Mersiha stands in front of a modernist apartment block in the center of downtown Zagreb and nervously rings the bell at the entrance for the umpteenth time while calling the same mobile number over and over.

She sees the light on the fourth flour where her potential home should be. The curtains on the windows seem to be moving, and someone up there is looking down, but no one opens the door or answers the phone.

It's 9:30 p.m. and half an hour has passed since the arranged time to view the apartment for rent. Mersiha finally gives up. "He must have seen me, which is why he doesn't want to open up," she tells me angrily later, meaning her headscarf.

When Mersiha gets hold of the owner the next day, he apologizes that the apartment has unfortunately already gone. But when I call him several minutes after the apartment is still free. I can come and see it now. "Excellent," I tell him in a resigned voice.

That mild-mannered, middle-aged man from an old part of Zagreb is one of many who during a two-month undercover investigation refused to rent an apartment or office, accept a roommate, or hire for work people on account of their racial or religious background.

Mersiha, a Muslim, and Dilfa, a Roma, posed on my behalf as would-be tenants, roommates and co-workers in order for me to be able to monitor the kind of discrimination that minorities experience routinely in Croatia and see how it manifests itself.

I chose Muslim and Roma "testers" as their differences from the mainstream community are instantly visible and because discrimination based on ethnicity and religious background are the most widespread forms of prejudice in Croatia. The number of Roma and Muslims in Croatia is also quite similar.

The two women did not know each other before and neither had taken part in such an investigation. Dilfa was born in Zagreb while Mersiha has been living in Croatian capital for 17 years.

The plan was for three of us to answer a number of ads placed mainly in the largest newspaper for printed advertisements, Plavi oglasnik. We were looking mostly for offers to rent rooms and apartments but applied also for jobs.

Our goal was to check levels of discrimination in arenas where private life and business intersect, such as looking for a roommate and renting real estate.

Previous surveys have shown that discrimination in Croatia is most common in the area of labor and employment, followed by the judiciary system, the police, and health care.

But how ready are mainstream Croats citizens to interact with members of other groups, in this case Muslims and Roma? To find out, we answered 100 ads.

Dilfa Orsus' name was a pseudonym, as was Mersiha Alihodza's. I worked under my own name. All three of us answered the same adverts and introduced ourselves in the same manner: as unmarried, working women in our late 20s with secondary school diplomas.

As Roma names are not necessarily recognizable as such in Croatia, Dilfa always mentioned having worked for an association called Roma For Roma, which she had done in the past.

Mersiha's name was clearly Muslim, and she wore a headscarf for interviews. Both women told prospective landlords, roommates, or employers that if there was a problem, they wanted to be told what it was. I called and went to interviews last, to avoid being chosen for the room or job first.

WORST FOR ROMA

Most people we contacted seemed more prejudiced toward Dilfa than Mersiha, probably because Muslims are not as stigmatised in Croatia as Roma.

But Mersiha still received more direct rejections than Dilfa, although most of those who rejected one rejected the other, too. In many cases they were rejected point blank over the phone after saying their names.

Croatia is a fairly homogeneous country. Of its 4.4 million citizens, about 89 percent are both Croat and Catholic, according to the 2001 census.

Roma officially number only 9,463 but many do not declare their real ethnicity. It is widely believed that a more accurate number would resemble that of Bosniaks or Muslims, who numbered 43,469 in 2001.

Bosniaks and Muslims are generally well-integrated into society and do not differ significantly from other citizens of Zagreb in terms of social characteristics, according to a survey published this year by the Bosniak National Minority Council of Zagreb. Few Muslim women in Croatia wear religious insignia such as headscarves.

The national ombudsman, an umbrella body set up to combat discrimination, says most of the complaints it received last year for discrimination concerned race or ethnic background.

An EU-wide survey of discrimination and victimization in everyday life confirms that the main grounds for discrimination in the EU are ethnic and immigrant origin (93 percent) and religion or belief (64 percent), according to the European Union Minorities and Discrimination Survey from 2010.

Although Croatia adopted an anti-discrimination law in 2008, research carried out last year by the government's human rights office, the ombudsman's office and the Center for Peace Studies think tank showed that around half of all Croats do not know that discrimination in Croatia is illegal.

One in five respondents couldn't describe what discrimination was and one in four would not want their child to marry someone of another religion, nationality, or skin color.

The passage of the anti-discrimination law was a result of the pre-accession negotiations with EU.

