, and this classroom resembles a Romanian island in the middle of Denmark.
It carries the name Şcoala Românească Ion Creangă (Romanian School Ion Creangă), named after a famous 19th-century Romanian writer.
The children come here once a week to learn more about their Romanian origin, language, and culture, of course in addition to their normal Danish school.
As I spend the afternoon with the kids, their parents, and their teacher I start to figure out why schools like these are so important.
“This year, we decided to sing only Romanian Christmas songs”, explains Laura Dachin, the teacher and founder of this school, to the parents sitting on the chairs while their children stand lined up in front of the classroom.
“Which are your favourite carols?”, she asks the audience not accepting any answers other than “all of them”, which is making everyone in the room laugh.
You can see in her way she does her job that she is passionate about it.
Dachin herself is originally from Romania, where she worked as a Romanian, English, and French teacher.
She emigrated from Romania to Finland in 2012 and then to Denmark in 2014. Here, she founded the Romanian school Ion Creangă.
In October 2014, she welcomed her very first class which consisted of 13 children.
Since then, the concept of such a Romanian after-school gained increasing popularity. As a result, the school grew bigger and bigger and now Dachin teaches around 120 children, aged six to 16, not only in Aarhus but also in four other Danish cities.
One reason for the rising demand in recent years could be the increasing Romanian population in Denmark.
According to Statistics Denmark the number of Romanians in Denmark grew from 19,600 in 2014 to 46,200 at the end of 2024.
In Aarhus, there are around 2,700 Romanians, making it the city with the second largest Romanian population, right after Copenhagen.
The school Ion Creangă is designed for children with a Romanian background.
They do not need to be born in Romania or even know how to speak the language.
Moreover, the school is free of charge for the students, as it is financially supported by the municipality.
According to the European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages, the EU aims to protect and promote the historical regional or minority languages of Europe.
Thus, European citizens should have the opportunity to learn their own native language, even while living in a foreign country.
The only requirement to attend this school is that at least one of the parents must have a Romanian nationality.
In Aarhus, the children and Dachin gather every Sunday at Møllevangskolen for 2.5 hours.
Together they learn about Romanian history, literature and a bit of grammar. There is no strict curriculum as in usual schools.
Here, there are no grades or exams. Instead, Dachin focuses on teaching through fun activities, such as singing traditional Christmas carols like today.
Furthermore, she tries to build the bridge between Denmark and Romania. “Last year we did a trip to Fyrkat, to the Viking village, so that they can see the similarities and differences between our cultures,” she explains.
“How did the Vikings live? How did our people live? There are similarities between these two cultures, very big ones. It is enough to look at Trajan’s Column, and you will see Vikings there – it is said so.”
Antonia Cărăuşan, 11 years old, and her friend Selina Rada, 10 years old, have been coming to this school for two years now.
They enjoy coming here and love when they do creative activities such as writing letters or singing. Between themselves, they sometimes speak Romanian, sometimes Danish. Both languages are part of their everyday life, and they are fluent in both.
But during our interview – which we did in Romanian since that was the only language we shared – I notice that sometimes they struggle to find the right words in Romanian.
Sometimes, during our conversation they paraphrase certain expressions like “the tree you put up for Christmas” or throw in Danish words like “udsagnsord”.
Nevertheless, we understand each other due to our common mother tongue.
When Rada tells me about her favourite Danish Christmas tradition, St. Lucia, she adds, “I am actually not sure if we also do it in Romania, too.”
Not only the Romanian and Danish languages seem to blend for the two girls, but also traditions and customs from both cultures are part of their identity.
Dr. Seyran Bostancı, a research associate at the German Centre for Integration and Migration Research (DeZIM e.V.), explained in an interview with the German public broadcaster ZDF:
“For many children and teenagers with a migrant background, identity does not represent a simple either-or-question, or that they situate themselves between two cultures, but rather that they live out their lives in a hybrid identity.”
According to Dachin, one of the reasons the parents bring their children to the Romanian classes is the fact that they live in a foreign country and they do not have direct and profound contact with Romanian traditions and culture.
Although Dachin knows many kids will not return to Romania in the future, she encourages the parents to send their children to this school:
“The intention is to preserve their identity, to not forget where they came from. Here, they learn something new. You never know when you can benefit from that.”
Such benefits are scientifically proven.
Christopher Jamil de Montgomery, professor at the University of Copenhagen in Denmark, focuses on refugee children’s transition to adulthood in Denmark and other countries for his research.
According to his knowledge, research suggests that children of immigrants benefit from learning the language and culture of both the country where they live and where their parents come from.
This has positive effects on the children themselves, particularly in terms of self-worth and self-esteem, as well as for society in terms of labour market outlook and educational achievements.
Ramona Bejinaru, a member of the parent council at the school Ion Creangă, has two children aged six and ten. She came to Denmark in 2011, and her kids are both born here and speak Danish fluently since they go to Danish schools.
They all have the Romanian citizenship and speak Romanian at home.
Nevertheless, she sends her kids to the school to learn more about their origins.
“I want my kids to know our traditions, to know which traditions we had when we were kids. They should know how a Christmas festivity looks like for us: with Santa Claus, with the carols. Or an Easter festivity: with the bunny, with the eggs.”
Another key reason, why she has brought her kids to the school for almost two years now is that here they can socialize with other Romanian children.
“My kids are happy here. They are always looking forward to the next Sunday.”
At the end, I understand why schools like these are so important. I see the children with big smiles on their faces after singing to Santa Claus and receiving presents from him.
I see the melancholy on the parents’ faces as they hear their own children sing the traditional carols they once used to sing when they were little.
I see the teacher, proud of how the show turned out. Then, I realize that places like that are more than just schools.
Here, children do not only learn about their origins but also about their identity that shapes their presence.
“Our identities are fundamentally social; they clarify the stories that we are part of and how we fit into these stories”, explains Jamil de Montgomery.
“Ideally, children are equipped with an understanding and appreciation of their multiple heritages. That gives them the tools to clarify a positive identity for themselves, understand the people around them, and appreciate how multiple cultural connections enriche their story.”
I understand now that learning about your cultural background is learning about yourself.