FORTY PERCENT SAID 'NO'

The sharpest discrimination in our survey appeared among those seeking roommates. Around 40 percent of our respondents rejected either a Muslim and Roma woman as a potential roommate. They all accepted me.

One young woman seeking a flatmate in Zagreb's Vukovarska street rejected both Mersiha and Dilfa on the grounds that she had someone else in mind already.

But when I called again some weeks later she told me she was moving on after five years because she could not find a new roommate. "It's a shame you didn't call earlier, as you sound normal," she told me.

She, like many of the others, appeared keen to hide what seemed to be the real but unspoken reason for rejecting the "wrong" candidate.

Common answers were that the apartment was already rented, that the landlord would not want a Roma or Muslim tenant, or that they were seeking students or men.

But when I called, those same "occupied" rooms were still free and they had no objections or additional questions for me. The only thing that interested them was when I could come and see the apartment.

There was an obvious shortage of interested people seeking to rent, but that did not make them want to rent out to just "anyone."

Of those renting apartments, 30 percent rejected both Mersiha and Dilfa and none rejected me. On no occasion was one of them accepted while I was not.

One middle-aged woman offering a two-room apartment for 400 euros a month to "one or two females," as she specified in Plavi oglasnik, offered me cookies after a short interview.

"All kinds of people have been calling these days but I can't rent it to anyone, which is why I'd like you to accept - someone from around here, ours," she said.

When I asked what kind of people had called, she answered: "You won't believe it but on the same day a Roma woman called and then a Muslim. I thought, 'I'm out of luck,' and then you called the next day. I have nothing against them but I don't know them and I certainly don't want any trouble," she added.

When I pointed out that she didn't know me either, she continued: "You're something else, I see you're decent, we'll get along fine."

Formerly it was easy to rent out rooms and flats in the upmarket west side of the city, but demand is dropping because of the economic crisis and falling incomes.

Even so, people are still selective about who they want to take on. This woman didn't know that I knew that Dilfa's interview with her had gone well until Dilfa revealed having worked for Roma For Roma. Then she insisted she was seeking a student.

She told Mersiha that the apartment was already rented as soon as she heard her name. She did not set any conditions for me, was not interested in additional details, and the apartment was, naturally, free. She tried to persuade me to take it.

Another, older, woman renting rooms in Bukovacka road, with a special annotation, "Urgent, pets allowed," went silent when Dilfa told her she worked for the Roma association, adding that she had already made other arrangements. Six weeks later the apartment was still empty.

When Dilfa tried to rent office space in Berislaviceva street for the Roma For Roma association, she was told it wasn't suitable for associations, "only for companies."

But when I called and said I needed the space for the association for fight against discrimination, I was told we could move in immediately.

While most people who rejected Dilfa and Mersiha and accepted me concealed their reasons for rejecting them, a smaller number openly admitted they had a problem with Roma and Muslim tenants.

Some students seeking roommates told Dilfa, who was born and raised in Zagreb, that they wanted "someone from Croatia."

One young woman in the Siget area, looking for an "employed, quiet roommate of 25 to 35," said she had no problem with Mersiha being a Muslim but objected to the headscarf, saying she wanted "someone more like herself."

Some of those who claimed they did not care about nationality or religion asked Dilfa leading questions, such as how many people she intended to share the apartment with, although she had already emphasized that she would live there alone.

Others repeatedly tried to check whether she had a job and a steady salary, emphasizing that she had to pay on time. Some made comments such as, "I don't want any whorehouse in there," "You must be tidy," "You don't sound like a Roma," or "Are you too dark?"

Staff at a café near Selska road, seeking a waitress, asked Dilfa to come over so they could see how dark her skin was.

The most positive reactions came from people who had had some experience with Roma and Muslims.

"I'm interested in what you wear in your heart and not on your head," the owner of an apartment in Tresnjevka said, seeing Mersiha's headscarf.

She said she too was a "believer and respected everyone who cared about their religion." She liked Muslims especially "because her sister was married to a Muslim."

NO WORK FOR YOU

Discrimination in the jobs sector on the grounds of race and faith was harder to quantify in the investigation because the economic crisis had cut the number of vacancies.

We applied for jobs that did not require special qualifications such as sales posts in boutiques, bakeries, babysitters, and cleaning positions.

Many jobs were already taken. Thus, "only" 15 percent of employers we contacted could be said to have rejected a Muslim and Roma on those grounds.

But, not surprisingly, discrimination in employment is the most frequent complaint voiced by members of minorities.

I talked to several educated Roma women who have been vainly seeking jobs for years.

Usnia Garip, 30, lives in Zagreb, where she finished secondary school in agriculture with good grades. Garip is proud to be a Roma but says potential employers invariably lose interest when they realise "who she is" in ethnic terms. "They don't see a potential worker in me, only a Roma," she said.

In 10 years of seeking work she had worked for only two months, as a cleaner. Her husband had qualified as a waiter but after being told that he would never get a job because he is a Roma, he gave up.

Instead, they recycle waste, while Garip attends a course at the employment office as part of a project to stimulate Roma employment.

"They teach us how to behave, dress, and talk, as if I don't know!" she said. "Despite all the requests I sent, I didn't get a single job interview."

Croatia's state Employment Bureau registered 4,553 Roma as unemployed in late 2010, which is almost half all the Roma in Croatia numbered in the 2001 census.

Still, the bureau said it had received no complaints from unemployed Roma about any form of discrimination.

In spite of the 2008 law outlawing discrimination in Croatia on the grounds of faith or ethnicity, many people either appear unaware of it or ignore it.

This became clear when I contacted five real estate agencies, asking them to advertise renting an office space on condition that they sent me ethnic Croats clients alone, not just "citizens of Croatia."

Four agencies agreed to select candidates according to these criteria without expressing surprise or protest. I had the right to choose who I wanted to lease my office space to, they said.

Only one of the five contacted agencies, Rost, rejected my request, saying the law forbade discrimination in that way.

DATING YOUR OWN PEOPLE

Because of the large percentage of people who have told other surveys that they would not want a non-Croat in the family, I tried testing attitudes toward the idea of having a Muslim or Roma partner on a well-known dating site.

Iskrica has 371,021 members and the number is rapidly growing. Thousands of messages are exchanged on the site daily.

I opened profiles for three women, named Dilfa, Mersiha, and Barbara. For Dilfa and Mersiha I entered that they were Roma and Muslim. Both of them, especially Mersiha, received far fewer requests from interested parties than did Barbara, although the three profiles were similar.

While men mostly did not contact Mersiha at all, Dilfa received sexually explicit messages that reflected a stereotypical view of Roma women as wild and passionate.

"Roma women are hot fire," "Pleasure with Roma woman would surely be something special," "Isn't a relationship between Roma women and men less conditioned by civilisation's chains and more natural?" were three responses.

"Call me, I like Roma women, and you won't find that too often," was another patronising message.

MISSING CULTURE OF DIALOGUE

Anti-Roma or anti-Muslim prejudice is not unique to Croatia. Indeed, hostility to Roma may be relatively mild in Croatia compared with the forms it takes in some EU member states like the Czech Republic, which has witnessed ugly scenes of anti-Roma violence.

Attitudes in Croatia appear more comparable to those in Poland and Hungary, where over 40 percent of Roma respondents have also reported experiencing discrimination in relation to private services.

But according to a the EU discrimination survey, Roma experienced significantly less discrimination in those countries than in Croatia when looking to buy or rent an apartment.

In Slovakia, Poland, and the Czech Republic 10 to 13 percent of Roma reported discrimination while looking for a place to live, the survey reported.

The highest levels of discrimination against Muslims in EU countries occurred in employment, according to the same report. The figures were 18 percent when looking for work; 13 percent at work and 14 percent in private services – at a bar, restaurant, shop, or bank, and by a landlord.

Goran Selanec a legal expert on discrimination in Croatia, says, discrimination against minorities remains widespread in Croatia, "regardless of us wanting to convince ourselves of the opposite."

Selanec says he is in no doubt that many of the people referred to in this article broke the law. For example, real estate agencies that agreed to select clients on the basis of ethnic background were guilty of "classic direct discrimination based on ethnicity," he noted.

"These agents would claim they did not discriminate because they had to respect their client's wishes [but] such a defense is based on a very narrow understanding of discrimination," he added.

Croatia's legal system, as well as the EU system from which Croatia inherited these guarantees, protects people from discrimination within a much wider scope.

"What is important is the result of unfavorable treatment, not whether there is intent, or prejudice, and whether the person is aware of it or not," he explained.

Turning to the question of awareness, Zagreb psychologist Dinka Corkalo Biruski notes that in Croatia, "People are less prepared to rent an apartment or share with a person of other religion or nationality when that difference is clearly pronounced, as in this research.

"Tolerance develops in relation to others, and [Croatia's] national and religious homogeneity certainly contributes to the closeness of society," she added.

Corkalo Biruski believes that only some of this "closeness," and rejection of otherness, is down to the country's recent traumatic war. She also believes that it reflects deeper and more historic cultural values. "We do not cherish a culture of dialogue, which is necessary in communication with differences," she says. "After that dialogue, differences wouldn't be perceived as differences that much anymore."

The Women Behind the Story

Dilfa Orsus' real name is Brigita Bajric (29). She was born in Zagreb where she finished trade school and hairdressing school. She used to work for the Roma for Roma organization, but she is currently unemployed.

Although she says she personally has not faced discrimination, she wasn't surprised with negative attitudes toward her in this investigation. "I have heard many similar stories from Roma people I know. So I was aware of the fact that Croatian society is not very tolerant. But what did surprise me was some people's readiness to express discrimination so openly," Brigita says.

Mersiha Alihodza is Djurdjica Cilic Skeljo (36), a professor of Polish literature at the Faculty of humanities and social sciences in Zagreb.

Djurdjica is not a Muslim, but she identified strongly with her role from the moment she was first rejected while looking for a flat to rent. "It's hard to accept that people can be so nice to you on the phone and then not even want to talk to you when you meet in person. A headscarf, that tiny piece of textile on my head, changed their perception completely."

Barbara Matejcic is a freelance journalist in Zagreb. This article was produced as part of the Alumni Initiative of the Balkan Fellowship for Journalistic Excellence. Both are initiated and funded by the Robert Bosch Stiftung and the ERSTE Foundation. This article originally appeared on Balkan Insight.

Ali Berat is a rarity in the Balkans. A rarity even among his people: not only is he a Romani imam, but he also hails from a devout Muslim family, within a vast Roma diaspora known for its mild religiosity.

Berat, however, studied for six years in the Islamic holy city of Medina, then returned to his Macedonian hometown on a mission to preach to his people. In his crosshairs are Romani traditions he says help stunt their development.

Ali Berat

"I would like to ask one question about all these traditions," says the bearded Berat, 36, while seated in his elegantly upholstered living room. "Have they changed the education levels of our people? Have they lifted us from poverty? ... When we say we are Muslims, that is not saying we are not also Roma. But all these traditions are taking us one step back."

It's not unusual for a charismatic Romani leader to offer religion as a salve for suffering: researchers track a pattern across Europe dating back 60 years, particularly among Evangelical and Pentecostal Roma. What's interesting today is how this is happening to the Roma of Macedonia – a country polarized by inter-ethnic, inter-religious tensions between the majority Macedonian Orthodox and minority Albanian Muslims. The dominoes have also tipped toward local Roma. Which is also cause for concern among some observers, who suggest Roma identity is at risk.

"Islam in Suto Orizari does not show respect toward Roma culture," says Romani activist Enisa Eminovska. "Increased religiosity among the Roma concerns me because the price of being 'real Muslim' is abandoning Roma culture."

Historically, the Roma devotion to family, clan, and tradition has taken priority over religion. At the same time, experts say they are largely a God-fearing people, enjoying a more private, intimate relationship at home, not in a church of the ethnic majorities they lived among, says Tomas Hrustic, a researcher at the Slovak Academy of Science's Institute of Ethnology in Bratislava.

This is understandable, Hrustic says, considering a backdrop of centuries of nomadism, coupled with living in societies that kept the Roma at arm's length. Conversely, survival instinct helps explain why Roma also tended to embrace whatever faith the local "gadjo" observed. Sometimes, it gained them a degree of acceptance, or even the freedom to roam unmolested. Today, then, the rainbow of Romani sub-groups also reflects the range of religion in the Balkans and Eastern Europe: Catholic, Orthodox, Muslim, Protestant, and many others.

An ongoing debate within academic circles, though, is whether increased religiosity actually harms Roma identity. Pentecostalism in Romania, for example, is connected to Romani self-awareness, pride, and even "Roma nationalism," says Hrustic, who lived for a year among Roma in eastern Slovakia.

"This is nothing new, for a Roma religious leader to offer religion as an answer, or way out of your problems," Hrustic says. "But whether it's a force for good or bad really depends on the aims of that charismatic leader and how he leads them on this mission. Does he convince them to get rid of their traditions, or build on their traditions and identity, emphasizing their cultural heritage?"

Mix all that historical-religious context with the recent inter-ethnic, inter-religious bloodshed in the Balkans: the 1992-1995 conflicts in Bosnia and Croatia, and 1999 in Serbia and Kosovo. They inflamed not only ethnic identities across the peninsula, but religious polarization. With seemingly everyone retreating to the haven of their "own community," why wouldn't some Roma also turn more religious?

Then add on top the unique situation in multi-ethnic Macedonia, an ex-Yugoslav republic of only 2 million. Even before the word "Sarajevo" was seared into the Western psyche, the Macedonian Orthodox warily eyed the restive Albanian-speaking Muslims who comprise a quarter of the population.

Since the breakup of Yugoslavia, the Albanians of western Macedonia have pressed for greater rights, and especially for equal access to jobs, university places, and state funding. Further inflaming matters, they watched Serb Orthodox next door persecute their ethnic brethren, the Kosovan Albanians.

It boiled to a head in 2001, when open clashes broke out between Albanian guerrillas and Macedonian security forces. Dozens were killed on both sides – armed forces and civilians alike.

For both Macedonian and Albanian, the trauma of those skirmishes has been a driving force behind growing religiosity that percolates within a country that is simultaneously one of Europe's poorest.

This in-your-face religiosity becomes clear on a visitor's first night in Skopje, the capital. The huge "Millennium Cross" – reportedly the world's largest cross monument, built soon after the 2001 conflict – sits atop Vodno Mountain, glowing above the city.

With Macedonia planning to erect a grand statue to Alexander the Great in Skopje, Muslim leaders are also clamoring for a new mosque to be built in the same square.

The pattern repeats across the country, says Macedonian sociology professor Zoran Matevski. The Orthodox Church, backed by Macedonian political parties, has erected crosses in Macedonian-majority towns, while Albanian Islamic authorities, backed by Albanian parties, build mosques in Albanian towns.

"It means you somehow mark the territory," says Matevski, who researches the sociology of religion at Sts. Cyril and Methodius University in Skopje. "There is a great link here between national identity and religion. This is in the nature of Orthodoxy and Islam, and a feature of the West Balkans. The states are young and weak, so you don't have state identification, but religious and national identification. When you ask Albanians, they feel like Albanians, not like 'Macedonians.' "

Today, though, with Macedonia eager to please and join both the European Union and NATO, Matevski says the authorities are leaning on the Orthodox Church to lead society toward inter-ethnic tolerance. The church wants something in exchange, says the scholar: religious instruction in public schools will likely begin in the fall.

That said, though ethno-religious affiliation is high, religious fervor is not: the vast majority of Macedonians and Albanians, says Matevski, "belong, but don't believe" – marking holidays only.

Macedonia is home to 54,000 Roma, according to the 2002 census, although estimates put the real figure at twice that, or even as high as 250,000. The community includes both Orthodox and Muslims, depending on the region, and those affiliated attend either Macedonian-language church, or Albanian-language mosque. Matevski today observes significant numbers also joining the Jehovah's Witnesses.

"It's pretty understandable, considering how marginalized the Roma are," he says. "Where they go depends on who helps them more to get out of this marginalization."

There are also reports of increasing numbers of Romani congregants at purist, Saudi-financed mosques.

Within this broader context, there's the inimitable suburb of Skopje, Suto Orizari, commonly known as Shutka. The 20,000 or so residents comprise what has been called the biggest Romani town in Europe, with a Romani majority, Rom mayor, and Romani as official language.

Indeed, the Roma of Shutka are a rare sight in this part of the world: with a self-confidence seen nowhere else, they walk down crowded boulevards, arm in arm or hand in hand. Many families hang out in their front yards, grilling meat, enjoying music.

At the same time, Shutka sees its share of internecine tensions.

Already on the margins of Macedonian society, the Roma are saddled with joblessness that some pin at 80 percent. A prime source of income – and irritation – is the high rent that Macedonian Roma home-owners extract from the Kosovo Roma refugees who fled here a decade ago.

Some Roma in Shutka, then, turn to Berat for answers to their misery.

The Berat family religiosity was shaped by Ali's grandfather, who 30 years ago, says the grandson, was the first from the community to make the hajj – the pilgrimage to Mecca expected of every devout Muslim who can afford it. The patriarch, who died seven years ago, inspired Berat to become a cleric.

"I'm grateful and thankful that you came to our home," says the imam, whose elegant home is large by local standards, with ornate, cherry-red furniture and shelves lined with Islamic and Arabic texts. "We are open to all guests. But we've seen many journalists who show only the negative. But I see you're doing something different: showing the religious part of the community."

Berat says that in today's economic climate, more and more locals turn to drugs, prostitution, and violence. So it's unsurprising that ordinary folks search for greater meaning to their existence.

"We have a methodology to show people how to live life in a happy way," the imam says. His measured words, through a full beard flecked with gray, give him the countenance of a much older man. "I have a question for them: What is the meaning of our existence? We also need spiritual food, spiritual nourishment. My message is even though we live in poverty, on the margins of society, and are discriminated against only because we are Roma, even if society ignores us, God won't ignore us."

Unusually, he preaches to his congregation in Romani.

His soaring, white-and-green mosque – the fifth to be built in Shutka – is now a major landmark on the main road into town. Its glass-enclosed, carpet-covered prayer hall offers grand views of snow-capped peaks in the distance – plus the Millennium Cross, a daily reminder that the congregation lives in "Christian" Macedonia.

The mosque, though, remains half-finished, with the upper level yet to be done. Construction began a decade ago, but moves as a snail's pace, he says, because it's being built exclusively from local money and donations from some Shutka Roma who have moved west.

Still, Berat says the mosque attracts ever more congregants.

Across the street, a small Islamic shop confirms a growing interest. Opened just months ago, it's the first such shop in Shutka, and its soothing melodies are an oasis from the hot, dusty streets. Rather than hop the bus into Skopje, Muslims here can buy locally: small prayer carpets from Turkey, religious books from Bosnia, CDs and DVDs from Syria, music and perfumes from Saudi Arabia.

The young owner – a Macedonian named Darko who says he's in the process of converting to Islam – says the shop was a "logical concept" to answer rising demand in Shutka.

"If you're a Muslim believer, then you want to live with Islam," Darko, 27, says. "The political parties are giving a push to major religions, so there's also greater liberation for religion. This is a good thing, as it diminishes nationalism. Outside, we're all friends."

Down the street, practically in the shadow of the mosque's minaret, neighbor Iskender Iskender explains how Ali Berat has opened his eyes.

"Before, we knew we were Muslim, but we didn't know about the real Islam," says Iskender, 28, who is growing out his brownish beard. "Before, we didn't have an imam, but now we have one speaking the truth. And we understand him very well, since he's speaking in our own language."

Iskender says he now also has a different notion of identity.

"I'm a Rom, and my religion is Islam – but for me, religion is more important," the father of two says. "You can be any nation, but without religion, you are nobody."

Berat says it's not only about embracing Islam, but the process of educating oneself about more mainstream topics as well, that will lift Roma from their station in life. He says he wants to emphasize positive role models, like biographies of renowned Romani leaders, or Romani writers from years past. He's also working on a long-term project: a new Romani-language translation of the Koran. One has been done before, but from Bosnia long ago.

"Roma have been manipulated for years," says the imam, who has a daughter and three young sons. "They need someone they can trust."

Some in the community, though, quietly criticize him for exhorting Roma to abandon certain traditions – a claim he doesn't quite reject. For example, the spring festival of Erdelezi.

Roma here typically mark the arrival of spring with the sacrifice and slaughter of a sheep, then cook the meat outside – a symbol of their earlier around-the-campfire, caravan existence. The entire family digs in, with music blasting, as neighbors walk by, peering over the fence.

Berat, though, has a beef with that.

"We're trying to get away from selfishness, have them to open their wild hearts," he says. "If we kill a sheep for Erdelezi, we can eat meat today. But our neighbor may not have the same feast, so they'll look at us and cry. I say share the sheep with all. We're trying to build the bridge of love between them. I tell them to stop with this holiday, but it doesn't mean I tell them to destroy their traditions."

That troubles Eminovska, the Romani activist.

"Although these holidays may have pagan aspects in their way of celebrating, they are probably as old as the Roma themselves and have stories and meaning behind them," she says. "All of this together creates factions inside communities where members of the same family decide to either follow Islam or Roma culture. But why does one have to choose one over the other?"

Some of Berat's followers, though, seem to have no qualms.

Agron Demiri and his wife, Ganimete.

Agron Demiri and his family have lived in Shutka for the past decade, after fleeing the chaos of Kosovo. Today, one of his brothers works as an assistant to Berat.

"We agree with the thoughts and words of our imam, and what he says about celebrations," the 27-year-old Demiri says. "We want to go through life the right way, and Islam shows us the right way."

If Berat's messages don't penetrate the parents, he has a more effective way to get them in the door: win the hearts and minds of their children. He offers this deprived community a free Internet-connected computer lab, English classes, and sports activities. With a dose of Islam on the side.

"We don't want to be a people without a religion, as the only difference between people and animals is a belief in God," he says. "Roma have lost their hope for everything. If they lose their hope in God, they have no reason to live."